#i just love hearing about ocs!!!
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*Insert Van Buren voice* Hiiiiii~ Ro~ How are are you? It's been a long time since I did something for obey me, I still love the series but so many new things *glances at my Haikyuu ocs*
Jehehe Hiiii darling, Yan!!! I’m doing good! How have you been?~ ngl taking a lil break from obey me! sounds relaxing lolol
Ooooh new fandoms ‘n stuff is always soo exciting!!!!-
‘n omggg more new OCs??- Even better new haikyuu OCs?? 👀 what are they like??? 👀
#only if you wanna share ofc!#i just love hearing about ocs!!!#and haikyuu is one of my all time favorite animes <3#moot mail!#as always I’m sending you lots of love <333
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the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)
#we should have had the option to leave him in the fade instead of hawke or a warden#he would've just annoyedly shuffled his way back out of there a week later#dragon age#dragon age origins#first enchanter irving#he must be SO annoying to the chantry because it's heavily implied he's made his playground#out of tirelessly finding technicalities and loopholes to exploit that they can't *quite* call him on without domino effects going off#I think first enchanter in the circle system at origins times is a position that invariably and inevitably leaves you morally compromised#but I feel he really does his best within the rules he's given to play with and personally i love him a bit for that. and also#for being an unkillable lil shit. insufferable. inconquerable in his 'I'm about to be such an annoyance to you' impish spirit.#the I'm going to suffer but guess what. so are you of it all. traumatize the chantry back#I just imagine sophia sending letters home right before the vote for independence like '...dad I am hearing some INSANE rumours out here#what the actual fuck is going on back home???'#and he's like 'nothing that you need to worry about sweetie just keep living your best life and have fun killing darkspawn <3'#(there's something that makes me feel So much about how consistently his stance is like... 'you'll always be welcome here#but the circle doesn't *need* you; go be a warden and live your life'. he managed to fineagle freedom for you somehow and won't let you#turn and glance back. not even once. I feel somehow both so abandoned and so incredibly loved it's wild)#oc: sophia amell
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Takes on furry Doof
#heinz doofenshmirtz#perry the platypus#perryshmirtz#heinz the ocelot#doofapus#just a bunch of headcanons glued together im treatin them like my ocs now#perrys tail is half fluffy cause the fur got worn out by using it to fight while doofs is fluffier cause it never got worn#also he doesnt know how to groom himself that man is scruffy to me#if anyone knows better about platypi than me i would love to hear how crazy and unprobable that hc is sjddkj#fanart#msmimundo
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Flower
#fanart#fnaf#springtrap#fnaf springtrap#oc#i just want him to receive love#and get a redemption#afafadfsf hEaR mE oUt-#I can't justify it#he's a horrible man#a creature#but what about a child that reminds him of Elisabeth#and he was like#a good father before y'know
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Anyway I'm still happy to have seen Hrid in FEH recently. Thank you for asking.
#fe heroes#hrid#reinhardt#i actually didnt really pay much attention to the banner at first but then#as i was looking at the rearmed reinhardt art i think i love the artist a lot ?????#like i am in love with this guy now and then i got to hear about him#from someone on discord since idk anything about him in his game#and honestly i think its really funny that reinhardt somehow has a base/sword alt/resp/dancer/rearmed#and is a boss on a map bc i didnt know that he was actually just a boss on a map#and the person i was talking to said yeah hes basically a feh oc at this point#and im gonna trust her on that bc i dont know anything about thracia so i gotta trust her#and if i have been told wrong information dont correct me i am now a reinhardt fan bc feh decided he should be important#i think its very funny and powerful of feh to decide this since release basically#hopefully i can do the part two to this tomorrow but im just not sure i will ?#but i wanna draw a follow up with reinhardt + nifl sisters
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I'm once again asking Sampo to visit the Astral Express
#hsr#hsr oc#honkai star rail#honkai star rail oc#hsr sampo#Deeva hsr#Sameeva#my art#pls I just want to see the silly guy there I want to talk to him and hear about his latest scams#I'm gonna start thinking they have a 'Sampo not allowed' sign somewhere in the train#LET HIM INNN 😭#btw I hate drawing the metal thingies of his outfit#if you see some of them are missing/inaccurate... no u don't#I love you Sampo but those things need to be gone
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low key having a self insert oc helped boost my confidence a lot. like hell yeah I'm sexy and get all the bitches and everyone wants to be my friend all the time always
#anyway this IS self insert oc propaganda. people should make them more#this post is about charlie daydreamers#when i made them like a year ago they helped me with a lot of self esteem issues#mainly insecurity in not dating#because i always hear about other people getting into relationships and people finding them romantically attractive#and i just thought something was inherently wrong with me#but i made charlie and people really liked them! but not romantically#made me realize my self worth doesnt revolve around romantic relationships#love you charlie mwah#cherry rambles
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my first post of the year obviously has to be my post-trial waleran headcanon, with my oc, his sister Wynflaed :)
i have another post about it but the basics is that he gets exiled from Shiring, becomes a vagrant for a bit on the way to Lincoln and is taken in by his estranged family which run a tailor workshop, becoming the local weird old man(tm).
#pillars of the earth#the pillars of the earth#waleran bigod#birbwelldraws#birb's ocs#wynflaed tailor#me when i love a guy so much that i make up a whole family for him. to whip him into shape but also to love him. im ill#UM if any of you want to hear more about this im hehe.. ermmm twirls hair#he has multiple siblings! ive just never shown them before i think#ive put So much thought into his exile arc. hi#also of course catface factors into it. i cant forget the gay people god bless
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i love seeing people take preexisting characters and just make them their own ocs. i love adopting fanon as gospel. i love stealing from the source and turning mercury into gold. rb and tag with your own
#would love to refer to this as philosof stone ocs but feels too… yknow#PLEASE GIVE ME INFORMATION AS WELL!! i love hearing about other ppls ocs 🫶#my mercury to gold ocs:#alicent’s mother#(does she even count as an existing character?#she does now!)#mlp mane six#yes you read that right#ashara dayne#saera targaryen#jon snow To an Extent#thor marvel. and im not even joking#hotd#asoiaf#got#hotd oc#asoiaf oc#got oc#fyeahasoiafocs#fyeahgotocs#fyeahhotdocs#fyeahocs#doesnt have to be asoiaf related thats just my audience
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“She’s tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”😤😤😤
(Regency AU with Eloise and Sebastian inspired by my slow trek through Bridgerton these days & @bassicallymaestra ‘s AMAZING regency inspired art😮💨😇🙏)
#I just have a love of big regency dresses what can I say😔🙏#if you haven’t seen them yet this is a study of the GORGEOUS P&P illustrations from the 1890s by Charles Brock#they are all just so spectacular & I stare at them alllllllllll the time wishing I had an ounce of his talent🙏🙏🙏#so I do these studies to pretend even though I change some things😅😅 bc these studies is the best way to improve imo🙏#but I remembered halfway through why I rage quit trying to draw with my fountain pen a year ago😂😂😂#that thing is amazing for writing and I love it like a child#but drawing?! tbh I should have used my drawing ink pen but whatever#I woke up with a hankering to do some crosshatching (which I hate) in an attempt to get over myself#also!!!!!! when Mr Darcy says something like that it’s no wonder Elizabeth jumps at the bit to believe every awful thing she hears about him#it’s like Mr wickham’s dumb stories that nobody else in their right mind would believe#are speaking right to her soul. like OF COURSE that asshole from the assembly would do all of those things😤😤#he called me ugly so OF COURSE he would deny mr wickham his living😤😤#(I don’t blame her I would do the same🤝🤝)#ALSO why tf did he even say that when he’s clearly smitten from the beginning#I’m sure if he knew that she heard him he would simply perish from mortification#well thst is my p&p - inking horror - inspiration rant of the day🙏🙏#(I read p&p at least once a year & it is the only fanfic I really read😅😅😅)#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fanart#hphl#sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy mc#hogwarts legacy oc#eloise#eloise babbit#regency au
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I can always tell when something is happening with fallout because my post asking people their courier six’s name gets an influx of new people infodumping about their ocs
#WHICH I ADORE BTW#I love hearing people talk about their ocs#I just find it funny how I will see 70+ new interactions with that post#and thats how I will know to check for new fallout announcements#fallout#fallout new vegas#fnv#courier six#fallout ocs
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wanted to show you my rainbowglider kid so far! just a WIP ☺️
Holy crap! Alternate universe siblings!!
This is Caustic Phantom, but everyone they know calls them tommy :3
#art#digital art#mlp#not art#oc#asks#mlp oc#mlp ng#mlp next gen#thank you thank you for showing me!! i love seeing other peoples ngs especially when we share ships and especially when we share rarepairs!!#pls tell me your kid's lore id love to hear it#tommy is a professional boxer who is incredibly competitive and takes their job seriously but is also very serious about good sportsmanship#they have called off fights before because their opponent was being a jerk and they couldn't trust themself not to start fighting in anger#they also make sure to separate their work life from their private life and that goes into their costume#bc the mask makes their star look like just a blaze and thats kind of their most distinctive feature#this was the first time ive drawn them in like a year i think their hair is meant to be more pastel woops#id in alt text#at least for my drawing#idk how to ad alt text to asks :(
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What a steal…Give em to me
#I also like. Just love hearing about outlast ocs theyre so so fun to me. take this as an excuse to info dump#outlast trials oc#outlast trials#Lyrics Published
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gosh, these prompts are just so fluffy, it makes me want to cry! 🥹
maybe these for whoever you're feeling in the moment:
❛ what, am i not allowed to look at you? ❜
❛ seeing you happy is all that matters. ❜
A/N: First, you asked for this so long ago, I'm sorry it took so long! I wanted to explore a lil reunion for Rosie and Grace after (one of the times) his plane goes down and he makes it back. I did a smidge of research for this, but to be clear, this isn't the time he lands in Russia that we see in the show. This is an earlier mission where he crash lands in France - p422 (? I think?) in Masters of the Air if you want to read more. I tweaked the dialogue of that second prompt just a tiny bit, hope that's okay. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist
Seven. Wounded.
