#and flint and silver are still like nah it’s fine

[howlerbat]

you’re too subtle, Billy

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I’ve Traveled Troubled Oceans - Chapter One: The Plot

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this painting?” Jack asks the room at large.

Anne shrugs.

Charles grunts.

“Maybe Max would want it?”

That's the most sensible suggestion Jack's probably going to get out of the lot of them – and it's coming from the new guy. So that bodes well for this whole fucking venture now doesn't it.

“Wait,” Charles says, finally deigning to actually look at what the fuck Jack's talking about. “Flint didn't want it?”

It is, technically, Flint's painting. Traded to Jack for hash by some street kids and paid to Flint in recompense for connecting him with that party full of poncy coke fiends with more money than burst capillaries.

Anne gives a derisive snort.  “Nah, he fucked off to America to live in romantic poverty with his boy toy.”

Though given that said boy toy is heir to the Hamilton fortune, their romantic poverty is more likely to involve a stately home in Greenville or Chapel Hill or something than actual poverty of the variety he or Anne or Chaz are familiar with.

“Well I don't give a fuck what you do with it, Jack. Just get it out of here. I don't want any more Spaniards poking around. Or Russians. Or whoever the fuck they were. They fucking trashed the place.”

“Yes, of course, Charles. You're absolutely right. They simply ruined the whole crack den vibe we've got going on here. I'll make certain we get our interior decorating straightened out first priority.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Charles wishes.

“Well, if I'm actually giving it to Max, Anne had better be the one to deliver it.” Since Max doesn't like Jack, for some reason. And really, really likes Anne for completely obvious reasons.

“Fine,” Anne grits out. As if getting eaten out in the back of a Range Rover is really fucking up her social calendar. “But you're helping me carry it all the way to the fucking West End.”

Wonderful. Now Jack gets to stand outside in the cold while Anne gets eaten out in the back of a Range Rover.

“Fine.”

Jack shrugs on his warmest coat. Maybe he can make a little dosh off the snobby theater patrons. The rich artsy fucks – or those who style themselves that way, anyway – always have a habit or two to indulge.

But surprisingly, Jack gets pulled into the back of Max's car right along with Anne and the painting. And he doubts it's for another ill-considered threesome. Not with the way Max actually deigned to pause whatever boring regency-era drama she's got on. No, she wants to talk business.

Exactly what business that is becomes apparent when Mr. Scott joins them.

“You want the money,” Jack blurts out.

Max nods.

“And you want to use my crew to get it.”

Another nod.

“Fuck no. I'm not going against Eleanor and Woodes Rogers. Not for love or money.” He gets up to leave, gesturing Anne to follow. She's the love, he's the money.

Mr. Scott speaks up. “He owes me.” His tone is level, but Jack can read the vehemence behind it. “They all owe me.”

And Jack doesn't have to be a genius to guess what he means.

“He sent you away for that four stretch. Just like he sent Flint and Silver and who knows how many others.”

Like Charles. Oh, fuck, Charles. Who'd gone away on a two stretch on a job that shouldn't have been anything but a quick in and out. But somehow London's finest had been there, waiting, handcuffs just ready to snap around his wrists.

“That man owned me, body and soul.” And Mr. Scott's anger has gone beyond vehement to downright poisonous, though he's still speaking in that same even tone. “But he thought I was getting greedy. Getting uppity. So he sent me away, to teach me a lesson.”

Like he was some errant school boy and Lord Hamilton his headmaster. Oh, he'd always styled himself as such, the pompous prick. Mr. Scott takes a breath.

“So yes, I want the fucking money.”

Fair enough, in Jack's estimation. But that still doesn't explain why he's the one who has to go get it.

“Surely there are enough remnants of Flint's old crew to con into this suicide mission.” Billy Bones comes to mind. He's pretty sure either Eleanor or Woodes Rogers would be susceptible.

“Flint's gone,” Max supplies. “Bones turned traitor. And Silver paid me out the ass to help him disappear. Last I'd heard, he ran away up North to open a pub with Madi.”

So that's his share disappeared, then. No wonder Max is going straight to the source.

Anne snorts. “Wonder how long that honeymoon's going to last.”

Max smiles, and it's not a very nice expression. “Well, either they'll reconcile or Madi will be back here in a week with a big fat insurance payment on the pub that mysteriously burned down – and Silver will be nowhere to be found.”

Mr. Scott smiles proudly. Madi truly is her mother's daughter.

“Ok, ok. You're short on options. But that still doesn't explain why you'd come to me.” Jacks been out of that particular game since Charles went away. And sure, he's built himself a tidy little empire here, dealing drugs to the rich idiots who want them. But that doesn't mean he's ready to get back in the saddle – and certainly not with anything on the scale Max is talking about.

Max looks uncomfortable, which isn't an expression Jack's used to seeing on her. “It needs to happen quickly and with discretion.”

And there isn't anyone else she trusts with this, Jack realizes. Well, damn. Now he's got to do it – Max owing him a favor is worth thrice his weight in cold hard cash.

“Why the time limit?” Anne asks.

An excellent question. “The Eleanor I know doesn't need the money. She probably just took it because she got bored of her gilded little cage.” She'll want to keep it around for a while, as a trophy if nothing else.

“Eleanor doesn't need the money,” Max says with a grin that spells nothing but misfortune for her victims, “but Woodes Rogers is another story entirely.”

“I thought he was loaded,” Jack interjects. “Surely blow and rent boys can't run him that much.” Though if he holds parties like the one Jack had attended on a regular basis – that might actually start draining the old trust fund. But even so, he and Eleanor both work the kind of rich people jobs that amount to doing fuck all and being paid out the ass for it. So he doesn't think that's quite it.

Mr. Scott smiles, and it's not a very warm expression. “Apparently Mr. Rogers has something of a gambling problem. He's run up significant debts with some international syndicates – including our friends the Spanish.”

“And now that his patron Lord Hamilton is out of the picture,” Max continues, “he's left with wolves at the door. The cash is as good as gone by the end of the week.”

“Well shit,” Anne says.

A sentiment Jack wholeheartedly endorses.

“Even if I had an entire week to plan this venture, I couldn't guarantee success. And all you're giving me is three days! How the hell am I supposed to pull this off, Max?”

Max smiles. “Charles is back in town, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Jack says tightly.

“That's your way in.”

“Now I know you're joking.”

Max raises one delicate eyebrow in question.

“Charles and Eleanor had a rather... explosive falling out right before he went away. Surely you heard about it. There's no way in hell he's our way in – she'll slam the door right in his face.”

“The thing about Eleanor, Jack, is that she loves to burn bridges. But once she's burned them, she inevitably finds herself looking back across the water to the other side. And finds she rather misses what she had when she was there.”

And isn't that just a terrible insight into Max and Eleanor's former relationship. Jack shudders. He's never going to bitch about Max being with Anne again.

Probably.

“Ok,” Anne says. “So Eleanor still has the hots for Chuck and she'll fuck him just cuz of that.”

“Well, not just because of that,” Max interjects. “She'll fuck him because she likes to have her cake and eat it too.”

Max waves an airy hand around the group assembled.

“We are all well aware of how things ended between her and Charles. And she hates to lose face above all else. Her fucking Charles and then throwing him over is her rewriting the breakup – getting to play the all powerful king and him the pitiful subject, to be used and thrown away on a whim.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Fine,” Anne interrupts, annoyed. “Eleanor's going to play weird sex mind-games with him instead. How does this help us get the money?”

