Riptide (PirateJunkratXFem.Reader)

#13= The cat with nine tails

 The next couple of days were probably the most bizzare time in your entire short life thus far, as you spent every single one of them on deck of what you presumed to be a cursed ship (if the uncanny apparitions you saw ghosting through the half-rotten hammocks at night were not a mere figment of your imagination), the Queen giving you petty tasks to keep you busy and make sure you didn't get any ludacris ideas, like scrubbing the deck or what she lovingly referred to as "cooking", though, Hardtack was hardly food to begin with, just a baked brick from a sludge of wheat and water, one that was probably infested with weevils by week two.

But somehow you appreciated having a task, some sort of work, menial as it might be, to keep your head occupied and your thought well away from Jamie, who, though he seemed to somewhat recover from all those ghastly lacerations (partially thanks to you secretly paying him several pity induced visits in the veil of night, stitching up the worst of it and disinfecting whatever seemed to be in dire need of it), seemed more miserable than usual - Though, what had you expected? He was essentially on death row, and his one hope, aka you, had decided not to do his bidding. Though, what did he expect you to do? To be that drunk on Stockholm syndrome that you'd kill for him without as much as an idea to why? No, you were steadfast in the conviction that, if you were to be his puppet, his blade and his will, you wanted to at least see the strings forcing your hand to manifest his whim.

The captain attempted several times to get you involved in some desperate attempts at conversation, whispers pleas, orders or frustrated curses when you passed by at night to fix him up to the best of your ability. But you ignored him, still too hurt to even look him in the eyes, and the thought of talking to him was too painful, knowing he'd not give you the trust you so desperately desired from him. Though you were still haunted by the gut feeling that he was the more pleasant of two evils. And unbeknownst to your captain, if you could, you'd make everything go back to the way it was, go back to being so utterly dependent on him, let him be your lifeline, reduce your world to that safe little cabin. It was easier, though it hurt, it didn't necessitate the amount of fortitude or agency you would require to stay alive now.

The Queen, if anything, was what scared you. She was undoubtedly pleasant for the most part, or, that's what she'd have you believe. She spoke to you with the utmost respect, provided you with all that you needed, all that you wanted, treated you like a friend and an alley. But the more time you spent with her, the more those little habits of utter cruelty slipped through the cracks of the fassade like cockroaches. That coming in the form of her using her apparently favorite method of torture, a nine tailed cat that was customly fashioned to have metallic rivets along the leather whips, a weapon that was always fastened to her belt, using it on her crew for the most trivial slip ups like singing a song that she seemed to despise, lashing their backs raw until their pleas for mercy had been reduced to whimpers begging for the salvation of death.

That was only one of many major red flags that tipped you off to what she was truly capable of, what violence she would not flich to inflict upon anyone at any given time, and though she had apparently forbidden her crew to tell you anything about her gruesome habits, you could see what she had done to some of them; those mutilations of the eyes, of the skin and of the limbs, those did not stem from battle. They were all too clean, too deliberate in their precision to have been a slash from a dull, hasty blade in the midst of a desperate battle of life and death.

Also, you knew the woman didn't trust you one bit. She locked you out every night, wouldn't even do as much as turn her back on you, and where as Jamie had virtually given you an opportunity to stab him in his sleep every night anew, she wouldn't even let you do as much as look at her in a queer way without getting suspicious. No, she only guarded that pleasant frontage to make damn sure you'd never even get the idea to hold a weapon in her presence.