When Robert Rosenthal opens his eyes, for a moment he doesn't remember where he is. There's a brief unsettling moment of sheer panic where he tries to get his bearings, tries to sit up and tries to remember what's happened to him in the last 48 hours.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down." A voice says. American. He sighs in relief.
An unfamiliar worried face swims into his vision. "Major Rosenthal?"
"What--" His throat hurts, his entire body hurts, and he stops trying to talk.
"You've been asleep for almost two days."
"Where am I?"
"Please, try to relax. You're safe. You're in Oxford."
Now that he hears the words, he remembers loud, urgent voices, he remembers flashing lights and the feeling of being manhandled around. It doesn't do much to quell the fear rising in his gut. "My crew."
"They're fine. Some wounded, but everyone's going to be okay." She moves around the bed with quick, sure steps, checking his chart before meeting his eyes again. "You've got a broken arm and a few broken ribs, Major. Now that you're awake, we'd just like to monitor you for a few hours and then we can talk about a transport back to your base."
He nods, thanking her, and she smiles before disappearing down a corridor, leaving him to his thoughts. His mind is slow, fuzzy, but there's one thought blaring like an alarm louder than anything else - he needs to find a way to call Grace.
He swore to her a long time ago that he'd never give her a reason to think he wasn't coming back. He has no idea if anyone knows he and his crew are here.
He also has a panicked thought that he won't be able to fly again, not if they were helped the French resistance. He forces himself to take deep breaths and tries to beat back the anxiety fluttering in his ribcage.
"Rosie?" A familiar voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he tries to sit up before pain laces up his spine, making him wince.
"Croz?"
Harry's worried face peeks around the curtain. "Jesus." He says, making Rosie wonder what he must look like.
"What are you doing here?"
"We got a call. Wasn't going to let you guys walk back to Thorpe Abbotts, was I?" He takes a few steps closer, scraping a chair closer to the bed before sitting down. He looks exhausted. "I volunteered to come get you."
"How long--"
"It's been five days since the mission." Harry rubs a hand over his face. "Can't begin to tell you how lucky you were, Rosie."
It starts to hit him, how close he was to not coming back. He doesn't even remember the plane going down, not entirely. He has no memory of being rescued. He feels strangely guilty. He's the one that's supposed to lead and help his crew when he can.
"Have you talked to a doctor?" Harry asks.
Rosie shakes his head. "Not yet, just a nurse. Obviously I can't do much with this--" He struggles to shrug with his injured arm in a sling.
"It'll be fine. Desk duty until you're well."
"Croz, you know I hate--"
"You can't fly like that, Rosie. Technically you should be pulled from duty altogether."
Rosie clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down. It's not Harry's call, even though he knows he's right. He's going to do everything he can to get back in the seat again, even if he has to get demoted to do it.
.
He discharges himself so he can leave with his crew and with Crosby and hitch a ride back to base. The doctor fixes him with a stern look as he does it, but he must see the determination on Rosie's face, and just tells him to take it easy for the next few weeks.
Fat chance of that.
"Stop looking at me like that." He grouses to Harry as they bounce along the road back to Thorpe Abbotts, Rosie biting back a wince with grit teeth as the road jostles his muscles uncomfortably.
"I'm not looking at you like anything."
Harry has long stopped trying to convince Rosie of anything, just like Rosie has stopped trying to tell him to get more sleep or eat more. They're all just doing whatever they can to survive at this point. The cost of it all is secondary.
"I'll save the lecture for Grace." He mutters.
Rosie's head snaps up. "Is she--"
"Worried sick? Probably, but you know her. Once she knew you were alive, she went from worried to furious."
"Not like I had any say in the matter," Rosie counters, voice dry. "Didn't try asking them not to shoot at us, though."
Harry smiles, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. Angry at the circumstances. Frustrated with herself for being emotional. That's Grace."
That's Grace. And isn't that the truth. Rosie can't help but smile softly, because he knows Harry is right - he's going to get an earful when he gets back. But he must be a masochist, because he's almost looking forward to it - it means she cares. Not that he's ever had any reason to doubt that.
The truck rumbles along for miles. Rosie hadn't thought about how long it would take them to get back to the base, but he tries to close his eyes and get relatively comfortable until they arrive.
He hears the noise of the gates and opens his eyes to find the sun nearly down. There's a big commotion as they enter and he takes a deep breath to try to get his bearings.
"We'll go to command first, and then to the infirmary. You'll probably have to sleep there." Harry says groggily.
They're let out in front of the command building, Jack Kidd already there waiting for him along with the Colonel. Both look like they haven't slept in days. A few paces behind them is Grace, and the sight of her softens Rosie, makes his shoulders lose their tension. He meets her eyes and tries for a smile, but he thinks it comes off as more of a grimace.
Grace, for her part, is restraining herself. She feels a mixture of relief and anger wash over her at the sight of him, arm in a sling and bruises and cuts littering his handsome face. He looks exhausted, and she's sure she looks much the same.
She knows being angry is the wrong thing. It's not his fault he got shot down, after all. Really, she's angry at herself. She's angry at her heart, at the way it plummeted to her feet when she heard the news that his plane didn't come back, and she's angrier that every day since confirms to her what she already knows: she's in love with him.
And that's as terrifying as it is liberating, because there's a very real chance he could break her heart, whether he means to or not. (She knows that Robert Rosenthal doesn't have a cruel bone in his body, but sometimes, in war, the choice isn't his)
"Jesus Christ, Rosie." Jack says quietly, voice heavy. "I--" He takes a deep breath, and seems to remember what he needs to do. "It's good to see you back. We need to go to interrogation."
"The crew isn't ready--"
Kidd shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Rosie, but the quicker we do this, the better. It's already been a few days."
"Who's back?"
"Maddox, Rubick, Palmer, and Hartos. The others won't be back until tomorrow, but we'll debrief them then. I don't want to wait an extra day."
Jack looks over his shoulder, and Rosie is sure he catches an apologetic look on his face that's there and gone quickly as he sees Grace there. "Twenty minutes, then go to the infirmary." He says as he turns back to Rosie. "Let's go."
The interrogation is as grueling as Rosie expected. He's glad to see some of the members of his crew again. Despite his brain telling him that none of this is his fault, his heart can't help but beat wildly, flooding him with guilt as they give their account of what happened after they went down, when Rosie was knocked unconscious.
It feels like hours before he's trudging towards the infirmary, luckily only a few steps away from the interrogation hut.
The door is opening before he arrives, and Grace's worry-filled face fills his vision. "Grace." Her name leaves his mouth without his permission, his tone exhausted, but full of emotion.
She swallows hard. "Major." Her tone is relieved and... frustrated. He's not surprised, but he hopes she'll spare him Nurse Grace and instead give him the Grace he's been dreaming of for days, though he knows it's selfish, knows that she has a job to do.
He sees the doctor hovering behind her. She opens the door wider so he can come through.
All he wants is to be alone with her. He wants to tell her he's sorry, he wants to tell her that she was on his mind every second, that she is one of the reasons not only that he gets in the seat, but the reason he comes home.
Home.
The exam is quick, thankfully. They took good care of him in Oxford. The doctor leaves Grace to administer pain meds and do the paperwork, and it's only when they're finally alone that he sees the emotion on her face, though she's trying valiantly to hide it.
With each injury she catalogues, her face hardens. Her eyes meet his as she tilts his face up to dab a cooling salve on a bruise forming on his orbital bone.
"You have a look on your face." He says quietly.
"What, I'm not allowed to look at you?" She asks, and he can see how she's trying so hard to hold it together. Pretending. Pretending this is all business for her. He wishes she wouldn't.
"I'm sorry." He croaks, throat dry from overuse.
"Please don't apologize," she says, expression suddenly stricken, as if she realizes what she must look and sound like. "You didn't--" She stops herself, eyes closing for a moment as she gathers her professionalism. "I'm just so relieved you're alive." She whispers. "I'm not angry at you. I'm upset... I'm angry at the war. At these circumstances. That you're hurt--" She stops herself.
He wishes more than anything he had the use of both his arms. He settles for reaching out with one hand, thankful when she doesn't hesitate to take it, lacing their fingers together.
"I never want you to worry." He says, and it's the truth, even though they both know it's pointless.
She shrugs. "Comes with the territory, Major." She squeezes his hand. Her voice lowers to a whisper. "Worry happens naturally when you love someone."
His pulse pounding in his ears is all he can hear. He feels like the world tilts on its axis and then rights itself, all at once.
"Maybe it's too soon or too big for me to say it, but I don't want you to fly ever again without knowing it." She says, voice strong this time. He loves her for it.
He loves her.
He tugs her a little closer and she seems to understand, her face softening as she stands as close as she can, leaning down to meet him halfway. He tries to tell her how he feels when he kisses her gently, mindful of the black eye he's sure he's sporting and the soreness of his cheekbone. His hand leaves hers in favor of cradling her jaw, and the sigh that leaves her is music to his ears.
"Of course I love you." He murmurs, barely a centimeter between them when they break apart. "Probably have for a long time, Grace."
She pulls herself away, just for a moment, and starts to tidy up the triage area where he sits with her. He recognizes what she's doing and gives her the space she needs to gather herself, to come to terms with whatever she needs to. He's relieved at least that the smile hasn't left her face.
"Winning this war and seeing you happy are just about all that matter to me anymore." He admits, and watches as she stops what she's doing to turn back to face him.
"I just want to be sure I'm not a distraction for you."
He shakes his head. "No."
"Rosie, I'm--"
He shakes his head again, cutting her off. "Grace, you don't think I'm going to let you tell me you love me and then push me away, do you?" He tilts his head to one side.
"That's not what I'm doing. I promise."
"Then come over here and let me kiss you again."
She smiles, and he swears to himself that he's going to be responsible for that smile on her face every day, for as long as he can help it. He has no doubt that they have some trials ahead, but they have each other, and sometimes the will of the heart is stronger than anything else.