“Eleanor's the one who'd smell a rat,” Jack says. “Woodes Rogers isn't exactly the sharpest or most conniving knife in the drawer. He'd let us right in on, on the pretense of another party. We sell to him and his friends again and they're all too off their heads and sex crazy to bother wondering where we've run off to after.”

“The rich have an amazing ability to overlook the “help” once they've stopped making themselves useful,” Mr. Scott adds.

“Right, yes.” Jack nods decisively as a plan forms. “And with Eleanor otherwise occupied, we'd have run of the whole house. Plenty of time to snoop around and find the money. And if we bring a travel case for the drugs – we load up the cash and just walk out as if nothing ever happened.”

“And as luck would have it,” Mr. Scott interjects, “they plan on throwing a party this very Wednesday evening – in celebration of Miss Guthrie's birthday.”

A plan formed, Jack and the others all nod in unison. They're going to get that fucking cash.

Although convincing Charles to go along with it might be a little difficult.

[majorxmaggiexboy]

&& watching treasure planet (2/2)

BUSTED

“I always hated games” HE’S GOT A GUN HE’S GOT A GUN HE’S GOT A

HE’S GOT A PLIERS-Y KNIFE THING

the speed at which this kid accepts that this person he’s gotten so close with is now A Threat(tm) is dissolving me i can’t with this

STRIKE FIRST JIM THAT’S RIGHT THAT’S MY BOY

yo can Silver. feel that?

admit it Silv that was a boss move and youre proud of him. you rat bastard.

horrible. this is Horrible.

HE RAN AND TOLD THE ADULTS. GOOD JOB JIM GOOD FOR U BUDDY

RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN

Morph i am begging you,

SILVER I SWEAR IF YOU PULL THAT TRIGGER

THANK YOU SIR

MORPH WHY’D YOU DO IT

DON’T GIVE HIM A GUN AMELIA HE’S LIKE TEN YEARS OLD

Robbie Rotten in the bushes

JIM YOU’RE TOO YOUNG TO SHOOT PEOPLE YOU PUT THAT DOWN

UNLESS SILVER SHOWS UP YOU CAN USE IT THEN OKAY

ROBOT

“I just wanna hug ya and squeeze ya and hold ya close to me” i

(ben)

the robot is gwynplaine on crimson lethe

heck jim just slap him sure that’s fine

Ben

OH HECK THE BOY’S TRYING tO SHOOT PEOPLE

i mean Silver does get credit for trying really hard not to let anybody else actually get killed but i’m still mad at him

SILVER STOP TRYING TO RUN A CON

YEAH JIMLET GO OFF

Nah Silv you don’t get Morph after being Like That >:(

literally how did he get himself and the robot into that boat and fly it up into the sky without waking the pirates

oh heck where’s the bug guy

THERE HE IS OH NO

bug guy just did a Waternoose

oh nooooo he had a shot but now he’s about to die. it’s been real jimothy

stop it shelob

DON’T HIT HIM

Scoops just tried to float a 15yo off into space and i am so stressed out but GOOD KICK JIMLET GOOD JOB

SILVER WHAT THE HECK

ooh i don’t like this

“open the orby thing or I’ll kill your family” SILVER YOU ARE SO FAR ACROSS THE LINE RN

what is it with this crew’s obsession with violence DX

huh. blue swirly bit’s kinda shaped like an ear.

Trip Wire :O

oh heck is this about to be one of those things where the Selfish Heck has to choose between grabbing the treasure and saving the boy

is it going to be like a twist on lion king 2 when kiara tries to save zira and zira’s like “actually” and dies

oh no

Flint is Barkilphedro/Ursus and Ben is Grinpayne send tweet

Excellent Murder Face Jimlet solid 8/10

“with abnormally thin wrists” oml

FIFTEEN YEAR OLD WITH A SWORD. HE HAS A SWORD. OH NO

silver if you could just stop being Threatening As Hell for five minutes

SILVER MAKES A GOOD CHOICE: THE MOVIE

he doesn’t expect to survive does he :(

GOOD JOB JIMLET GOOD JOB GOOD JOB

Silver i know you redeemed yourself a little bit but step back dude you’re doing Too Much

he didn’t teach you to chart your own course Jimlet he taught you to trust no one at any time ever at all in your life what are you talking about

awwww Jimlet gets custody of Morph :3

“it’s for your mother to rebuild that inn of hers” YEAH THAT YOU BURNED DOWN SILVER

eh he’s an alright dude

Sarah is so pretty

YEAH JIM HUG YOUR MA

OUTFIT CHANGE

JIMLET

DANCING WITH HIS MOMMMMMM

uhhhh Silver appearing in the clouds like Mufasa i could definitely do without

“and when I see myself I see the man who cut my face”

well! that was good!

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

silverflint drabble, 3 Dec. 2018

(@silverflintdaily)

snow, gun, remorse

"Who's got the gun?" Flint said. Spluttered, actually, trying to sit up with a gasp; the pain at his temples suggested it was feasible he was the one who'd been shot. He raised his hands to his head like they could dampen the deafening sound of blood leaking from his ears.

"I think you were dreaming," Silver screamed, or, possibly, said at a completely normal volume. 

snow, gun, remorse

"Who's got the gun?" Flint said. Spluttered, actually, trying to sit up with a gasp; the pain at his temples suggested it was feasible he was the one who'd been shot. He raised his hands to his head like they could dampen the deafening sound of blood leaking from his ears.

"I think you were dreaming," Silver screamed, or, possibly, said at a completely normal volume.

The room was blurry, as though filmed through a lens smeared with Vaseline. Silver's flannels shone through the gloom like red and green beacons. Flint managed to pull himself out of the couch cushions, feeling like he was being buoyed along in some sort of rowboat; there were waves beneath him, threatening to wash him back out to sea. Silver was floating nearer like tacky driftwood, his uncombed hair a riot and his smile somehow not condescending.

"Nice pajamas," Flint rasped. His mouth tasted like couch cushion and cheap old scotch.

"Thank you." Silver sat down on the closest windowsill and slowly reeled up the blinds. White light strong as a nuclear detonation -- strong as all of Flint's remorse -- filled the room. "Well, it definitely snowed last night."

Flint would take his word for it because there was no way he could open his eyes again. There was probably some kind of appropriate response he was supposed to give as the other person in the conversation. What came out of his mouth was, "Murggph."

Silver patted the arm Flint had thrown over his own face. "I'll make you some coffee." It sounded like he put down the shade halfway, thank god.

"You don't drink coffee."

"That doesn't mean I can't make you some."

Flint lowered his arm in time to see Silver with his crutch headed toward what Flint supposed was the kitchen. "Are your pajamas infested with reindeer?" he asked, because it concerned him that the answer would be yes.

"So you're super bad at this holiday stuff, yeah?" Silver yelled out.

A groan was as good as a word, but Flint wanted to do better than that. "This isn't the holidays," he stated emphatically. "December 4th is not the fucking holidays."

"Only three weeks to go, Ebenezer." While something rattled unsupervised in the kitchen like a box of feral cats Silver came back out to lean against a dinner table and wipe his hands on a tea towel patterned in penguins wearing Santa hats.

