Heart of the Sun

Capter 6: Picking Fights

Gilbert's point of view:
Pockets heavy with recent victory, I stroll up to the edge of my ship to identify myself the ship in the distance. It was fairly large and adorned with some red and gold peeling paint. I grinned, excited at the ship of no other than one of my best friends.

"Full speed ahead men! We are to cross with the Santa Maria once more!"

As we approach, I begin to see small details that I missed. Black ash and freshly stained wood. Then I watch the crew emerge to greet us, but it looked more like walking dead. Something was definitely wrong. I rush over hoping to the next ship quickly.
I stop dead in my tracks when I finally see Toni. A painful smile cruelty plastered on his sun-kissed face, green eyes empty.

"Hóla Gil, it's been awhile!"

I stand still for a second in disbelief. I stood in front of probably the most feared man to ever sail, a broken man. I then quickly pull him to his quarters before I start questioning.

"What the Hell happened?"

His face contorted in an effort to maintain a mask of happiness before completely falling into darkness.

"We were attacked and took a heavy loss."

I remained calm as I continued on.

"Who did it?"
"The Black Baron."

he replied softly.

"What did you lose?" His lips move, barley sounding a word.

"Almost Lovino and Isabel."

I sit stunned.

No wonder everyone was upset. Isabel wasn't only the captain's sister but a happy and gracious lady. She was beloved by Antonio's crew. Even though our friend Francis, who all together made up the alliance known as the Bad Touch Trio. Francis and I have never met her in person though. Antonio was too protective. But she's a popular topic so we've heard much about her.

"How's Lovino?"

Antonio looked at the floor.

"A complete mess. He blames himself for Isabel capture. But he's wrong, I should have know that English dog would have done..."

He didn't finish, unable to continue to form words in his distress. Truly the English captain had stuck down his competition in such a way one might think he'd never recover. But I believed that would not be so.
Pulling myself to full height I face Antonio.

"Well I don't know about you but the awesome me most certainly isn't about to accept this."

The Spaniard's head snapped up.

"No, the awesome me shall rally our allies as we scour the seas for this thick-eyebrow bastard and show him what it means to mess with the Bad Touch Trio."

I grinned down to find Antonio cracking a smile, filling up with hope.

" I agree and sitting here isn't going to bring Isabel back."

Slowly the captain's smile grew a little too wide and wicked and his eye shone with blood lust.

The cocky English fool was really in for it now.

Arthur's point of view:
Everyday I would remark the prisoner, each time was a sweet reminder of my triumph. She always greets me with a fiery temper, saving me from wasting Ale to feed her. After eating this morning breakfast I go down to the prison cells with a cup of Ale in hand, wondering what this morning with be like.

She is asleep when I get there, looking peaceful and almost happy. I smile at the irony, considering what my next actions would be. I silently enter the cell, beding down as leaning in until I am but a foot away from her face.
Messy bangs cover her warm skin and I take a moment to resist tucking them behind her ears, touching her.
But then I remember she isn't some noble lady who can batter me away with a mere fan. No, this is my prisoner.
Then I slap her hard on the face, leaving my hand on her smooth, scarlet cheek. I watch her eye snap open, savoring the moment. Soft, hot skin at my fingertips and deep green eyes pinned on me and only me. And is she feisty this morning! Without even speaking, I feel her resentment and see the green flicker like a flame.

"And what does the demon from Hell possibly want now! It takes some nerve, or perhaps a complete lack of manners, to hit a woman like that! I can't believe your mother would teach you that, she must have rejected you long ago in disgust and disappointment!"

She yells, half of her rant slipping in Spanish. I've heard of the passion of the the Spanish, but she seemed to top even that, and I loved it.

"Well I came to bring your drink for the day-"

I pour the contents of the cup over her head

"and remark my belongings."

And before she could react, I was behind her, pushing her head and dress down, revealing a cruel red "A".

I cut down on the scabbed wound, the woman struggling to resist and silence her pain.