#rosie rosenthal x oc#robert rosenthal x oc#masters of the air fanfiction#do you hear that? it's me screaming#i don't know man something about ROBERT ROSENTHAL just makes me kick my feet and twirl my hair#these two just make me so happy#they're both so concerned for each other all the time it's sickening obviously#everyone around them is just rolling their eyes but deep down they're like damn that's true love you know?#anyway#i did a bit of research about this mission for rosie and it sounds so harrowing#i couldn't completely confirm that the entirety of the crew was ok but it didn't list any of them as POW or KIA so i think so#which is incredible#i hope you like this!#oc: grace fleming#softspeirs mota fanfiction
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The Cane King's Daughter
⭐️Art by @sator-the-wanderer, story by @smokeys-house ⭐️
⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️
✨️Part two TCKD: A Story for Another Time available here✨️
Storms at sea are no rare occurrence. Squalls that sweep ships to their sides may be daunting, but no more so than the tumult of the lives of all folk, land or sea. Captain Whetstone, a self made pirate born on the coast of France, has made rather a name for herself. A large and fluffy brown moomin, she grew up hearing the stories of a free life at sea.
She sat wide upon a chair in the cabin of her ship. The strain of a pirate's life wore heavily upon her brow. The early days were rife with plunder and excitement, raucous laughter and cheers. She'd made it, or so she would've thought. She'd got the merry life she'd wanted, as for whether it'd be a short one would be up to the rule of law.
'Perhaps I've been at it too long.' the captain thought to herself. She sighed aloud, staring into the vanity mirror as if looking past herself. "Rouse yerself. Yer a captain, not some layabout on a fishing trip." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and made for the deck. She'd grown weary of taking scores and the thrill of living on the run.
The crew still aboard The Honeyed Word were working diligently; hauling crates to and from the port, maintaining the ship, or otherwise making themselves useful. Marseille was bustling, lively, and lousy with merchant ships. The local law, while concerned about piracy, were not so eager to challenge those engaged in its splendors. Collecting a bribe was practically by the books in Marseille. It wasn't the pirate haven of Nassau, but at least here she could try to lie low for a while.
The salted sea air mingled nicely with the smell of cookery and the commotion of working sailors as the captain made rounds amongst what crew remained on deck.
"Cap'n." A grizzled old hemulen woman wiped the sweat from her brow. "Most of the crew 'ave headed into town. I assume you can simply follow the ruckus if ye be needing to find them." Her voice was coarse and thick, but with a sense of duty.
"As it happens, I fear I may be in search of drink myself." The captain shielded her eyes from the sun with her paws. "Keep an eye on things for me while I'm gone."
"Promise me ye don't be up to nothin' foolish. I seen that bored look you been wearin'."
"No foolishness here, Ruthie. Just a quick nip, and maybe a rest in a bed what ain't rollin' on the waves." She patted the hemulen woman on the back with a hearty thud, to which she chuckled mirthfully.
The way into town was fraught with people of all classes and lifestyles; merchants, traders, sailors, simple common folk, rich and poor. Marseille was a well populated city, and drew in people from all over. The captain trod a familiar path to her preferred local pub, one of the few she hadn't been run out of in recent memory. Despite the relative ease with which she carried herself, being spotted by knowing eyes would likely spell trouble, or at the very least more excitement than she was looking for.
"Didn't think I'd see you in here again, after last time." The barkeep didn't look up from polishing his glass.
"I'm not sure I remember the last time. Much to see around these parts I'm afraid, sometimes too much." She eyed a table of navy men in the corner as she approached the counter. It was a clean establishment, not necessarily upscale, but it did at least serve the more well-to-do in days long since passed. The place was littered with well crafted furniture and gave an air of high status, but the clientele quickly dimmed the illusion. The velvets adorning curtains and chairs had all faded, and some were torn in spots.
"What'll you have, Whetstone?"
"That'll be captain Whetstone from you. Pour me anything what ain't rum n' cask-water, and you can call me whatever you like!" The two shared a laugh as the bartender filled two tankards with ale.
"Word on the street is your boys are already wreaking havoc. Half my usual patrons have made themselves scarce. You've only been in town a couple of days I thought, but from the way folks are talking I would've thought the devil himself had popped up on our doorstep, and made himself at home."
"Oh, how lovely." Whetstone sighed and eagerly watched the man pour. "I'd have thought by now the folks 'round here would've been dreadfully bored by that sort of thing." She paid for the two drinks and clinked glasses with the bartender. "Not like the navy men do it any different while docked. We're all fixin' t' crack Jenny's teacup!"
"Aye, but your 'Jenny' is more often than not someone else's 'Sally', ye damn dog."
Whetstone raised a finger as she drank deep from her mug. "So long as she's not your Sally I'd say I'd done no wrong. Not my fault no navy men know how to keep a woman in good spirits!" She had a charismatic and an almost musical way of speaking, it was as though everything she said was a line in a play.
"And how might that be, oh great and wise slayer of maidens?"
"Spirits!" She motioned to the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, sharing a hearty cheer with a few eavesdropping barflies.
"And what might it be that brings you to Marseille once more?"
"Naught but the wetting of m' whistle and the tireless search fer comp'ny I reckon. I'm not quite so sure, I think I just wanted t' see yer ugly mug once more!"
She spent a few coins and hours there, seemingly wasting the day away. She knew that she wasn't searching for much of anything, and that she was simply tired of the hardships she'd chosen for herself. 'What use is a free life if I can't live it quietly?' She thought. 'All the excitement out t' sea, and all I'm wanting fer is a quiet day indoors.' Perhaps she'd grown weary of her trade, but taking a day for herself surely wasn't what you'd expect if you'd heard the stories about her.
"That's her right over there. The glum looking gal in the coat." Whetstone's musings were interrupted by murmurs rolling like thunder into jeers. The calm if somewhat gruff environment quickly became rife with tension.
"Seems our mutual friends have spotted a familiar fiend." The barkeep kept his paws busy, still cleaning glasses from patrons past. The captain appeared more tired by the idea than worried, propping herself up on the bar with her arms.
"You've got some nerve. Swingin' your snout 'round here like it weren't still smellin' of my girl's perfume." The hemulen navy man tucked one thumb into his belt as he approached, glancing over his shoulder back to his fellows.
" 'fraid I haven't seen your girl since she were someone else's. Last I checked, and likely still, she belonged to herself. Let's keep our paws in our pockets, shall we?"
"She seems t' think quite highly of you." His words were dripping with venom as he looked the captain up and down. He either had a chip on his shoulder or something to prove. "Turn 'n face me you bilgerat. I'm fixing to see what she thinks is so special!"
"Quiet over there!" A younger fillyjonk man spoke up from the corner, his face mostly obscured by a hat tilted over it. "Some of us are trying to drink in peace."
"What's it to you, boy? Shut yer gob afore I shut it for you!" The navy man leading the group continued to shout, tensions rising among the men behind him. He grabbed the captain by the collar of her coat. "Don't think even for a second I've not seen your face on them posters. Teachin' you a lesson and gettin' paid for it? Price on you's enough to split with these boys and then some."
The captain's eyes darted to and fro, seeking any opportunity to turn this around. The navy men must've numbered at least a dozen in total, all surrounding her. Them aside, patrons flanked them on all sides, acting as likely obstacles. Just as the situation was looking its grimmest, a near full glass flew across the room, finding its target to be the head of the man nearest Whetstone.
That one thrown drink began a large-scale brawl encompassing the entirety of the bar. The glass distracted the leader of the pack long enough for Whetstone to throw the first punch, square in the snout. The rest of the navy men, unable to tell the shouting of patrons from aggressors, and unable to tell who threw the cup, tore through the establishment. Skirmishes filled every corner of the room. The bartender calmly ducked into a room just behind the bar as it all began to unfold. The captain danced among the crowd, dodging blows and delivering them herself.
"This way!" Beckoned the be-hatted fillyjonk man, motioning to the alley entrance he was holding open. Whetstone fought her way through the flinging of paws at maws and more thrown drinks, toward the only friendly face in sight.
Just then, the bartender returned from the storage room behind the counter with a flintlock rifle and pistol in tow. He fired the musket straight into the ceiling, the boom overcoming the sound of the raucous crowd. For a moment, everyone stopped.
"Out of my bar." He spoke quite plainly, as though it were simply closing time. The navy men stopped their brawling and regained focus, looking about the room for their previously cornered quarry.
"Over there! After her, boys!" The sailors that still stood gave chase, stumbling over chairs and glasses underfoot.
In all the excitement, the captain had only just made it to the door when the gun went off. Her and her new acquaintance darted alley to alley, their pursuers forcing them through markets and over fences. Though the chase felt to them as intense as any they'd ever seen, it must have been quite the sight to see that many drunkards speedily shambling across town.
The shouting got further and further away, and luckily the throngs of the afternoon crowd began filling the streets once more. If it weren't for the simple fact that the captain hadn't been at the bar for as long as the rest of them, they likely would have caught up to her. She'd wisely abstained from anything too strong while in public, but a belly full of beer hardly makes for good running. With her wits mostly about her, and her ego intact, she'd made good on her escape thanks to a kind stranger.
Soon after, the busy dockside streets and afternoon sun quickly shifted into wealthy homes and a dimming evening sunset as the two evaded their would-be captors. Once they felt they had lost their assailants, the two caught their breath and the young man calmly led Captain Whetstone to a lovely gated garden bordering the wealthier part of town. It was well kept and filled with vibrant pinks, deep purples and reds, and a sweet floral aroma mixed with the salt of the nearby sea. Ornate metal bars formed a fence, wrapping the exterior of the garden.
"There's a greenhouse here where we can lie low. I like to come here to get lost for a while." The young man's voice shed pretense for a moment.
"Fine work, lad! And yer sure no nosy gardener's eager to do some midnight pruning?" The captain idly rubbed the petals of a nearby rose as she took in the view. "Posh bit o' living, this. Real pretty, though."
"Didn't think pirates cared for flowers. No, no one'll turn up. This square belongs to a wealthy family, used to be the daughter's. Haven't seen her around here in some time, though."
"We've all got our secrets, lad." She winked as she meandered through the garden to the greenhouse. The moon's rise baked a soft light throughout the interior. She idly rummaged through a cupboard above a potting bench. "Bless me tail! Oy, lad! They've got booze in 'ere! Some fine drink by the look of it. Supposin' the young maiden kept a few secrets, too." She snickered as she uncorked the bottle. She'd sobered a bit since her midday jog, and apparently wasn't eager to continue that trend.