"Christmas is three whole weeks away, and the first day of Christmas technically doesn't start until Christmas day itself, and yet I have already heard no fewer than eight godforsaken versions of 'Have a Holly Jolly Christmas' no fewer than seven dozen times each in public locations in the last three weeks." Flint felt the same icy rage that had sent him to the airport bar yesterday rising to the surface, despite the look on Silver's face. "Tell me that's not torture as defined by international law. Tell me there isn't a kid working at Bubba Burgers right now who's about to go 'round the goddamn bend listening to Michael fucking Buble on a loop and we'll talk, but--"

"Listen," Silver interrupted. He bounced down next to Flint like a Tigger who'd learned how to master a real leopard's sudden lethal pounce. "You don't have to tell me what it's like out there this time of year. It's entirely likely that kid at Bubba's is gritting his teeth and coping, which is a sight more than you're doing, because that kid has bills to pay and baby Jesus won't be leaving a filled stocking where that kid's squatting this week, okay?" Silver blew out a breath and put his hands on his reindeer'd knees. "I get that you hate this time of year, and you have your reasons, but the rest of the office, myself most especially included, would appreciate it if you could just go take a fucking walk when you get this wound up. Everyone knows Christmas is a lot of racket. Some of us would like to enjoy the corporate gifts anyway."

The seriousness of his tone was punctuated by the sharp whistle of a kettle. A few minutes later he was giving Flint a mug shaped like a decapitated snowman head filled with something steamy and smelling vaguely of cinnamon.

"Do you even have any coffee?" Flint asked, knowing it would make him sound peevish.

"Nope." Silver nudged him until he moved over on the couch. "It's Christmas tea, though. Nice and strong."

Flint took a sip. It tasted like there were multiple spices in there and the tea was hot like the surface of the sun. He took another few sips. After half a mug he started to feel saner. He chanced glancing at Silver, who was sipping from an overlarge green mug that said 'When I think about you, I touch my elf' on the side. Flint watched his throat as he swallowed and felt his own throat go dry from it.

"You didn't have to come fetch me last night," Flint said, by way of apology.

Silver snorted lightly. "I didn't fetch you, dipshit. I was at the airport too."

This was honest news to Flint. "Why?"

"Madi was supposed to come in for a conference. She got stuck at her connection at Logan, but her texts went into the ether for a while, or my phone's crapping out or something, so I didn't know until I was already waiting at the other end of Chez 747."

Flint thought for a moment. "Is she still on her way, or--"

"Nah, the conference is cancelled since half the scientists are stuck in random cities. I think they're rescheduling for, like, August. Some month when it's guaranteed not to snow."

Silver sounded so breezy, Flint thought, you'd never know he was upset at all if you didn't know him.  

"It's fine." Silver sighed, as though Flint had commented. Sighed again. "You were very hostile about that bag last night." He pointed at Flint's black and tan carry-on, which was tumped over by the front door.

"I don't remember--"

"Actually, you were fairly hostile about everything last night. Have you thought about therapy? I'm no expert but you seem like a good candidate for some."

Flint put down the mug. "I was asked never to return to the Little Sisters of Mercy clinic after a single hour-long session."

"See, I know you're joking, but that's easily the most plausible thing you've ever said." Silver looked at Flint with a smart-ass expression. When Flint shrugged, he shook his head with a little laugh. "You're welcome to take a shower. There's plenty of food in the place, too, since I thought, you know. I was already planning to have company for a few days."

"I should call a taxi." A taxi, Flint thought, because fuck Uber. He had a vague recollection of having had similar thoughts last night at some point while still at the airport. The idea of going out into the cold and the white did not hold much more appeal now than it had then.

Silver shook his head again. "No-one's supposed to be on the roads. State of emergency and all that. We're lucky to have escaped the airport when we did." At Flint's frown he continued, "Take a shower and we'll have brunch. The lights are still on; if you're hell-bent on doing some work you can use my laptop."

"I'm sorry to impose--"

"Since when?" Silver levered himself off the couch. "It's not a problem."

Flint stood up beside him. It was the worst choice he ever made in his whole life, which was saying something. The room heaved like it was the world's biggest stomach. He stood there swaying in the surf for what seemed like a solid ten minutes, with only Silver's hand on his elbow to keep him from being thrown against rough-glass rocks. Flint's vision finally cleared, and the floor stopped surging.

Silver was standing very near. "Better?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"I called Gates and told him where you, we, were, by the way--"

"Thank you."

"--since you hadn't bothered to do that."

Flint gave him a level look. "I can't overstate how much I appreciate your hospitality."

Silver narrowed his eyes. "You could always try."

"Bathroom's down the hall?" Flint parried.

"Yep."

Flint took five steps away and looked back. Silver was standing there looking at the ceiling as though it would grant him guidance or respite.

"I really," Flint started, with his throat tight. "I really do appreciate...this." He gave a little something-like-a-smile. "You."

Silver held his gaze. "You're welcome," he said after a moment. "I'm gonna go start some food." He turned to go to the kitchen. "Please don't drown in the tub."

[vowel-in-thug]

Black Sails Noir

for my dearest, darling, delightful @jadedbirch on her beautiful birthday!! el you are such a treasure to me and have been since i’ve known you, and i deeply appreciate you, even though that one time you showed me pictures of cute bunnies after i ate rabbit schnitzel, because you’re also cruel and unusual

and PHEW am i glad you liked the noir AU I wrote a couple days ago (which should be read before this because otherwise it makes no sense) because otherwise this would be awkward! i was gonna write you something else, but that was for the prompt you requested ages (and AGES) ago and that felt like a cop-out. but literally nothing happens here, so view this as PART 1 and PART 2, the answer to prompt (which couldn’t fit here and contains something of a Story) will be coming later

i hope you enjoy and i love you and i hope you had a great day!!! :-**

Silverflint, rated E because cmon it’s for El

Three days after they first met, Silver rolls out from under him and asks, “Hey, didn’t you want me to make you any liquor at some point?”

Flint stops sucking on his neck. “Anyone ever tell you, you got a good work ethic?”

“Really?”

Flint hums, begins moving lower down Silver’s body. “A good work ethic turns me on.”

A few hours later, he leaves Silver out smoking on the fire escape while he makes a phone call. He normally sleeps in the office above The Walrus, but it’s good to have a place to himself, too. His apartment isn’t lavish like the other men in his profession, but he’s never been a lavish man. Being a crook hasn’t changed that. It’s dim and quiet, too-often dusty. But he’s got a view of the city, and his favorite Chinese restaurant is downstairs. It’s the perfect place to lie low in case the heat is on, or in case he wants a little privacy. In all his time in Atlantic City, it’s always been the former. This makes for a nice change.

Plus, he can always count on the fact that, no matter the time of day, Billy the Bones will be held up in his office.

“I wondered where you’d run off to,” Billy says, crunching on some ice loudly into the receiver. “I thought you’d finally flung yourself off the pier.”

“Did you send out a search party?”

“Nah,” says Billy. “I’ve never known you do something you didn’t mean. Final wishes, and all.”

“I found a bootlegger.”

“Drowning would have been less of a surprise,” says Billy. “I thought this day would never come.”

From the desk in his parlor, he can see Silver out the window. His hair is a wild mass, too curly to properly style, and he likes the way it sits at the nape of his neck. He’d forgone a shirt entirely, sweat getting trapped between his skin and suspenders, and every so often he’ll shift to idly scratch the itch. He looks like the worst fever Flint ever had. Looking at him gives Flint the shakes.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Flint to Billy. “It needed to happen. Can’t afford to keep losing cargo to the waters. Anyone ever hear from Rackham?”

