#((under a read more so there isn't a description of stabbing we have to tag every time we reblog this post))

[companypride]

@companywrath

Apparently Rhys had reached that level of rich and famous that he couldn't walk around Promethea on his own anymore. Good to know. Lesson learned the second the knife went between his ribs. He wouldn't leave Atlas HQ without a bodyguard again.

He was lucky the mugger didn't try to take his cybernetics somehow. They were worth more than anything else on him. The mugger hadn't even really talked to Rhys--Rhys didn't even know they were there until he felt pain. He thought someone had punched him. Then he felt the blood.

The mugger dragged him into an alleyway. Rhys tried to fight back, but his limbs quickly stopped responding and he went limp. He was collapsed on the ground as the mugger dug through his pockets and then bolted away. Rhys tried to press on the wound, but he couldn't get much strength behind it. Blood gushed out between his fingers and all over his expensive suit.

Dull, throbbing pain radiated through Rhys's body. Every breath made it worse. He was going to die if someone didn't save him. There was only one person who could save Rhys from anything.

He did the only thing he could do. He pulled up his ECHO-eye menu. His vision was swimming so much it was difficult to select the most recent contact. Jack.

"Hey, I, uh... kinda need your help." Rhys took a shuddering breath. He whimpered, curling into a ball. It was a few moments before he could speak again. "I-I was in the city, and there was this--guy..." He could not tell the story right now. He grunted, struggling to catch his breath. "Anyway, I kinda got s-stabbed, so... If you could maybe come get me...? That'd be. Great."

[nyctolovian]

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Pirate AU, Kidnapping, First Meetings, Waiter Crowley (Good Omens), Pirate Azirphale, Dark Aziraphale (Good Omens), Alcohol

Summary: A weird Pirate!Aziraphale and Civilian!Crowley fic. Written for @whitesuitcrowleyzine

In Crowley's defense, he was already planning to quit his job. He'd had quite enough with dealing with snobby rich people showing off their incredible wealth with luxury yacht dinner parties that he had to serve at. He might as well go out with a bang while wildly flashing middle fingers. The plan just wasn't fully formed yet (what he had at the moment meant that there would be two fires, which was one fire too few) when the pirates hijacked the yacht, waving around guns and knives.

It was mayhem as the pirates took down anyone who fought back and herded everyone else below deck with yelled threats and guns ablazing. Several people broke down in tears and huddled together. As all this transpired, Crowley went largely unnoticed and, not wanting to change that anytime soon, he dared not make any superfluous movement. So he followed the walls of the yacht and tried to make his escape, still carrying the serving tray like a proper professional. The commotion was beginning to dwindle, and Crowley had to be quick.

Just as he neared the staircase, ready to bolt, the weight on his tray shifted as someone lifted a glass from it. Crowley straightened and froze, caught red-handed. The person walked to stand side by side with him and took an elegant sip from the glass and sighed. "This red wine is simply lovely." By now, the commotion had died down to whimpers and sniffles as the pirates stood around on the deck, weapons brandished. Their eyes were pointed in his direction, or more precisely, at the man beside him, who swirled his glass gently and took another sip. Voice light in the way dangerous people kept it to let people know they were enjoying themselves, he asked, "Do you happen to have more of this on this yacht?"

Crowley cleared his throat and answered as calmly as his quickened pulse would let him, "I, I believe so."

"Excellent!" Placing a hand on the small of Crowley's back, he took a step forward, pushing him along. "Now," the pirate said cheerily, lightly pulling his jacket to primly fix it. "I have several announcements. You've been boarded by Eden so consider yourselves under new management."

Crowley didn't know it could but somehow the atmosphere grew thicker with tension. The complexion of the crew especially bleached. Crowley had heard of them—the Eden. He had heard tales from seafarers and such while they were at port. Many, many tales. Frankly, Crowley hadn't been paying attention to any of them, but he reckoned any ship with half as many tales as this one couldn't possibly be good news.

Interlocking his fingers over his belly, the pirate captain went on, "If I see a single silly move, it's off with your head immediately, you understand? I hereby demand you to hand over, well, everything that is valuable. Captain's orders."