"What's your name, anyhow? Ya know mine as it seems half of Marseille does these days. Why risk yer life fer a no good pirate?"
"Well… like you said, we all have our secrets, captain." The young fillyjonk sat upon a stool in the corner, seemingly familiar with the space. Whetstone poured a glass for herself and another for her new friend. The two shared drinks for a while, swapping idle stories late into the evening. The liquor spilled forth as did the relaxation and courage that comes with it.
"So… you're a pirate, ay?" The man swirled his glass in his paw, not looking up from his drink. "You'd know a thing or two about fighting with a sword, then?" He stood, walking over to the potting bench near where Whetstone sat against the wall.
"Aye, lad. I'd say I know a thing or two about swingin' a sword. What're ye gettin' at?" She steadied her eyes as they'd just begun to spin, realizing only now the risk of getting too drunk to stand with strangers about.
"Show me." He tossed her a wooden cutlass from beneath the bench.
"Secrets, secrets, secrets. My my my..." She caught it deftly, laying it across her lap. "I'm supposin' that's not the only thing y' be hiding from me."
"It's not, but if you beat me, I'll tell all."
"Ha, it'll take more'an that to get me into playfighting a stranger what won't say his name with a wooden toy."
"Scourge of the seas frightened by a youngblood after just a few drinks?" He used the point of his wooden sword to lift her chin and meet his gaze. Either he'd handled his liquor better than she did, or he was far more cautious than she was.
"Now yer just testing me patience, boy." She pushed aside the sword and finished her drink, rising to her feet. "Ye won't be needing t' set terms fer if'n you win. On account of ye won't. Take the first swing." She stood straight, sword idle in her paw, in an entirely unready stance. She took in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly. She wasn't unfamiliar with the art of the un-sober sword, but she never did like to lose.
The man swung, overhead and diagonal to her shoulder. She tucked herself to one side as it flew past and struck the ground.
"Slow." Captain Whetstone teased.
He swung again, from left to right, to which she back-stepped.
"Clumsy." She continued her barbs with a wink.
He thrust at her belly in quick succession, the first one a narrow miss, and the second intercepted by the flat of the captain's wooden blade.
"Not bad! Once more!" She taunted, now fully engaged. Her feet planted firm and knees bent, she parried blow after blow. He sent out yet another thrust, this time aimed at her chest.
"Out you go!" She turned his thrust to her outside line and closed in. She turned her point down, pressing the pommel to his ribs, and pushed him out of the greenhouse door into the garden with a shoulder check.
"You're toying with me! Throw a cut at least!" The fillyjonk protested, panting, but on guard after managing to avoid falling flat on his face.
"Aye lad, I am! But here goes!" She threw a cut at a downward angle to cross his chest, or so it seemed at first. She feinted high, forcing him to guard his head and swung low, giving him a gentle tap on his thigh. "How's that?" She smirked. It was clear he was embarrassed, and perhaps a little upset. His face was red from drink, exertion, and now frustration. He threw several wild strikes out in a vain attempt to land a blow, to which she ducked several.
"Easy, lad!" She began deflecting his blows, hoping that he'd ease up. He brought his sword up as a club with both hands, over his head, letting out a tense shout as he swung. She blocked it static and right between the two of them, holding the bind. She turned her point under and went for a disarm, tossing his sword aside. Just as soon as his sword hit the ground, as did he, with a swift push on the chest from the captain. She stood over the fillyjonk, pointing her sword at his chest.
The fillyjonk's hat tumbled back, spilling forth long dark curls, previously tied back with ribbons that had since gone astray. The moonlight soaked into the fillyjonk's fur and hair, cascading shadows from the flowers that she had tumbled into upon onto her muzzle. The contrast between the bright blue flowers, her dark, rolling hair and the soft brown of her fur mirrored that of the shore and a stormy sea. To the captain, she was the very visage of romance. Perhaps it was the light of the moon, or the thrill of the fight, or even the blur of the booze, but she became immediately enamored.
"Well strike me pink! Hell hath no fury, eh? Now the question is, who scorned a bonny lass like you?" The captain lowered her sword, wearing a surprised grin on her face. "I'm supposin' now would be a good time to cash in on my winnings."
The evening stretched on into night, bringing with it the still presence of the full moon and the quiet breeze carried in from offshore. The night air was cool, and just comfortably so.
"My name's Marion." The fillyjonk acquiesced, true to her word. "Marion Cartier. It's my rum we've been spilling all night." She crossed her legs as she sat upon the cobblestone amongst the flowers.
"And this here'd be your garden then? The daughter o' the house as you'd said it. It's beautiful." She cupped the bulb of a flower in her paw. "If yer the daughter of a wealthy family, what business had ye in a bar like that one?"
"Same business I had in having a private garden. An escape."
"An' what was that bit afore I pushed y' down? Figure you'd take me in fer the bounty alive after gettin' me liquor'd up?"
"No… it's not that it's just…" Marion hesitated before answering, burning with embarrassment and the rum in her belly. Eventually she settled on telling the truth. "My father was right."
Captain Whetstone sat just across from her, light-heartedly rolling her eyes. "I'm supposin' that's got a story behind it. Night's young and I've nowhere better t' be, might as well let it out."
"He'd have me fall in line or sell me off just the same. If it's not helpful to his business, it hardly matters what I want."
"Yer a grown woman, can't ye just use all that money o' yers to get yerself a place by yer lonesome? 'S what I'd do."
"The man practically owns me. I won't see any money that doesn't sit in his paws until I take up the mantle."
"...And the swords?" Whetstone was quick to dismiss the woes of the wealthy and continued sating her curiosity with questions. Despite the blooming feeling in her chest, she still found it difficult to feel sympathy for rich folk.
"Father fancies himself a duelist. I'm… I thought I could get to know him better if I could get him to see me." She eyed her paws, rubbing the areas hardened into calluses by many hours of practice. "Told me it wasn't worth my time to wield a sword. Told me I'd be good for nothing if it wasn't for the family business."
The captain looked over at the wooden swords lying on the ground and cocked her head to the side. "Those ain't dueling swords, lassie. That's a cutlass."
Marion's eyes stayed focused on her hands despite the captain's piercing gaze and raised eyebrow. Silence filled the space for a moment.
"I've uh… I'm not quite sure how to uhm… it's rather embarrassing, I fear. Given present company, especially."
"Spill yer beans. I've drank too much t' sleep now fer fear of hangover. An' it's far too long a night yet fer keepin' secrets. B'sides, I won, remember?" Whetstone laid up against a tree and began picking her teeth with one of her claws.
"You must promise not to laugh."
"Miss Marion, I hadn't realized we were school girls! I ain't laughin' now, but I sure could use a good'un, out with it."
"I thought I could be a pirate. Or a privateer. Something on the sea that isn't in the navy. I'd take off as a stowaway on one of my father's ships with a few good men and strike out on my own."
"If that's yer cover fer trying t' claim my bounty it sure is the most… creative ruse anyone's drummed up against me."
"I'm not trying to claim the bounty! Even if I was, you'd have killed that dream along with the one you're stepping on now." Marion paused for a short while, composing herself. The frustration in her voice was joined ever so slightly by the sound of tears beginning to well up.
"Ah, I'm sorry lass, but it's a mite hard to think of someone like yerself at sea… y' need more'an just a few good men and some sword swingin' skills. It's a rough life out there."
"But it's a free one. The sea keeps men honest… in a way. There's bluster, sure, like anywhere else. But the sea asks that you prove it, and I aim to."
"Aye… ye can't lie to her none, this I know." The captain looked to the sky, feeling a flutter in her chest. She was reminded of her youth, and the first time she felt the call to the sea. Though it hadn't been too many years, most pirates don't last more than a few. "You'll find yer way. The bold ones always do."
The conversation bled into thoughtful silence, the pair quietly ruminating on past and future. The captain balanced a near empty bottle on her knee, watching the liquor shift and roll within. She examined the label, taking in the details. A mustachioed fillyjonk gentleman wielding a bundle of sugarcane like a royal scepter sat cross-legged upon a throne also made of sugarcane. In his other paw, a coconut prepared to be a chalice.
"Cartier's Cane King rum blend…" Whetstone continued eyeing the bottle, comparing the fillyjonk on the label with her new friend. "Tell me, what did you say yer name was again?"
–
Captain Whetstone awoke with the early afternoon sun baking into her fur upon a makeshift bed within the greenhouse she had stayed the night before. Her coat had been draped over her like a blanket, and her head was pounding. She stood and stretched, remembering the night prior.
"I swear I fell asleep in the garden, though…" She thought aloud as she surveyed her surroundings. A note penned in fine handwriting sat upon the potting bench, and was tented neatly.
Ms. Whetstone
I should think you capable of reading seeing as you're a captain. You've given me much to think about. I've many choices to make. I apologize for leaving you unattended, but it's as I said that no one visits my garden.
I intend to convince my father to teach me about sailing. I'll tell him it's for to learn the family business, and that ought to be enough. Of course, you and I know the reasons why well enough. The next time you see me, it might be out at sea.
I took the liberty of coaxing you into the greenhouse for a more private rest. I've a busy morning to come.
It was a pleasure meeting you.
-M
"Coaxed me into the..?" The captain was much too heavy to lift. She imagined Marion rolling her on her side like a big fluffy barrel as she slept. She would've been beet red if it weren't for her thick fur. She donned her coat, shook off the embarrassment, and tucked the note into her pocket. With the morning ending and the afternoon just beginning, she thought it prudent to check in with the crew and nurse her hangover with a late breakfast.