“Hell, you really have been under a rock these last few days. Feds picked up the Ranger two miles from the Florida coast.”

Flint sighs. He can’t let himself feel more than a trace of sympathy for them, but he feels it. They more than knew the risk involved, after all. At least he can be sure they didn’t drop a dime on him, or else he’d have heard from Billy days ago.

“All the more reason to go in on our own,” Flint says, rubbing his forehead. “Our own joint, our own supply. It’ll be simpler this way.”

“Yeah, as simple as a bullet to the brain.” They call him Billy the Bones because he breaks them, but also because he’ll speak to you plain. Which sometimes means stating the obvious. “We’ll still have the A.C. Feds on us, especially without Miss Guthrie paying ‘em off.”

Flint needs a smoke, but his case is empty. He’d given his last to Silver, but that’s fine. He’s been thinking about using Silver’s stomach to roll his cigarettes ever since he first took his shirt off. “I’ll smooth things over with her,” Flint assures. “She likes me.”

“She likes your money more.” There’s a pause over the line as Billy helps himself to more of Flint’s private stash of booze. “You sure about the guy? You really mean to do this?”

Silver finishes his cigarette and crawls back in through the window. He tries to be casual about it, not let his embarrassment show at how awkward his wooden leg makes his movements. Flint enjoys the show, however. He likes the way the muscles in Silver’s arms move.

Once Silver gets inside, he ignores Flint on the phone. He picks up Flint’s hat, much nicer than his own, and tries it on in front of the mirror. He’d probably look more dapper with a shirt on, but Flint’s not about to give him any ideas about putting on more clothes.

“I never do anything I don’t mean,” Flint says, eyes on Silver. “How long?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, a faint scratch of pencil. “I can probably get us off the ground by the end of the week.”

“Probably?”

“I can get us off the ground by the end of the week,” says Billy, still scratching. “When do I get to meet this guy?”

Flint doesn’t want to admit that he has no idea what day it is. He thinks it might be a Sunday. Or maybe it just feels like how a summer Sunday afternoon is supposed to feel. The sound of mandolins from the restaurant downstairs twinkle into the apartment, somehow audible over the bells and hollers of the busy city street. The sun creeps in through the windows like a burglar, hotter than the devil, and Silver strolling by with Flint’s hat still on, heading to the kitchen to run some water over his face again. He pauses to run a hand through Flint’s hair as he goes by. It definitely feels like a Sunday afternoon.

Flint says, “Soon enough. You know I like to get to know a guy before jumping into bed with him.”

“Who were you just lying to?” Silver asks once Flint’s off the phone. He’s running a wet rag over his bare neck.

“The man arranging your distillery.” He unsticks himself from his chair. He probably should have put some pants on before calling Billy. He’d moved into the apartment in January. There’d been no telling then how fucking brutal the summers are

“Good thinking, not putting any clothes back on.” Silver drops the rag, comes over to grab his ass and chew on his ear. “It’s good to know I’m going into a business with a man who has that kind of forethought.”

Flint hustles him over to the couch, and they neck for awhile. He clings to Silver’s suspenders like a half-remembered dream, rubbing his cock against Silver’s pleated trousers which, on closer inspection, might actually be Flint’s. They stay that until the sun starts to lower, night rising slowly in the sky like a new bruise. He can’t remember the last time he’d gone this long without holding a gun. He never before knew how exhilarating it is to feel calm.

Eventually, Silver shimmies up the couch, forcing Flint up. Somehow, he’s managed to keep Flint’s hat on, although it’s cocked over his eyes. He pushes his suspenders off his shoulders, the top button the trousers already loose.

“I wasn’t lying before,” Flint says, eyeing the rest of the buttons like they’d done something personally to offend him. “I do like to get to know someone before getting into bed with them. Only it’s a figurative bed, in this case. I take my business more seriously than – whatever this is.”

It’s the kind of thing that might offend a dame, but Silver shrugs. “Of course.” He also stops unbuttoning his pants. “Although, I’m not ashamed to say, I’ve never stuck around so long after a fuck. I’ve never been in anyone’s arms without keeping one eye on the closest exit. So that….might be something.”

“Me too.” Flint says, though he is a little ashamed to say it. “About the sticking around thing. Did have someone once, a long time ago. That was before the war.”

Silver doesn’t ask him for any specifics, which Flint appreciates. “Never done anything like this, this fast either,” Silver admits, with the smallest of smirks. “It’s not so easy with a fella. It’s either a quick blow in a back alley somewhere, or dancing around him for months to see if he’s even kind of interested in pulling. Either way, it can be a pain.”

Flint curls his fingers over the edge of Silver’s waistband, and finally tugs them down. They must be Flint’s, the way they slide down easily over his hips. He finds he’s fallen madly in love with Silver’s legs, but he can’t figure out how to tell Silver that without pissing him off. Sure, he’s only got one and a half now, but Christ, they’re working overtime to make up for it. He loves the muscle, the pale skin visible beneath the dark black hairs, how good they feel clenched tight around his waist. For some reason, the foot has always struck Flint as the most masculine feature, more so than even the cock or the chest. Silver’s foot is long and slender, finely haired and veined, perfectly arched and one-of-a-kind, like the fucking Arc de Triomphe.

“If either of us were a dame,” Flint says, tugging the trousers delicately over the edge of Silver’s wooden leg. It doesn’t bother him, but Silver removes it anyway, “no one would bat an eye at us tumbling to bed right away. Hell, by now, people would be expecting wedding bells already.”

Silver pauses in unbuckling his boot. “You asking me to marry you?”

“No, I’m asking you to go into business with me,” Flint says. “Almost the same thing. Great risk of financial ruin, codependency, emotional strife, but at least this way there won’t be any fucking kids in the mix.”

“It’s not that easy,” Silver says. “It can’t be.”

“You came into my life just as I was contemplating a change,” Flint says. “And you got more change than a piggy bank, doll.” He sits back on the other end of the couch, content to just look at him for awhile. “I don’t need to tell you, but there are two things you learn, being stuck in a trench.”

“How not to panic and blow your brains out when you realize the man you’ve been speaking to for twenty minutes hasn’t had his lower half attached to his upper half the entire time?”

“Okay, three things.”

“That there is no God and there never was, but that sure as Hell doesn’t mean there isn’t a devil.”

“Okay, four things. Will you let me finish?”

Silver presses his toes into Flint’s stomach, trailing down. He smiles in a way that implies he’s seen the way Flint looks at his foot. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Flint twitches in an effort to keep still, as Silver’s foot moves over him. “You learn that your country has no goddamn respect for you, your life, your potential, your future, and that it hasn’t actually done anything to earn the same.”

“Wow. You mean to tell me you were an upstanding young citizen before the war?”

“You bet your sweet ass I was.” He pours himself over Silver like a thunderstorm, grabbing said sweet ass. Silver’s foot is still braced against him, drawn up on his thigh. “You weren’t?”

“”Fraid I’ve always been a cad,” says Silver, arching into him, sliding his leg over Flint’s back. “What’s the second thing? Or fourth thing?”

“That life is too short and too fucking ridiculous to pussyfoot around with what you want,” Flint says. “That the only thing you can plan for is the sunrise and the sunset, and any other attempt in between is just bathwater.”

Silver cups his neck, bringing him forward to kiss. “Well, that’s jake,” he says against Flint’s lips. “But I’m sorry to say I already made plans for us this evening.”

“Is that right?”