Some people immediately began to strip themselves of their jewels and watches while others stayed frozen, like deers caught in headlights. Some of the service crew were huddled together in a corner, and the pirates approached them. Crowley never liked the bunch much, but he kind of wished he was standing there with them. Perhaps huddle together like little ducklings, all wearing the same white-top-black-bottom coat, feeling the safety in numbers, in blending in with one another. Instead, he was stuck standing right beside the pirate captain, still diligently and stupidly carrying the ridiculous serving tray.

Speak of the devil. “Ah, yes,” he said. “And some of that alcohol as well.” He turned to face Crowley with a smile. Upon laying eyes on the waiter's face, however, his eyebrows rose with interest. “How odd. Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?”

He swallowed. “Eye condition. Coloboma.”

The pirate stepped closer and Crowley instinctively leaned away. “Is that so? I believe I've read about that term before," he said. Slowly and deliberately, he pinched the pair of shades and slid it off.

Pale blue eyes connected with Crowley's and his breath hitched. He was tempted to break eye contact, his already jackrabbiting heart practically galloping at this point. Without the dark lenses, it was even more obvious how unusually fair the pirate captain was. His hair was a fluffy white cloud and even the suit he wore was off-white. The wrinkles on his face deepened delightfully as he broke into a smile of fascination. He was… for the lack of a better word, beautiful.

“Slits for pupils,” the pirate said. “And the colour, my, it's practically golden, isn't it? Almost like a snake's.”

"Or so I've heard as well," Crowley bit out.

"They're absolutely gorgeous."

"Wha…?" Blinking, he broke eye contact and gazed sideward.

"Has no one ever told you?" the pirate said, bending to meet Crowley's gaze again.

Gulping, Crowley shook his head. His cheeks felt strangely warm.

There was a sparkle in the pirate captain's eyes as he gently folded the sunglasses and slipped it into the pocket of Crowley's white suit jacket. With a smile, he patted the securely placed pair of shades. Then, he grabbed the serving tray that Crowley was still carrying and carelessly tossed it backwards. The earth-shattering clatter and the shattering of wine glasses made many of the yacht passengers scream in terror. By some miracle, Crowley merely flinched and quickly returned to his ramrod straight position, hands tightly clenched by his sides.

With a satisfied nod, the pirate captain released his jaw. Then, at last, he pulled out of Crowley's personal space, but only to command, "I wish to be shown where the alcohol is kept."

Stiffly, Crowley nodded and the pirate captain waved a couple other goons to follow along. As Crowley shuffled through the kitchen, he'd be lying if he said that the idea of grabbing a knife from the counter to stab someone and bolting didn't cross his mind at all. But he quickly kicked it to the ground. Numbers were not in his favour, and these were pirates for god's sake; they'd probably slit his throat open faster than he could pick up a blade. So instead, he opened the cooler and cold air rushed out to greet them, sending shivers through Crowley. One of the goons let out a low whistle at the sight.

"This is quite the trove. Do the bourgeoisie plan to drink themselves to death?" the captain remarked.

"Much as I hope they do, they drink less than half of what they stock up. It's to show off for the most part," Crowley muttered.

With a hum, the pirate captain sauntered in and lifted a bottle to inspect it. His jaw dropped dramatically at the label. "We are taking all of this, for sure. Now, chop chop!" He clapped his free hand against his wrist.

The pirate goons pushed past Crowley and grabbed two crates each before hauling them out. Crowley, the lanky dude that he was, could only manage one anyway and, thankfully, that was all that was left. He could feel the captain's stare at the back of his head and tried to convince his brain to ignore it. He followed the goons up to the deck and his eyes widened.

She was quite the beauty, even Crowley who was no expert at ships could tell that. A short distance away, the Eden loomed over the yacht, its flag raised high and proud upon the mast. A real pirate ship.

The footsteps of the pirate captain caught up with Crowley and he ducked his head and. Then, he quickened his pace as best as he could with trembling limbs and sweaty palms

Astern of the luxury yacht, speedboats were tied, and there were several people already dropping their plunder off. As Crowley’s crate was taken from him to be transported, he noticed hostages being shoved onto the speedboat and some were kids.

His stomach lurched at the sight.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. He needed to get out of this. Somehow.