Rumors of yesterday's excitement had reached every ear, and just as quickly sank into the sand like waves upon the shore. The king's navy almost always had reason to cause a stir and rarely did it ever go quietly, but with such frequency it joined the day's monotony. A chilled breeze and shapely dark clouds portended a storm to come, though the warmth of the sun persisted for the moment. The docks were alive as always, folks walking shoulder to shoulder, hardly taking note of one another. The cacophony of cooking, trading, buying, and selling rang through the air. The cumulative hangover was just beginning to peak as Captain Whetstone sat down to eat beneath an awning at a dockside restaurant. Through the din of the crowd, she could almost make out the song of seabirds and waves lapping on the shore. She didn't take to being in public well, but the liveliness of the docks drawing eyes off of her bought her a modicum of peace. This peace was short-lived, as a garishly overdressed fillyjonk man cut a path around him through the crowd, speaking loudly and with no lack of self-importance. He moved dramatically, as though he was performing a dance, spinning and gesturing flamboyantly.
"What fortuitous timing, you wishing to take up the family business. As it so happens, I've dealings with a gentleman from Curaçao this very afternoon!"
"Yes, well… I was hoping to start with more on the transportation side of things. Learning to sail ships and the like. I've been doing much reading on the subject." A timid, familiar voice followed shortly after him.
"Hmm? Oh, of course. I'm sure he'll be just as happy with that if all goes well. Regardless, Marion, how does 'Cartier's Cane King Curaçao blend' sound to you? Bold? Alliterative? Lively? Perhaps, too lively, do you think?" His exaggerated manner of speaking sounded as though all must hear. It was difficult to tell whether he was advertising to the world or simply lost within himself.
"Who will be happy with that?" Marion rounded the corner, catching up with her father. She was dressed in deep blues, in an outfit that portrayed her wealthy standing and matched her father. The duo stopped perpendicular to the restaurant Whetstone was eating at, looking out at a few ships along the dock.
"That one there's a wild'un." The captain nudged a nearby patron with her elbow. "Drinks like a sailor 'n aims to be one." The patron patently ignored her idle musings upon seeing they were pointed at the wealthy young woman, assuming it to be a joke with no punch line. She snorted out a quick laugh to herself when comparing Marion's current clothes to her getup the other night. She decided it best to keep her nose out of it and went about finishing her meal.
"The gentleman from Curaçao, my dear."
"And why should it matter to him whether I learn to sail?" Marion's confusion began to mix with her growing concern.
"Well you are to be married, after all. I should think him quite pleased to marry a sailor if he needn't a homemaker." He removed his watch from his pocket and stared impatiently at it for a moment. The watch and the fob were both silver that shone bright against the deep blues of his shimmering waistcoat. He slicked his hair back with his paw as Marion stood dumbfounded.
"Have you no shame?! Selling your daughter off for sugar and spirits! I would think a man of your status would at least have the guts to tell his own daughter about such an arrangement prior. We're done here!" Marion balled her paws into fists, turning to walk away. Just as she turned she felt a tug at the back of her shirt. Her father pulled her back forcefully, turning her to face him.
"We're done when I say we're done." He scolded under his breath, eyeing passersby in the hopes they hadn't seen his family matters turned public. He placed his paws upon her shoulders, holding her in place.
"Get off me!" Marion shouted, batting his arms away and making an attempt to flee. Just as she escaped his grasp, he raised his arm high.
Slap
Captain Whetstone looked up from her breakfast in time to see Mr. Cartier backhand Marion, who stumbled into a stack of tin plates and other dinnerware atop some crates, sending them clattering to the ground. The ruckus drew everyone's attention. Marion's father stood over her and shook his head. He took a clearly practiced stance, placing his hand disdainfully upon his brow, with the other resting on his hip.
Whetstone shook her head as she slammed her utensils onto the table. She stood abruptly, and threw her chair to the ground as she stomped over to the scene. Without so much as a word, she raised her paw and delivered a powerful open palmed slap to Mr. Cartier's cheek. He crumpled to the ground, both from the surprise of being slapped and from the sheer force of such a large moomin.
"I'll not have ye befoul my breakfast. Treatin' a young woman, let alone yer own daughter like that. Despicable." She spoke at him gruffly as she helped the young fillyjonk up onto her feet. Marion, awestruck and utterly confused by all of the events that had just transpired, simply stood behind Whetstone.
"I won't.. take that… from a brute like you!" He panted as he struggled both to speak and to stand back up.
"Aye, I imagine ye won't. And I don't be takin' nothin' from some fop exceptin' what's in his coffers. Scurry off out, ye bilgerat. I've got a devil of a hangover and I won't be wasting my time on the likes of ye."
"I'll have you arrested! Assault! Assault!" He shouted to the crowd forming around the trio. Much to his chagrin, the group seemed far more interested in seeing a pirate shake down a wealthy man than they were in coming to his aid.
"Guards! Gendarmerie! Somebody help!" The captain mockingly shouted in a pitiful voice. She spat to the ground near the man. "You think the law around here cares? Look around you. The people who carry your crates fer a coin. The folks who you exploit. Whingeing like that only works on folk what got food in their bellies." She stepped uncomfortably close to him, looking just down on him from a head above his height. "Anything left worth sayin', or are we done here?" The man could only look back at her with glassy eyes, stunned into brief silence.
"That's what I thought." Whetstone began to walk back to her table when she heard above the shocked whispers of the crowd, the distinct sound of a leather glove being thrown to the ground.
"A duel. You've thoroughly disrespected me and I'll not have the Cartier name besmirched by a ruffian like yourself."
The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed at the prospect. More folks gathered around, wishing to see what the gathering was for.
"What? Here and now? But I 'aven't even finished breakfast." She stopped only long enough to respond as she continued her stride to her table, not even turning to face him. Her gait was immediately interrupted by another leather glove, this one being tossed directly at the back of her head.
"A coward and a glutton! Afraid to challenge the famed fencing of Jules Cartier! I simply must laugh! Aha! Aha!" He forced out an almost theatrical laugh as he puffed out his chest. It seemed to him the world was a stage, and the thing he feared most was losing the audience. There was hardly a moment he wasn't scanning the surrounding group for approval.
"You'll be wantin' to be careful with what you say next.'' Captain Whetstone growled as she balled her paws into fists, turning to face him once more. "I didn't come to Marseille to kill a rich boy. I came to make merry and sell the scores I took from ponces like you!" She stepped in closer once more, slow and with intention. "Y' have no idea who yer talkin' to, do ya?" Her gravelly voice rumbled.
"From the smell of it, a drunkard. And from the look of it, a buffoon!" His confidence, though shaken, had returned as he began to shake off the slap. He dabbed at his cheek with a pocket square, and straightened his jacket.
"She's a pirate captain, father, don't do this!" Marion pleaded.
"Quiet, Marion!" Jules snapped. "This isn't one of your storybooks!"
"From the papers! Must you embarrass yourself at every opportunity? She's wanted and very, very dangerous!"
Whetstone shot her a flattered, knowing look. "Ha! Did y' hear that one, Jules?" She thumped her chest before tucking her arms behind her head with a cocky smirk. "Very… very dangerous." Her gaze was piercing, albeit smug. She was practically inviting him to hit her knowing full well that he wouldn't allow himself to be seen in such a light.
"A duel! I demand it! Face me or be branded forever a coward!" Jules' obstinations were increasingly childlike.
"As you like it, sugarboy. If I win, yer daughter goes her own way. And you pay off whatever price they got on m' head in Marseille. We fight to first blood, I'm not killing a man in front of his daughter. You let me know the time and place, Cartier. Send someone a'callin' down near this here restaurant. I'll be waitin'." The Captain parted the crowd as she passed. She righted her chair and sat back down, continuing her meal.
"Three days time. When I win, I'll be taking your bounty, and whichever rotten tub you floated in on. Live it up while you still can, Whetstone. You're about to make me even richer."
Captain Whetstone simply waved as he made his exit, her mouth full. Jules departed, entirely forgetting his daughter and the man from Curaçao. Marion, now the sole focus of a murmuring crowd, rushed to the table her would-be savior sat at.
"You complete and utter fool!" She slammed her paws down onto the table just across the captain. "You can't just go around inserting yourself into any old trouble you like!"
"That's a laugh right there." She swallowed her bite. "I seem to recall someone inserting themselves into trouble on my account just the other day. She looked a lot like you, matter o' fact... Took me fer a stroll in the garden in the pale moonlight." She took her last bite and set her utensils on her plate.
Marion slumped into a nearby chair, placing her head in her hands as the previously interested onlookers began to disperse. There were a few disappointed sighs, and life seemed to return to business as usual.
"You've no idea what you've done. Not that you'd care if you did, seems you've no thought beyond fun and fortune." She repeatedly cleared her hair from her face, looking into the table rather than across it to the woman now responsible for her fate.
"It's only to first blood, mate. I'll give yer dear ol' dad a good scratch and a scar to remember me by, and you get to goin' on whatever it is you'd like from then on. You've seen what I can do first-hand. It won't be but a quick bout."
"And I've seen what he can do, as well. He's a liar and a no-good cheat, but a proper duelist through and through. If you win I'll be on the street, and if he wins I'll be married off and you'll be in prison or worse in no small part on my behalf." Her brow furrowed. Her life had capsized and was now in the paws of a scruffy outlaw.
The captain took a small pouch from her belt and laid a few coins on the table near her plate, then slid the pouch over to Marion.
"I'm sorry, lass. I just can't sit idle 'round men like him. When yer out t' sea, aboard and abroad, y' get to thinkin' all manner o' things 'bout the way folks get on… Whole lot that don't make much sense. I don't know to make a social call by now. I don't know nothin' but me own code." She took a heavy sigh, pulling a long smoking pipe from her coat and chewing on the stem. "Take that there coin and put yerself up some place nice a while. It'll be a payday fer us both 'fore it's over, I promise ye that."
Marion sat quietly, gripping tight the pouch of doubloons. She wasn't sure what else to say, let alone what else to do. Captain Whetstone trodded off toward her ship, head full of thoughts and ache. Marion followed her not long after.
"Something more y'need from a… how'd you put it? A 'complete fool' like me?" The moomin turned her head over her shoulder at the woman sulking just behind her.
"You are many things. A rapscallion, a scallywag, a ne'er-do-well, but I fear I spoke unfairly of you in calling you a fool. One of the many things you are now, however, is responsible for me." She sighed deeply. "Whether or not you like it."
"Yer yer own woman ain'tchya? Can go as ye please, afore at least three days are up. I don't be needin' t' look after you." She chuckled.