Silver hums. “First, I was gonna blow you while wearing this swell hat of yours,” he says. “And then I was gonna have you go downstairs and fetch me some of that chop suey I like.”

“And who’s saying I’m not getting to know you?” asks Flint, already falling backwards again onto the couch. He’s been half-hard since they first started kissing on the couch, after his phone call, but he’d felt no rush to deal with it. He could acknowledge it without caring too much, like the financial section of the papers. A cursory glance, but he’d had other headlines to read.

Silver crawls panther-like over him, settling in between his thighs with his stupid fedora still on his head. He grips Flint’s cock and runs his wet lips from tip to base, before leaning under to nuzzle his balls. Flint moans, curling forward. He wants to grip his hair but the damn hat is in the way, so he squeezes Silver’s neck instead.

Silver’s hum of pleasure at being held hits Flint like a good song – the fine hairs on his arms all stand on end and he finds himself wanting to hear it over and over, knowing instantly he’ll never tire of the sound. Then Silver kisses up Flint’s length with obscene smacks before sealing his lips over the head and sucking down.

“Fuck!” Flint cries out, legs closing tightly around Silver’s head instinctively. He feels Silver moan against him, and then Silver suddenly stops sucking. He grabs the inside of Flint’s thighs and wrenches them apart, keeping him there with a strong hold.

“Don’t crumple your hat,” Silver pulls off to say sternly. “It costs more than my entire apartment.”

Before Flint could respond, Silver swallows him down completely. Flint curses again, back arching, but with Silver’s hold on his legs he can barely thrust forward into Silver’s generous mouth. The joints in his thighs ache at being held open, and he feels aggressively exposed like this, unable to do much else beside pant and curse and scratch at Silver, digging his heels into his shoulderblades.

Silver keeps pushing down on Flint’s thighs, fingers spread and pressing into the freckles there like a pianist who fell asleep at the keys. All Flint hears is a loud, echoing, vibrating din in his heart. He’s hoping their endeavor together is successful, but one way or another he thinks Silver might ruin him.

He comes looking down at Silver’s eyes beneath the hat, blue and nimble as a melody that’ll stick in his head for the rest of the night. When he finally lets go of Flint’s thighs, they’re slow to come back together. The stretch always feels good, in the end.

He’s breathing like a man late to his own confession, watching Silver wipe at the corner of his lips with his thumb. Silver taps the brim of the fedora with a finger so it’s tilted back over his head. It’s not the first time he’s sucked Flint’s cock since their isolation began, but every time afterwards he looks to Flint like he’s waiting for a shiny blue ribbon.

Flint reaches for him. “Let me…”

Silver pushes his hand away. “Later. Gives us something to do after dinner. Chop suey, if you please.”

When Flint slides this trousers on, the same pair Silver had on earlier, Silver pulls him down by the waist to kiss him. He hasn’t put his leg back on yet, and is lounging naked on the couch like Cleopatra. He plops the hat back on Flint’s head, even though he’s just going downstairs, wearing an undershirt and no shoes.

“I want you to know I’m taking this seriously,” Silver says. “Our partnership. I know you’re putting a lot on faith, with me.” He tucks an errant red curl behind Flint’s ear. “It’s a risk. You’re gonna catch a lot of trouble with troublesome people, I wager.”

Neither of them have found time to shave these last couple days. Flint likes the soft hiss of their stubble brushing together when he bites the corner of Silver’s mouth, far more than he likes the words coming out of it. “No worries, doll. We’re in the clear with this.”

Silver smiles against him, barely enough space between them for a tune to pass through. “Hell,” he says. “That bad, huh?”

When Flint’s walking back up the tiny, dark staircase to his apartment a little while later, delicious food warm in his hands, he has to pause at his door. The only light in the hall comes from the small windows above each entryway, and his is glowing hot and yellow. He rests his forehead against the chipped wood, feeling the noise. Since he stepped out, Silver has found his Columbia Grafonola and got it working. He can hear the muffled lilt of Lee Morse seeping through the cracks in his old home, and even though he’s listening to it from the other side, it sounds clearer than any bell he’s ever heard. His place seems alive for the first time in a very long time, just from the knowledge that there’s someone else on the inside of it.

It’s not that bad at all. There’s no way it could be.

[jadedbirch]

Look, bubbles! - silverflint

For Mistress Elle, I hereby fill this prompt!  :*  This takes place in the fanfiction gap between seasons 2 and 3.

“Captain, a word?”

Flint turned to find a woman standing behind him, wearing far too elegant a dress for such a hellhole, or so the tavern had begun to appear to him post the events of Charles Town.

“You’re Eleanor’s… uh… replacement,” he said, recognizing the Madame and the new proprietor of Eleanor’s business.  Rackham and Bonny’s wily little partner.  Who helped fuck him.

“Max,” she smiled a benevolent smile at him.“I remember you,” he said, unable to hold back a scowl.

“It’s about your quartermaster,” Max said, familiarly winding her arm into his and drawing him away from the bar.

“What’s he done?” Flint growled.  He wouldn’t underestimate Silver’s ability to still somehow fuck shit up for him, even short one leg.  The pirate alliance in Nassau was far too new and too fragile to toss away.  He batted down the sudden pang of worry that crept into his belly as he allowed Max to lead him across the walkway and… towards the brothel.  “Jesus, don’t tell me he’s killed one of your workers.”

“It is nothing like that,” Max spoke quietly.  “It is simply a matter that I thought best dealt with by you directly, lest word got out.”

Well, that wasn’t terribly reassuring.  Flint sighed.  “Is he all right?” 

“He is unharmed,” Max said, and that, too, wasn’t terribly reassuring.

“Christ,” he muttered, following her down the corridor, past the sounds of overzealous fuckery that emanated through the thin walls.

She stopped before one of the rooms, gesturing for him to halt while she knocked on the door:  three short taps and one loud one.  The door opened, and through the crack Flint beheld Anne Bonny’s threatening scowl, which melted into a soft smile as she nodded and stepped aside to allow them free passage inside.

“After you, Captain,” Max nodded, gesturing for Flint to enter.  

In the bedroom, he beheld a curious sight.  By the large bed stood a brass washing basin, surrounded by a large puddle where a peg leg lay sprawled in a state of half-drowned melancholy.  A mop of wild curls spilled over the lip of the tub.  The mop of curls appeared to be - Lord aid him - singing some kind of a sea shanty that Flint would scarcely want to contemplate where Silver may have picked up.

Flint looked over at Max, who stood quietly by Bonny’s side, both their faces unreadable and entirely unhelpful.  He took a few more steps closer, circling to the foot of the tub, where Silver lay in all his disrobed glory, hands slapping like the fins of a struggling fish against the surface of the bath water.

“Silver,” Flint said, not certain what exactly he was expected to do with the “situation” unfolding before him.

A pair of limpid blue eyes slowly rose to fix upon his nose.  “Look, bubbles!” Silver offered, with an idiotic grin spreading over his face.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Flint finally asked.

“He showed up in my room,” Max began to explain a bit helplessly, “drunk out of his mind and raving.  We haven’t been able to get him to leave since.”

“And whose idea was it to give him a bath?” Flint asked, eyes still taking in the sight before him.  This sight, although not particularly uplifting, was nevertheless not entirely unpleasant.

“His own,” Bonny ground through her teeth.

“I did not think it was wise to allow your men to see him like this,” Max continued.  

“So, let him prune in there, what do I care?” Flint snapped.  “Surely you two can find another place to shack up for the night,” he smiled at Max and her little partner with all his teeth.

