A Pirate's Life For Me

Goodbye, Bastard

Breathe.

He leaves slowly, heels of his boots hitting the ground with a terrifying, solid thunk, step after step after step after slow, methodical step.

Breathe.

It's torture in and of itself. He knows that I know that he doesn't need me anymore. It's a last chance to tell him anything, but it's not like anything I could tell him would be good enough to save me. Even if I told him that the last place Hazleton was spotted was across the Grenn Sea, all the way in Cirn. A month away, at least. Even if I confirmed his suspicions that the ninja was a guy, and that he was closely related to the girl, Colette. Even if I told him that if he wanted to find the guy, all he had to do was look for the girl again, she wouldn't be too hard to locate. Even if I told him all the stepping stones to tracking Hazelton down, which market vendor to look for, which ships to cross on. Nothing would matter. He's already bored with me.

This last session has been a goodbye.

Breathe, goddammit.

I'm trying, but all I can do is gasp.

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Jewell." He stops at the door, words echoing back against the walls of the room and worming their way through my ears and down my throat, suffocating me as he faces out into the bright light of the hallway.

Disappointed? He's disappointed in me?

Emotions bubble to the surface so thick and fast that all I can do is scoff.

"I expected better from Wylie Ripper's son."

A million questions.

You knew my dad?

Wylie Ripper isn't my father.

How do you know that name?

If you really knew what you were talking about, you wouldn't use that name.

Why would you expect anything from Wylie Ripper's son?

Just breathe, calm down, ya idjit. Why you freaking out over nothing?

But the door slams shut before I can inhale. A slot creaks open, metal screeching against metal as an envelope sized hole in the top of the door opens. I can see the wall on the opposite side of the hallway and a shadow, but none of the people I know are standing there.

"This is goodbye, Mr. Ripper."

That is not my name.

He leaves me gasping.

~~

I need a drink.

God, what would I do for a glass right now? To get drunk and have an arrangement of nice dancing bodies to watch? To sit at a bar, leaning back on the stool, smelling the sweat and alcohol of the club, my only fear if I can afford the next bottle?

I sway slightly in the chains, sniffing as a shiver a little sharper than the rest racks my body.

I'd do some shit, I decide. A lot of shit.

The door creaks.

Definitely do some odd jobs, definitely do some dares, probably kiss somebody if it so happens to be demanded...

Metal sliding against metal, an envelope-sized rectangle of light spilling into the darkness of the room.

Would I stay the night though? I'm not sure. Am I willing to have sex with someone to get me a drink?

Metal slapping closed, hollow screeches, the door opening all the way, bars undone. They're coming for m—

I don't think so. That's where I'd draw the line. No sex for a drink, but I'd probably make out if I had to.

Armor clanking, heavy foot falls, the sound of a sword leaving a scabbard, and this time I can't drown out my thoughts with useless babble. They're coming. This is it. This is how I die.

Would I murder for a drink?

There's a pause for a moment, a beat where I can feel eyes on me, roving across my naked body, the sword held down against the soldier's hip, their outline casting a shadow down across my knees. For a split second, all I can see is Icas, his face twisted in his little smile, grinning down at me.

Yes, I think. I think I would.

"E-Enjoying y-your view?" I say weakly, no louder than a whisper. "I w-would c-cover up b-but I-I'm a b-bit t-tied up a-at the m-moment." The screech of plastic on metal and I flinch, the chains rattling to glorify my actions, hiding the hollow sounding fumble as the soldier takes off their helmet and sets it gently on the ground.

"Shut up," they whisper, voice grating sharply against the pounding in my skull. "You're going to get us killed."