"Consider it the price you pay for today's events, and my penance for yesterday's. I hardly think it wise to be anywhere my father could reach me at the moment."
"Won't be fur off my tail. Yer welcome aboard as long as you can stomach it!" She slapped her on the back, knocking her forward a bit as the duo made way to The Honeyed Word. "Hardly the worst punishment I've seen in all me days, 'avin a lass like you aboard."
The next three days brewed a strange energy for all around. Word got out about the incident at the docks, likely in part due to Jules' boasting. It wasn't enough for him to duel and beat a lowly pirate, nor befitting of his reputation. Whetstone's wanted posters had enjoyed a fearsome makeover, at Mr. Cartier's request. She now appeared monstrous, though devilishly handsome. Her bounty was attributed to both deeds she had done, and now tales some have told. Even in opposition, the fillyjonk could not be associated with the ills and ails of a true and "ugly" world. He did not just want to restore his reputation, he wanted to cement himself as a hero by defeating a villain. Criers, newsmen, even housewives and barflies were alight and giddy over the upcoming duel. A legendary scoundrel pirate versus a noble and upstanding upper crust citizen.
Word had reached the captain's crew by now, who were mostly uneasy toward their new found glory. Being a famous criminal still makes one a criminal, and being famous makes one a target. They'd watched as their normally steadfast captain had begun fawning over a rich young lady, while showing her the ropes as it were. Their new guest had been enjoying the captain's fineries and with none of the work to earn it. The pair spent much of the three days aboard romping about clad in silk, delighting in drink and distraction alike. If it weren't for the prize of having their charges cleared and paid off by someone with deep pockets, and the captain's usually fair treatment, a mutiny might've been in order. There'd been no talk of plans, and any crew that interrupted the captain were brushed off or turned away. It seemed as though their luck would soon run out if their captain remained lovestruck.
Tensions rose onshore surrounding the Cartier business as well, but as tensions rose, so too did the profits. The money minded men of Marseille had begun buying up as much Cane King rum as suited them. Some stocked up to resell and others to enjoy, but all were buying thanks to the sudden and fervent advertising of Mr. Cartier. He'd sent out servants swinging sample trays to swill all over town. The collective drunkenness among citizens alongside the excitement of recent events made for a city wide spectacle. It seemed duels and drinks drove sales and sail alike.
The buzz surrounding the affair became the calm before the storm on the day of. A party sent by the challenger arrived at the docks in the early afternoon along with a parade of onlookers. The usual liveliness of the harbor was instead abated by prolonged eager silence, joined only by the lapping of the waves and the stomping of boots.
"Captain Whetstone!" A pair of whompers shouted at each ship they passed, waiting a moment before moving on to the next. They looked for her at the restaurant as she had requested, but she never arrived. The challenger's party consisted of two whompers dressed in deep blues featuring ornate silver trim, a large and muscular hemulen clad almost entirely in leather, and a nibling carrying a long red velvet box. Down the docks they shouted, and down the docks more and more onlookers followed shortly behind.
"Captain Whetstone!" The whompers cried, over and over above the murmurs that had begun to swell. The captain, still fast asleep in her quarters, awoke with a start.
"Who wa- is… wha..whasit you want!" She stumbled to her feet, eyes squinted, an empty bottle tumbling from atop her to the floor. She quickly realized the voice was coming from outside the ship, and fastened a robe around her waist. Marion awoke from the commotion as well, following Whetstone's lead. The pair exited the captain's quarters to the sour faces of an armed and ready crew.
The first mate of The Honeyed Word, an older hemulen woman by the name of Ruth, spoke up from between puffs on her pipe. "I imagine that's fer you Cap'n. They've like to come a'callin' on her account." She motioned to Marion.
"I imagine so, too, aye. Worry not, I ain't steered you lot wrong yet, 'ave I?" Whetstone winked, and made for the deck, Ruth and Marion following just behind. The mood was tense, and not all of the crew were sure of their captain's judgements as of late. She arrived at the railing, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to see dozens upon dozens of folk, all waiting on her. The leather clad hemulen, who had presumably been hired muscle, shook his head at the sight of the supposed legendary pirate dressed in a frilly nightgown and robe.
"What do ye want?" The captain shouted.
"Captain Whetstone!" The whompers cried once more in unison. The nibling in the party opened his velvet case to reveal a long brass horn, about three times his size. He set up a tripod and rested the other end of the horn on it. The small creature drew a deep breath before filling the air with a short, but very very loud melody. The muscular hemulen covered his ears, and shook his head once more. "You've been summoned to duel the great Jules Cartier at his manor! We shall escort you!" The whompers bowed.
Marion appeared just behind the captain, wrapping her arm around the small of her back. She was similarly dressed in a silk robe and nightgown. In her other paw, she held a steaming teacup, and passed it along to Whetstone, who took a long, slow sip.
"But we 'aven't even had breakfast!" The moomin protested loudly.
"It's past noon!" The hemulen mercenary shouted, palming his face, and shaking his head once more before storming off. He parted the crowd, grumbling to himself on the way out. The nibling took up his horn once more, apparently announcing the departure of one of their party, much to the dismay of the gathered crowd's ears.
Ruth approached the duo, dropping on the deck just behind them their clothes, and the captain's sword with an unceremonious thud. "Don't be comin' back if ye don't win." She spit to the side.
"When I do come back, we'll be 'avin' words, Ruthie. Strong ones, too, I reckon. Mind yer tongue 'round yer captain." Whetstone began to put on her boots.
"If only ye could mind yers 'round whatever gal ye be fancyin' of late. Wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't fer you. Now the whole of Marseille wants a look at us, and the whole of the world wants the price on our heads. Keep yer promises, cap. Er I'll be keepin' 'em fer you." She headed below deck.
"Whaddaya reckon that means, Marion?" She looked around, puzzled.
"I imagine it was pretty straightforward, but you pirates are a bit hard to understand sometimes. Verbally, I mean."
The captain wheezed and laughed loudly, wiping a tear from her eye. "That we are!" She continued to get ready. "Anyway don't ye be worryin' about her, either. Everyone's a mite worked up I imagine. She's stubborn, but she's a good'un." She tossed her robe and nightgown onto the deck of the ship as she hopped over to the side of the ship to the dock.
The whompers were still in their bowed position, and a large chunk of the crowd had begun to disperse before hearing the captain's boots slam onto the wood. She had only dressed halfway up, boots, slops, a sash, a belt and sword. Her thick fur was disheveled and unkempt, an appearance apparently befitting the crowd's idea of a pirate. Ooh's and ahh's once more took shape, whispers and whistling as well. She began pulling her shirt on as she approached her would-be escort crew, coat draped across her arm. Marion shortly after hopped over, dressed quite unlike she had when she'd arrived. She rushed to the captain's side, attempting to avoid the gaze of the murmuring crowd for too long. The challenger's party parted a path as they beckoned the duo along quietly.
Marseille was silent and empty, shopkeeps shuddered their windows and covered their stalls, passersby rushed indoors, and the captain swaggered through the streets en route to her duel. Deep blue ribbons and brightly colored bits of decor began cluttering their path to Cartier Manor. Though sparse at first, upon nearing the manor proper, the whole of the area was densely decorated. Rugs and flower petals lined the walkway, and whatever surface could have something hanging from it, did. Red roses and white lilies were bouqueted and affixed opposite each other. Even the balconies of houses unaffiliated to the Cartier name had wreaths hung from them. The early afternoon sun baked the clouds in front of it as they gathered, and it seemed as though the sky would open up any minute. The air was humid and filled with the scent of loose flower petals being crushed underfoot, alongside the distant rains.
The nibling rushed ahead as fast as his little feet would carry him, horn in tow. He set up his tripod just outside a bespoke iron gate. Just beyond the gate was a vast open courtyard, filled to capacity with all manner of folk, many of which were dressed in finery.
"I'm a mite hazy, but, is yer dad always this.. dramatic?" Whetstone covered her face as she whispered to Marion.
"Seemingly more so than usual these days. This, I'd say, is less dramatic and more… absurd? Honestly I've given up attempting to understand the man."
"This way, Captain Whetstone." The whompers once again spoke in unison. They led her just to the side as they ushered the rest of the guests, Marion included, in through the gates. The nibling blasted the same tune as before as each made their way into the courtyard.
"So I'm not goin' that way?" The captain said, pointing across the fence.
"No!" The whompers said, cheerfully. Their smiles almost perfectly matched one another, along with just about everything else about them. They seemed as though they were simply pleased to be involved.
"Can y' tell me which way I am goin'?"
"No!" They cheered once more.
The trio stood for a few more minutes as the nibling welcomed more guests with his horn.
"Can I go in now?" The captain scratched behind her ears. Her tone was playful, but she was starting to get impatient.
"No!" They sounded almost the same every time. Captain Whetstone gave up and leaned against the fence, arms crossed. She wasn't worried about being late to the duel, nor really very much about the duel itself. The whole affair was turning out far more posh than she had imagined, and with each decoration and each passing upper crust guest, she became less and less worried. She gave into idle thought for a moment. Her mind chose distractions of all kinds, but more and more her mind wandered back to Marion. Had she made the right choice to interfere when she did that day at the docks? Had she done right by her so far? What would become of her next?
"Ahem"
"Wah!" Whetstone shouted, recoiling from the sudden interruption. "Who'sat!" She caught herself on the fence.
A muddler with very long droopy ears dressed in a most garish fashion held her paw out in front of her. Her hat was massive and had a large feather sticking out from it, along with several other adornments. She wore several pin cushions in various places, and a chatelaine of sewing materials hung from her hip.
"Ahem." She continued to hold out a paw to shake in greeting.
"What? Am I in yer way, or..?"
"Ahem. It's my name."
"What's yer name?"
"Ahem!"
"What?!"
The muddler sighed. "My name. My name is Ahem. As in hemming garments. It's what I do. I'm a tailor." She motioned to her collection of sewing tools and accessories.
"Taylor? But I thought y' said yer name was Ahem?"
Ahem patently ignored her. "Mr. Cartier has requested that you come along with me for the time being. Preparations for the… un-seam-ly events to come."