“Get ‘im out, or I’ll fetch Jack and Vane next,” Bonny snarled.  “He’s yer quartermaster.  That makes ’im yer bloody problem, don’t it?”

Flint’s hand twitched towards the hilt of his sword, mirrored immediately by the quick movement of Anne Bonny’s hands.  Their alliance, he reminded himself, was still far too fragile to throw away over one drunk, naked quartermaster, playing with bath bubbles in the middle of some Sapphic inferno.

“Fine,” Flint muttered, relaxing his hands.  “Just… give me some time to get him decent again, and I’ll get him out of your… hair.”

“I would appreciate it, Captain,” Max smiled again, taking Bonny by the hand.  “We’ll be downstairs if anything…”“Go,” he interrupted her. 

“Come, Anne.”  

Flint watched Bonny follow the Madame out the door, her scowl once again melting under that soft, expert touch.  With the women both gone, and the door closed tightly behind them, he let out another defeated sigh and sank down upon the unmade, ruffled bed, letting his head sink into the hold of his own hands.

“God damn it, Silver,” he muttered, addressing neither particularly the man in the tub nor whatever deity kept dangling this man before him, like some exotic and most certainly forbidden fruit.

“God damn it, Silver,” the pruning nuisance echoed him from the tub.

“What are you, a fucking parrot?” Flint snorted, raising his head and looking the man before him over from head to his one remaining set of toes, that dangled over the edge of the tub. 

“Caw-caw!” Silver replied.  “Wish that I were, Captain, wish that I were.  For were I a parrot, I could spread my wings and fly the fuck far, far away from here.  Do you think parrots need two legs to perch?  I suppose it might be an inconvenience.”  Silver once again clapped his hands against the surface of the water, sending soap suds either which way. 

“You’re making a mess,” Flint pointed out a bit despondently.

“Aye, that is my specialty,” Silver nodded and graced Flint with a wide eyed grin.  “Can we stay here?” he suddenly asked.  “I like it.  ‘S quiet.”

“Quiet,” Flint repeated, just as his ears picked up reinvigorated sounds of a squeaking bed and amorous grunts from beyond the wall.  “Jesus, how much did you have to drink, Silver?”

“Not nearly enough, if you ask me,” Silver replied with that same grin.  “I can still feel my legs.  Both of them.  Which, in itself, is disconcerting.”  One of his arms reached from the tub towards Flint.  “Can you check, Captain?  It hasn’t grown back, has it?”

“Only if you’re secretly part lizard,” Flint replied, his furrowed eyebrows softening.  He slinked down from the bed and sank to the wet floor by the side of the tub.  “Silver, I need you to help me get you out of there.”

“No,” Silver pouted.  “Not out.  In.  Stay here with me, Captain.”

“The water’s surely grown cold.  You might catch your death.”

“In the infernal heat of Nassau?” Silver asked with an air of a highly offended individual.  His arm moved again, trailing across Flint’s shoulder.  “Huh,” he muttered with a dazed look.

“Come on, Silver.” Flint gathered himself and leaned over the tub, allowing his arms to dip under the water and lock behind Silver’s back.  “Let’s go.  Put your arms around my neck.”  Why exactly was God testing him like this?  Oh yes, probably because God, too, as well as the King,  was incredibly offended by his existence. 

Blessedly, his quartermaster did as he was told, for once, lifting up his arms and circling them around Flint’s neck, like a very amiable python.  Silver reached up and rested his forehead against Flint’s own and closed his eyes, apparently in no rush to actually be lifted out of the tub. 

“Put your leg back in and push,” Flint suggested.

“Nah. This is nice, too.”  Silver’s hand brushed against the freshly shaven skin of Flint’s skull, shocking him.  He had not grown entirely used to the feel of it yet since he had updated his look, and having another man’s hand on the exposed, vulnerable skin left Flint unbalanced.  “Prickly,” Silver muttered.

Flint could at this point let the man go and step away from the tub.  He could very easily walk out of that room and leave Max and her lover to follow through on their threat of fetching his new partners (who have all fucked him repeatedly). These all seemed like very logical and achievable choices.  Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed Silver to continue touching the back of his head with those long fingers while his body lay exposed and wet in Flint’s unexpected embrace.

“Do you ever think about kissing me?” Silver asked, his arms tightening around Flint’s neck.  “Because I do.  I mean, you.  I mean, I think about kissing you.  All the time.”  Silver’s breath tickled the hollow of Flint’s neck.  “Which is kind of suicidal of me, really.  I usually have much better self-preservation skills than that.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Flint practically moaned.  He pulled upwards, attempting to drag Silver bodily out of the tub, with or without his assistance.

“James Flint,” Silver muttered, his head rolling back, his body limp and clinging at the same time.  “You’re so strong, Captain.  God, how are you this strong?”

“I’m mostly powered by rage and a festering sense of my own superiority,” Flint explained with a grunt as he fell backwards into Max’s bed, pulling Silver’s unhelpful body along with him.

“That sounds right,” Silver purred against his ear, wetly - God help him - cuddling up against Flint’s side.  “But I’d still really like to kiss you.”

“Perhaps when you’re sober,” Flint protested, weakly, attempting to brush the other man off.

“Again, when I’m sober,” Silver mewled amicably, pressing his open mouth against the thin material of Flint’s shirt where it barely covered his shoulder after all the effort of reeling that unwieldy fish out of the water.

Silver’s body was already beginning to warm to the touch, the sheets absorbing the moisture from his skin, and Flint smirked at the thought of Max and Bonny finding their sheets somewhat worse for wear upon their return. 

“You’re really good at this, you know,” Silver spoke again.  It was strangely good to see him like this, pliant and with that smile of contentment on his handsome features which had been so oft marred by agony in the past months. 

“At what?” Flint asked, breathlessly.

“Taking care of me.”

Perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal, in the grand scheme of his moral transgressions, especially of late.  Flint wrapped one arm around Silver’s naked, narrow waist and pressed him closer, letting their lips touch with gentle uncertainty.  After everything that Silver had stolen from him, perhaps the least he could do in return is steal a kiss back. Even if only one of them remembered it in the morning.

[imaginedmelody]

If Flint was afraid enough of the power that Silver was gaining - nah, still don't see it (jeez, I hope I'm not coming off confrontational! sorry!!). he's been fine with pirate king silver and wants him and madi to rule. it was never about kingship for flint. he just didn't trust anyone to do a good job with it. until he met silver and found a true partner in him and who was worthy to be a king (remember how he wanted thomas to be governor?).

Hey again! Believe me, you are not coming off as confrontational. I don’t mind in the slightest! And I wouldn’t post if I didn’t want people to share their thoughts. :)

I kind of feel that part of Flint wants the first thing you said- Silver as king, and Madi ruling with him. I don’t think he was lying when he said that. But the second part comes more from what writer/producer Jonathan Steinberg said in the post-ep featurette, something like “We’re watching the horrifying realization dawn on Flint…that he is the weaker of the two.” Silver is clever, and manipulative, and while Flint knows unequivocally that he will be a great king, he’s also equally likely to become a threat. So I believe Flint wants to build him up, but he’s not giving all his cards away- he needs to know how to take him down too if his creation turns ugly. Let’s face it, Thomas has a much more reliable history of being trustworthy than Silver does- and I doubt Flint will have forgotten that. I think a large part of the tension in this relationship, especially approaching its final moments, is that each of them is devoted to the other but still keeping that trump card close to the chest, the one thing they need to take each other down if this precarious situation goes south. Flint is sometimes impulsive and illogical (when temper and desperation take over), but he is also very aware of how dangerous it is to give too much of his power to someone else. He’s been his only ally for too long to believe otherwise. If worst comes to worst, he’ll want to have the ability to finish the job himself. And that might mean getting rid of Silver in the process, if it comes down to it.