His heart's rapid palpitation reached his throat. He took his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and slid it back on to still his nerves. As casually as possible, he tried to turn and slink away. He’d say he was doing a pretty good job at it since he nearly slipped round the corner.

“Where are you going, Mr Waiter?”

Crowley froze. Taking in a deep breath, he spun around with a schooled expression.

The pirate captain was looking at him with an almost cherub-like smile. He ambled over before removing Crowley's sunglasses and studied Crowley's eyes once more. "They really are gorgeous," he whispered, placing his fingers over Crowley's jaw and tilting his head this way and that, as though to watch it catch the light. "Like jewels. Precious."

Crowley shivered.

"You're a smart boy. I'm sure you know by now my feelings towards objects of high value."

"You're not going to… gouge 'em out or something, right?"

"I quite like the head they're attached to as well actually."

"So you're…" Crowley swallowed around the lump high in his throat. "You're beheading me?"

The pirate sighed loudly and rolled his eyes before pursing his lips with displeasure. "How do you feel about joining my crew?"

Crowley's eyes widened so much, he was surprised they didn't pop right out of their sockets like marbles. "I… uh… what's the job description?"

It was the pirate's turn to be surprised. His eyebrows raised and his lips parted. "I haven't actually thought about it. Perhaps the odd job here and there while you learn the ropes," he replied. "Unless you have any suggestions."

Crowley blinked. The pirate captain looked at him expectantly. "Uh. 't hurts without it," he said, which wasn't a lie anyway. "Glasses."

"My apologies," the pirate said. To Crowley's relief, he returned the pair of shades back to the bridge of his nose. "It is a downright pity."

"Not many feel that way. I've been called the devil more times than I can count. Even had salt thrown at me once."

"Oh, I can imagine." The pirate laughed, a surprisingly genuine one.

"Don't your lot disapprove of," he scrunched his nose as he searched for the words, "demonic things."

"Ah. Yes, pirates are terribly superstitious. It's the sea, I believe." He gazed outwards.

Crowley followed his gaze to look at the dark waves, rocking the yacht, a constant reminder of water's presence and prowess.

The pirate continued, "She's a fickle beast that rears her head every now and again. She can be very difficult to appease, and the creatures that lurk within her even more so. It'd be amusing, I think, to see what tales other ships might spin about you."

"So I'll be the freak show?"

"A lovely addition to the freak show, my dear," the pirate corrected. "We're quite the menagerie. We have a witch, the antichrist and his merry band—"

"The antichrist?" Crowley repeated in disbelief.

"We're still working that out," the captain replied. "And of course there is myself. Well," he fixed his cap and pulled his jacket, "a bit unusual, aren't I?"

Glancing him up and down, Crowley nodded. If he had seen this man walking down the streets today, the first word that would probably pop up in his mind might be "time traveler" (yes, he knew that those were two words but let's not worry over the technicalities). He wore a lovely light suit that looked like it belonged in the early 20th century at least. Perhaps he'd even think "angel", what with the man bearing the face of a cherub. He looked fluffy, white and roundish. Sort of like a polar bear. He looked nothing like a pirate, which was probably what made him feel so intimidating. Upon further thought though, polar bears could be quite the menace, couldn't they?

Clearing his throat, Crowley held out a hand. "Well, I have been planning on resigning from my current job," he said. "Could do with a career change."

"I'm Aziraphale Fell. And how may I address you?"

"That's a mouthful. Crowley. Anthony J Crowley."

The pirate frowned. "What does the J stand for?"

He shrugged. "Uhhhh… Just a J, really. So we have a deal?" He raised his eyebrows in a silent inquiry.

"A deal with the devil," Aziraphale said, glancing skyward as they shook on it. "I wonder what my mother would say about that." When he glanced back down, he frowned. "Oh, your poor sleeves."

Crowley looked down as well. The once pristine white sleeves were streaked with black.

"Was it the crate? It really is a pity, you look quite dashing in white," Aziraphale said, running a finger along the inside of the sleeve.

Crowley shivered.

Of course, there was no way Aziraphale did not notice it, hand tightly grasped around his. "Though I do suppose you'd look dashing in anything." He smiled and added, "Or nothing at all."