"...right." The captain squinted. "And will there be more sewing puns?"
"We'll put a pin in that one for now."
"Yer too quick fer me, lass!" She laughed out loud. She was beginning to enjoy herself. Things had taken quite the turn from the serious to the silly, and she was along for the ride.
"Quick indeed." She grabbed the captain by the arm, taking her to a room just inside the manor around the outside of the courtyard. The room was littered with fabric, tools, and mannequins of all shapes and sizes. One of the mannequins featured a fillyjonk-esque head with a familiar mustache made to resemble Jules.
"Rich bastard's got his own uhh… what do ye even call a room like this? Sewing dungeon?" Whetstone fiddled with just about everything in her path as Ahem snapped back and forth with her measuring tape across the captain's moominous form.
"Mr. Cartier has appointed me to make a coat for you. Something a little less stolen and salt soaked. He wants you to look flashy for his big day." She rolled her eyes.
"Big day. Pffft." She blew a raspberry. "Also I'll have you know I bought this one." She said, putting extra emphasis on the last two words.
"Pffft indeed." Ahem pulled aside a curtain revealing a tall and nicely rounded mannequin. Upon it was a coat fit for a pirate, though very well made and quite fancy. It was entirely black save for the trim, cuffs, and pocket covers that were a deep dark red, with shining gold buttons and an interior lining of red and gold paisley. A cutlass crossed with a rose was embroidered on the left breast. She snatched it off the mannequin and draped it over the captain's shoulders. "Go on, see how it fits. Your measurements seem almost exactly what I thought they'd be."
"It's quite lovely!" She put the coat on, pulling the sleeves over her arms. She jumped and jogged in place, bent down to touch her toes and stretched her arms. Then she mimicked punching, drawing and swinging a sword, and climbing the riggings of a ship. She pretended to draw her pistol with a flourish and blew the smoke from its imaginary barrel, and then curtsied meekly. "Fits great! Oh, one more thing." She walked up to the Jules mannequin and planted her feet. She drew her arm back and delivered a hearty slap just as she had the first time. "It's perfect, actually." The head of the mannequin tumbled to the floor.
"Three days is hardly long enough to craft something perfect. Let alone an entire ensemble that turns a ruffian into a posh pirate renegade as Mr Cartier suggested. So you'll have to make due with only the coat I'm afraid."
"Wait, three days? He asked y' to make a coat on the day that I slapped 'im?" She let out a single loud laugh. "I musta knocked something loose! How'd ye get m' measurements, anyhow?"
"Followed you around."
"But I hardly left m' ship after that business, how'd y-"
"You left four times, actually. Two of which you brought back food and wine."
"Ha! Typical. I like you, Ahem, yer fun! An' this coat is perfectly made t' measure, most folks miss just how big I am 'round the middle. You've got me thanks."
"You know, I think that might be the first time I've gotten a genuine compliment the entire time I've spent under the employ of Mr. Cartier. Go give him hell, captain." She smiled, pushing the moomin gently on her back towards the door. "Oh, but do mingle a bit first. I don't think Jules is quite done making a fool of himself yet. I'm sure he'll call for you." She began packing things into a large trunk.
Not long after, the strange events at Cartier Manor continued to unfold. Captain Whetstone found herself in the courtyard, and Marion in turn found her as well. Refreshments were being served on trays carried by servants in bright blue vests. The pair sat at a table under a parasol, similar settings littered the yard alongside tents, rugs, and a veritable ship's load of furniture. All of this surrounded a large stage, adorned with deep blue ribbons and flowers.
"That's a fine coat you've found yourself." Marion eyed the embroidery, sitting across from Captain Whetstone.
"Aye? A gift from yer old man I s'pose. Funny seamstress gal made it." She lifted it to show off the liner. "Yer house is massive! Just you lot live there?"
The captain made musings about this, that, and the other, chatting idly with Marion. Time stretched on, and the outing began to seem much less like a duel, and much more like a garden party. With each offered hors d'oeuvre, the captain took at least one of each thing, most of which she tried and set aside without finishing. She did, however, finish each flute of champagne that was brought by.
The captain held a glass at eye level, staring at the champagne within, boredom getting the better of her. "Marion, how do ye reckon they get the bubbles in th–"
"Welcome, all!" A voice boomed from the stage, commanding everyone's attention. "Today marks a momentous and fateful occasion." Jules' theatrical manner of speaking finally suited the situation.
He had chosen an outfit of deep blues and bright whites, with silver buttons. Each article bore a motif of white lilies, trimmed with shimmering silver. The calves and sleeves of his outfit were tight and fitted, while the rest was loose and flowing. All of it was made of a shiny satin exterior, and he wore a large and gallant cape upon his shoulders. It was no doubt the work of the same tailor of Whetstone's coat. His hair was slicked back, and his mustache was waxed into perfect, symmetrical points. Behind him stood a short and portly older moomin, with a curly powdered wig. He was dressed similarly to Mr Cartier, though much simpler and with a brooch bearing the symbol of the King's navy.
"Today, we bring a close to the scourge upon the seas. I, Jules Cartier, am to end the career of a pirate that has so long plagued the open waters." Not a word left his lips without some manner of posing added to it. Bravado seemed a natural calling for him. "But I, ladies and gentlemen, am no brute! We duel today only to first blood. I have called upon the aid of Governor Woodes Rogers, an experienced pirate hunter, to take down alongside me the infamous Captain Whetstone!"
Gasps were shared by the crowd, most of whom had likely never heard of Rogers nor Whetstone before the last few days. Jules was building drama for a performance, and the audience was absolutely enraptured.
"Should your hero prevail today, Miss Whetstone will voluntarily turn herself in at my behest. The streets of Marseille will no longer be subject to her whims, and its surrounding seas shall stand as an affront to all pirates who would dare approach!"
Rogers, the moomin standing behind Jules, stepped forward. He unfurled an almost comically long document and cleared his throat. "Captain Whetstone, of her own free will, submits heretofore under the crown and will be granted clemency for all acts perpetrated during her stints as a pirate, and shall be pressed into service of the king's navy, or be jailed at once and in perpetuity remain. Here listed are her many crimes, and associated parties-"
"You needn't continue reading Mr Rogers. They can see how long that page is." Jules interrupted.
"Am I going crazy?" Marion whispered across the table to Whetstone. "I mean I know it's been three days. But it's only been three days. A garden party is one thing, but to organize all of this?" She rested her head in her paws for a moment.
"I don't even think that there's the real Woodes Rogers." She squinted at the man from her seat. "Last I heard it, he were bankrupt or some such. Sued by his own crew. Ought t' be down n' out, not out n' about putzing around France." She searched her pockets for her pipe, remembering that she wasn't wearing her old coat. "That page he's got is like as any t' be blank I'd bet."
"Captain Whetstone, to the stage if you would!" Jules shouted, finishing his speech.
Marion looked across the table, only now showing her fear. "Be careful up there. He's quicker than he looks."
"It'll be over 'fore ye know it, lass. If yer dad wants to put on a show fer these folk, then I say let's give 'em a show." She picked up her champagne flute, and swaggered up to the stage. She took her place across from Jules.
"The fearsome pirate captain, Whetstone. Ruffian. Ne'er-do-well. Scoundrel and scallywag. You've plundered your way through the seas and sewn chaos among the citizenry, but that all ends today." Jules once again performed for the audience rather than speaking.
"Aye. All that n' more. And none of it could sate the devil inside me." She growled, mostly unconvincingly. She was, at best, unseasoned as an actor.
"You're drunk!" Jules said, tugging on a pair of leather gloves.
"An' yer annoying!"
"Name your second."
"My what?" The captain shot him a puzzled look.
"Your second. Someone you trust to bear witness to the duel. Have you never had a proper duel in your life? And yet how many have fallen to your sword alone? How barbaric." Jules rolled his eyes.
"Ah. Marion'll do it. She's good like that, seems despite yer efforts t' the contrary, you've raised a very capable young woman."
Jules flinched, balling his hands into fists as the captain shouted for Marion to join them on stage. He swallowed his anger, and continued the show. The moomin who may or may not have been Woodes Rogers presented a velvet box, and a servant presented another. They opened the lids revealing one to have within it a set of ornate dueling pistols with pearlescent grips. The other box contained two sideswords decorated with gold engravings upon their blades.
"The challenged may choose the weapons. The seconds shall inspect the weapons to ensure fairness and quality. Once we are all in agreeance, we shall separate ten or twenty paces, face one another, and the duel can begin in earnest upon the signal of each second." Jules delivered his clearly practiced lines to the crowd.
"Well I meant what I said. I won't be killin' a man in front o' his own daughter. No pistols. First blood."
"Swords it is, then. Ten paces instead."
"I ain't usin' one o' yer swords neither. I made this cutlass and ye won't part me from it." She removed her sword from her belt, handing it to Marion, who had just arrived on stage. "You and yer second can inspect that'un."
"Very well, captain. I suppose I should have expected no less from a pirate." His words were intensely venomous, annunciating each word with a pompous anger. He turned to face the audience. "The pirate has elected to use her own, crude blade even within the context of a gentlemanly duel!" This elicited whispers from the crowd.
Jules paid no mind to Marion as she presented Whetstone's sword to him and his second. They looked at it for only a moment and both scoffed, despite its elegance and craftsmanship. The captain and her second both carefully examined Jules' blade, finding no flaw or alterations. They agreed, and each took their sword as they took their place on stage. The crowd was silent, and the sound of thunder echoing in the distance was joined only by the footsteps of the two duelists as they took their paces.
Jules held his sword point up, taking a dueling stance as he measured each pace. The captain had returned her sword to its scabbard, and was still holding her flute of champagne. She took each step as though she were crossing stones in a river, occasionally pretending to lose her balance playfully as she watched the audience.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
With each step Marion's heart raced, she feared for her future, and for her newfound freedom. She'd found a fondness these last three days and had mostly forgotten her anger to her father until she met with him once more on stage.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Jules gripped his sword tightly, eager to rewrite himself as a hero to the people of Marseille. He turned in his position, waiting for the signal from the seconds. The captain turned as well, sword sheathed, glass in hand.