[skitscratched]

Hat - Chapter 3

Summary: The Roger Pirates get a doctor.

Chapter 3 - Gol Arc: Medicine and Misunderstandings

So yeah. Roger got us a crewmate! And it was Silvers Rayleigh!

If there was any chance of me being able to deny being in One Piece before, it's gone kaput now.

Honestly, it was a real stroke of luck that Roger gotRayleigh as his first cremate. Likely in both Canon and this one. Rayleigh is able to navigate the Blues with little to no problem. He's also level-headed, responsible and competent in just about every way necessary on a pirate ship.

Seriously, how the fuck was Roger's luck this good and how can I get me some of that?

Well, regardless, with Rayleigh, we rapidly gathered up more crewmates. He was a lot more capable when picking out someone to join than Roger's method of asking everyone he thinks is cool. We managed to get a swordsman, a cook, a couple of snipers and a lookout. I told Roger and Rayleigh - after Rayleigh was convinced I wasn't a sign that crazy was infectious - that I'd rather not be known to the entire crew. Just those two knowing about me was enough.

With a bigger crew, we soon needed a bigger ship, not that that was much of a problem. We just robbed most of the more… unpleasant pirates we came across of their treasure. Not like they'll need it at the bottom of the sea.

Still, by the time we set off for the Grand Line, we still haven't managed to recruit a capable sea doctor. A few of our crewmates knew basic first aid, but that doesn't make up for the lack of real medical knowledge. The only reason I didn't protest the matter was because I knew Crocus was at the beginning of the Grand Line and we would recruit him before we really set off to our first island.

"ALRIGHT!" Roger excitedly screams. "THE GRAND LINE!"

None of the pirates around him could seem to keep the smiles off their faces, no matter how small or large they ended up being. This was what they were all waiting for. The Grand Line.

"Cool your heels, Roger." Rayleigh says, amused. In the past few months, he's gotten swept up in Roger's chaos more times than he wants to count, so he's had to get used to going with the flow. Still, someone has to be the reasonable one. "We're not going to be there for a little while yet."

"Boo!" Roger sulks. "You party pooper."

:: Did you seriously think we would be there the moment you woke up from your nap? ::

"Well no, but I thought we would have at least been able to see the Red Line by now." Roger complains. "Also, are you sure I can't tell any of the others about you? I mean- "

:: For the last time, YES, I'm sure. Goda, just because you don't like speaking to me in your head is not going to make me budge from my decision. ::

"Hey, what is Goda anyways?"

:: The God of this world. All he requires to worship him is an interesting story. In our case, living out adventures is plenty. Oh look! We're here! ::

Roger's head whips to the side as he gets a clear view of the Red Line, easily forgetting about the topic he was discussing with Felix, who wishes he could sweatdrop at how short Roger's attention span could be.

:: Roger, you should really get Rayleigh to prep the ship for Reverse Mountain. We need to catch the right current to get through without dying. ::

"Got it." "Rayleigh!" Roger calls back. "Set the ship to ride the current up Reverse Mountain!"

Rayleigh blinks, though he moves to do what he's ordered to before asking, "Is this something else Felix told you?" The, just now, was left unsaid between them.

"Yep!" Roger nods. "The currents flow up the mountain and then take us down into the Grand Line."

"You know," Flint, the older brother of Fleur and part of a sniper duo with her, asks. "I'd like to meet this Felix one day. It sounds like he knows a lot about the Grand Line. He must have some interesting stories to tell about it."

Roger glances at his Hat, "Nah, he just gave me some advice before I set sail is all. He knows a few things here and there."

:: Oh ho? What's this? Roger's able to tell a lie of omission now? I'm so proud of you. ::

"Keep that up and I'll tell the others whether you like it or not."

:: Shutting up now! ::

For the next few minutes, the crew on The Satisfaction moved in practiced motions as Rayleigh shouted out orders to keep the crew on course.

"Alright, that should do it." Rayleigh says as he turns away from the sea with a cruel smirk. "You better hope I didn't get it wrong because if we crash now, we're done for."

"Ah who cares!" Roger laughs, throwing his head back. "There is no better way to die than without regrets!"

"WE CARE YOU IDIOT!" Came the shouts of his crew.

Roger rubs at an ear. "Yeesh, fine. Umm, how about..," Roger tilts his head as if listening to something the crew couldn't hear. "Okay I got it. 'If we don't make it out alive, we'll haunt your afterlife?'"

Rayleigh shakes his head with a small amused smile on his face. "Aye Aye Captain."

:: You know, Rayleigh is a lot more amenable to calling you Captain than when we first met him. He must have gotten attached to your brand of chaos. ::

"Huh? What are you talking about? Of course he calls me Captain. I'm the Captain."

:: ...It's times like these that I wonder how it's possible for you to be so perceptive about things other people over look and so oblivious to things that are obvious. ::

"Roger giving you a hard time Felix?" Rayleigh asks in a low voice as the rest of the crew enjoy the ride up Reverse Mountain.

Roger pouts. "I'm not that bad."

"Yes you are." Rayleigh deadpans in coincidental unison with Felix. "I remember the one time you didn't have Felix with you when we went to an island. Never again." Rayleigh feverently swears. "I never want to try to reel you in by myself ever again.

"But-"

"NEVER." Rayleigh glares at Roger.

"Captain!" Flint calls out. "I think I see the top!"

In an instant, Roger appears at the figurehead of the ship, eagerly anticipating the ride back down. From what Felix said, it's supposed to be amazing.

:: When have I ever been wrong? Hold onto your Hat, it's gonna be wild! ::

Roger clasps a hand over his Hat just in time to keep it from being blown off his head by the strong winds as they rush down the other side of Reverse Mountain. Roger whoops and hollers the entire way down along with the rest of his crew.

"You know, I'm getting flashbacks to the Squirrels. There aren't any giant animals at the end of this ride, is there?"

:: ...ahe. There's just one? ::

Roger glances up at his Hat in alarm. "Felix!"

:: It's harmless and probably won't- ah shit. Damn you Murphy. ::

"All hands on deck!" Rayleigh shouts, having seen what Felix just did. "Hard to Port! There's an opening around it on the left!"

The crew called out affirmatives as they rushed to follow Rayleigh's commands. Rayleigh himself pulls Roger out of the way and grabs Felix off his head and places him rather forcefully on his own.

"Why the fuck didn't you say anything about the giant whale at the end of Reverse Mountain."

:: ...I thought it wouldn't be there? ::

"Felix!" Roger whisper shouts. "We nearly crashed because of it."

:: He's not as big as he could have been. He'll be twice this size in about thirty years. ::

"That doesn't make it better!" Rayleigh thinks furiously.

:: Well what do you want me to do! I thought he would know to stay clear of the opening of Reverse Mountain! Dozens of ships before us had to pass through here! ::

"And dozens probably crashed because of it too." Rayleigh sighs. "Just prepare us before we reach these things next time. And I thought Roger was bad enough."

:: Hey! I heard that! I'm nowhere near as bad as he is! ::

"I'm still here!" Roger points out.

"You were meant to. Both of you." Rayleigh places Felix back on Roger's head, glancing over Roger's shoulder at the rest of the crew. "Looks like they managed to divert us just in time."

"Yeah, well, we almost didn't." Markel, the cook, says with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. "The heck were you bozos doing back here?"

Rayleigh frowns. "Sorry about that. I thought that Roger forgot to tell me about the giant whale. Turns out that Felix never mentioned it. I'll make sure to leave the reaming for later next time."

"Next time?" Roger complains. "It's not as if I do these things on purpose."

"So you say." Rayleigh mutters. Then in a much louder voice, he says, "I remember this one time, not long after I met you, involving cannibals, cannibals that eat cannibals, and the two of us stuck between them. In fact I vividly remember the clothes you were tricked into wearing too. What was it again? Oh right it-"

"I get it, I get it!" Roger yelps. "I thought we agreed to never speak of that again!"

Rayleigh remains unimpressed. "You did. I wasn't the one who managed to insult their ancestors from three hundred years back."

Markel stares, his previous annoyance forgotten. "Seriously, if you're not going to share what happened stop talking about these things in front of us. Dammit, I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about this for a while." He grumbles as he returns to the galley.

"AGH!" Flint cries out, clutching his side as he collapses by the cannons. The entire crew snaps to alert, searching for their comrade's attacker. It wasn't hard. A man wearing a dark pink sleeveless shirt, a pink hat dotted with black spots, shorts and sandals was standing in plain view of the ship. The most damning thing about the flower-like man were the harpoons he had resting in his hand and on his back.

"Tch." He shoves his glasses further up his face. "I missed."

"#&^$& !" Fleur curses. Despite her flowery name, there was nothing remotely ladylike about her. She could tumble with the guys, knock back an entire cargo ship of alcohol and slap the shit out of the bastards who inevitably hit on her without blinking an eye.

Roger nearly attacked him on sight, if it wasn't for Rayleigh holding an arm out in his way. Only the same fury in Rayleigh's eyes kept Roger from ignoring his request. Request, because they both knew that Roger was stronger, for now.

Rayleigh keeps one eye on Flint until another crewmate is able to patch him up before giving their assailant his full attention. "We're not looking for trouble. We just want to get past to the Grand Line." He says tersely.

:: Oh I get it. Roger, we don't have a real doctor. It's better if we don't get hurt fighting just as we start out in Paradise. We could take him down easily, but there's always the chance that our crewmates could get hurt in the crossfire. ::

"I couldn't give a flying fuck why you're here." Crocus spits, his grip on his weapon tightening. "But that gunner of yours was going to shoot Laboon and I won't stand for that."

"Laboon?" A glint of realization enters Rayleigh's eyes. "The whale."

"That's right." Crocus grunts, watching the entire crew warily. "I was asked to look after him until his Captain came back. Any attacks on him, I'll return tenfold."

"Flint." Rayleigh says, never taking his gaze off their aggressor. "Why were you going to shoot the whale?"

It takes a moment, but Flint manages to croak out, "Wasn't gonna. It was coming- too close to the ship. Was aiming for a warning shot."

"A warning…" Crocus' eyes widen in shock and a hint of guilt enters his features. "I'm sorry. I was too hasty in assuming he was aiming to kill. Too many pirates aim for Laboon's vitals when they try to pass and I assumed that you were the same." He says remorsefully.

Roger relaxes and nods when Rayleigh glances his way. Crocus' Voice was saying he was telling the truth. It genuinely was a misunderstanding.

Crocus himself is unaware of this exchange between Captain and First Mate. Instead, he was paying attention to Flint's treatment. "That's not how you treat an injury that large, especially not when created by a harpoon." His eyes flick up and holds Roger's gaze. "I'm a doctor. I understand that you may not trust me after what I've done, but as it was my fault, I am willing to help him."

Roger doesn't hesitate to accept, much to Fleur's dismay. The crew still keeps an eye on Crocus as he boards the ship and tends to their crewmate, but save for Fleur - who glares at Crocus the entire time - it is less with antagonism and more with caution.

"It'll be around a week until he's well enough to do anything more serious than walking again." Crocus says as he packs his equipment up, having grabbed his medical supplies before boarding. "But other than that, he shouldn't have any problems healing."

"Yeah, from an injury YOU gave him!" Fleur yells, trembling in fury.

Crocus bows his head slightly. "As I said before, I am sorry for that. However, I do not regret acting in Laboon's defense."

"What's up with that anyways?" Roger asks, nearly all animosity gone after Crocus offered to treat Flint. "That's an island whale right? I remember seeing them in West Blue. What's one doing all the way out here?"

Crocus stands. "I suppose you have the right to know considering it's the reason I attacked your crew in the first place."

"Twenty years, huh?" Rayleigh tilts his head back in thought. "That's awfully long for a pirate crew to leave a friend behind."

Crocus frowns. "I'm aware. At this point I don't have much hope of them being alive, but there's no real way for me to find out what happened to them. I only wish I could tell Laboon their fate, if only so he can make his peace with it and move on, but he won't believe it if there's even a chance I'm wrong."

Roger brightens. "Hey! We need a doctor and it seems like you're plenty strong. Why don't you come with us? You can find out the truth and tell Laboon when you come back."

Crocus raises an eyebrow. "And leave Laboon here alone?"

"Well, why don't we ask him?" Roger doesn't wait for Crocus' answer. "LABOON! DOWN HERE!"

"Gah!" Rayleigh rubs his ear as he was unfortunate enough to be directly next to Roger's eardrum bursting shout. He slaps Roger upside the head. "Don't do that!"

Roger rolls with it, too used to Rayleigh's weak - to him because Rayleigh hasn't learned Haki yet - hits and looks into the island whale's giant eye. "Laboon, Crocus wants to find out what happened to your crew, but doesn't want to leave you here alone. Are you alright with staying here alone for a few years while he travels with us?"

"BWOOO." Laboon bellows.

"Alright, thanks! I promise we'll bring him back to you!" Roger waves.

Crocus slaps Roger upside the head too. "Don't just take that for a yes!"

"But it was." Roger rubs his head. Rayleigh cuts in before Crocus slaps him again.

"Roger has always been able to understand animals. If he says that Laboon agreed, then Laboon agreed."

Crocus turns to Laboon. "Is this true? You really want me to go with them to find out what happened?"

Laboon makes a series of shorter cries that Crocus must have taught him. Crocus leans back, satisfied with Laboon's answer. "If that's what you really want. I'll make sure to come back alive."

Crocus turns back to his new Captain. "Looks like you've got yourself a doctor."

"Yes!" Roger jumps up, fist in the air. "Ah, what's your name again?"

Crocus shakes his head. "My name's Crocus, and I'm one of the best doctors you'll find this side of the Grand Line."

"Good." Rayleigh nods. "With how much trouble our Captain brings, we'll need your expertise. It's fortunate that we came across you so soon."

"Yeah, just a minute here." Fleur interjects. "This guy's joining?" Nods and affirmatives all around. "Then I need to this first."

She steps up and punches Crocus into the Red Line before anyone could really stop her. "That's for my brother you asshole. Now we're even."

Crocus rubs his jaw, already swelling slightly. "Suppose I deserved that."

Fleur snorts. "Damn right you did. Don't do anything like it again and we'll get along just fine."

The men watch her walk back to the ship. "I got off easy?" Crocus asks.

"Yep."