"At your will, Mr Rogers." Marion stood beside him near the rear of the stage, out of the duelists' way. Her voice was shaky.
"Begin!" Woodes Rogers shouted without hesitation.
Jules lowered himself, rushing into a full sprint.
The captain tossed her glass into the air, straight. She drew her cutlass quick as lightning, and with incredible speed and precision, cut the stem from the bell. As the glass descended, she caught it in her paw. The audience gasped, a few even squealed as the base sailed far off into the crowd.
Jules stopped in his tracks for a moment, on guard. It was too late to back out now, despite the impressive display.
She took a long, protracted sip before gently setting the unharmed top half of the glass onto the stage upside down next to her, empty. "I hope y' brought yer dancing shoes." She extended her arm, the point of her sword idly aimed at her opponent.
He rushed to strike first, despite his showmanship he aimed to end the duel as fast as he could. He thrust to the captain's side. She sidestepped, grabbing his wrist with her empty paw, and used his momentum to throw him to the ground. He landed with an anticlimactic albeit quite loud thud on his back.
"That's disappointing, Jules. I thought y' wanted to give these fine folk a show." She spoke at stage volume. She stood over him, the tip of her cutlass resting just above his chest.
"It's to first blood, captain." He gripped his sword tightly, and swept at her ankles. "And I'm not bleeding yet!" He jumped to his feet the moment she was on the defensive.
She back-stepped, narrowly avoiding his swing. The audience roared to life having been in rapt silence during their first exchange. They shouted and cheered, nearly drowning out the following clanging of steel.
Jules ferociously delivered cut and thrust after cut and thrust, he was as well practiced as Marion had said. He'd not met an opponent yet that could hold against his onslaught, and yet the captain was calm and focused, dodging and deflecting each of his blows.
Whetstone feinted high as she had done with Marion, then swung low at his legs, cutting just the fabric of his pant-leg as he changed his stance.
She laughed. "Ha! Got yer daughter with that'un, too!"
He snarled, lunging in and following up with several repeated thrusts. The captain knocked each of them aside. She bound her sword against his and closed any distance between them, using her weight to throw him off balance. Jules fell to the ground once more, but rolled off his back and onto his feet again. He rounded her, swapping sides hoping to gain an advantage. He threatened a cut, but dropped his leg and reached out for a long thrust to the captain's inside line. She had previously been neglecting it and stepping aside, and she wouldn't step aside if she had thought it was a cut. He drove his point home as fast as he could, and then-
Thwap!
Whetstone batted aside his blade by the flat using her paw! She charged in now that he was open, blade raised high. He managed to raise his guard just in time, barely withstanding the weight of an oversized moomin crashing against his sword arm like a heavy wave against a ship's bow. He rounded his opponent once more, returning to his side of the stage.
Jules hated being on the defensive. He hated even more his opponent. He hated that despite his assuredness in his own skill and the effort he put into this display, he had not bested the captain as quickly as he had hoped. His off hand left his hip, abandoning his dueling stance. He abandoned his footwork, too, in exchange for a mad dash. He began throwing wild cuts in front of him as he charged, yelling the whole way. She threw all of her might into one heavy cut, knocking his sword off line once again. He reeled, regaining his composure.
He realized that he could not beat her in a competition of strength, nor speed. He would have to stay calm and search for an opening. "The leg!" He thought to himself. "She may be twice the size of your average moomin, but she's still got shorter legs than a fillyjonk!" He closed in once more, focusing in on waist level thrusts. He began changing his rhythm, repeating the same passing steps in his approach. He'd stab and wait for her to cut, then step and do it again. Biding his time until she went for something trickier.
Whetstone noticed the change in his attitude. He was lithe and by now much more warmed up. It was as though he'd settled into the flow of battle. She held both arms out to her side, as if to say "come at me!" Completely opening up her defenses. He threw a cut to her chest, following up on her opening. She took her sword by its spine at one end, and the grip with the other, and swung up as though she were forcing open a window. He reeled once more as his sword was knocked away, but the captain was wide open for exactly the kind of attack he'd hoped for. He readjusted, then swung for her thigh.
Seeing this, she leapt back once, being caught off guard by such a near miss. She'd kept her cool through most of the fight, but she was beginning to worry that her fooling around might cost her new friend dearly. She leapt back again, escaping his reach. She spun off her front leg. Jules watched, unsure of the captain's intentions with such a maneuver. He saw her rear leg swoop up midway through the spin, and then back down as she completed it, as if in slow motion. At first he was confused, but then he remembered. "Oh no." He thought. "Not like this!"
Her back foot kicked the glass she had left on stage, sending it flying straight at his face. He brought up his sword to block it, or knock it aside, but it was in vain. It shattered against the base of his blade, sending shards flying past it. The collective gasp from the previously uproarious crowd would have sucked the air from the room were they not outside. Even the coming storm stood silent as a trickle of blood ran down Jules' forehead. He reached up and touched it gingerly, examining the aftermath upon his paw.
"I believe that's first blood, Mr. Cartier." The captain flourished with her sword a moment before returning it to its scabbard. She faced the audience, curtsied meekly, and headed off toward Marion at the rear of the stage. Much of the crowd were confused, some even angry. There was cheering and jeering alike, booing and whistling. Jules remained on stage, utterly defeated as the rain began gently dropping.
"Congratulations, Miss Whetstone." Jules said. His voice was much less performative, taking on a sinister tone. The captain continued her stride, merely raising her paw dismissively. "You have won the duel…" Jules rushed toward her. "But you will lose your life!"
"Whetstone! Look out!" Marion cried as loud as she could.
The captain turned to see Jules just behind her, and coming right at her head was the tip of his sword. She threw herself back, headfirst, but it was too late. His sword dug into her face and tore across her left eye, stopping around the middle of her forehead thanks only to luck and to Marion's warning. She shouted in pain, clutching at the wound on her face with one paw and drawing her sword with the other.
"This isn't fair!" The wouldbe Woodes shouted, sprinting away. He stumbled into the table that had the dueling boxes atop it, knocking it over. "You didn't tell me you were going to kill her!"
The audience bellowed with shouts of a similar kind.
"The duel is over! Stop!"
"You lost! Give it up!"
"He's lost his mind!"
Many voices cried over one another.
Several members of the audience shrieked in fear from the sight of so much blood, and several others rushed to the stage in an attempt to stop him from continuing his assault.
"Y' cowardly bastard!" The captain growled, fighting as hard as she could with the use of only one eye. "Marion! Get yerself outta here!" She looked around in a half blind panic.
"Duel or no duel, she's a wanted woman! To the man who brings me her head, you'll claim the bounty and I'll make you the richest man in Marseille!" Jules drew the crowd into a frenzy. Those who weren't tempted by his offer began running to the gate, and those who were tempted began surrounding the stage. They were unarmed but very much outnumbered the two who were now stuck between Jules, the manor, and the gate leading back out into the streets.
Marion rushed in the same direction as Woodes, shaking with panic. She had to act, and quickly. She picked up one of the pistols from the open dueling boxes, pointing it at her father. She tightened her grip, steadying herself. She'd never fired a pistol before, and despite everything, she'd never wanted to kill her father. "Stop! Stop attacking her this instant or I'll shoot you!" She shouted. Tears were streaming down her face, her hair and clothes now soaked with rain as the storm raged on.
The captain backed off from the fight, holding her ground as Marion made her plea. Jules stopped as well, turning to face his daughter. The herd of newly made bounty hunters waited, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.
"Make sure you take that one alive." Jules pointed at Marion with his sword, gesturing to his makeshift militia.
Click
Marion pulled the trigger, filled with an array of strong emotions that all burnt up in her anger. Jules paused briefly, seemingly offended. His eyes were wide and mouth agape. The flint struck the frizzen, yet there was no smoke, no flash, no bang. The rain had soaked the powder thoroughly, forcing her threats empty.
The moment seemed to drag on, the clear line in the sand now drawn between Marion and her home life. She screamed, barely able to hear herself as she threw the gun at him, reaching next for the sword left in the box. The captain used this as an opportunity to rush to Marion's side, scooping her up in a bridal carry at full sprint, off stage.
"After them, you fools!" Jules regained focus after his brush with death. He'd gone too far now to give up. He'd all but given up on raising his daughter to be the way he wanted her, but he refused to relinquish even the slightest bit of control, especially to a pirate.
Captain Whetstone ran as fast as she could toward the gate. The path was clear and the only remaining bystanders had just made it through. Jules was the fastest among the duo's pursuers, quickly taking charge ahead of his group. The grass underfoot was slick, and the rugs placed upon it now waterlogged. Thunder crashed within the sky, bellowing throughout the humid air below.
"Come back you coward! Blaggard! Face your fate!" Jules shouted above the racket of the storm as he ran.
The captain stumbled, woozy from her injury, dropping Marion in the process. They both stopped only a moment, with Jules gaining on them. The gate was tantalizingly near, and their hope for escape pushed them onward. The pair righted themselves and passed the threshold, soon to be followed by Jules and his cohorts.
"I have you now, you wretch!" Jules raised his sword, closing in. He chanced a cut at the captain's leg rather than attempting to tackle a woman likely twice his weight.
tst-BOOM
A shot rang out, crushing beneath it for a moment the sound of storm and step alike. Smoke plumed from a covered balcony one floor up, just outside the gate to the Cartier Manor courtyard. Whatever onlookers remained nearby scattered at the sound.
"I reckon I already told ye…" a hoarse voice spoke from behind the smoke. "Keep yer promises, Cap'n. Lest I be keepin' 'em fer ye." A rugged hemulen woman set her spent rifle to the side, lifting a loaded one from a row against the railing she was perched at.
For the briefest of moments the world fell silent as those in the vicinity searched for the object of Ruth's aim. The silence broke with the anguished scream of Jules, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched his arm where he'd been shot.
"Ruthie!" The captain shouted, gleeful and relieved.
"Put some wind in yer sails, kid! Ye promised me no foolishness. Ye get that girl outta here, an' maybe I won't be considr'in it foolish n'more!" She took aim, putting a shot between the wounded Mr Cartier and his thugs. The shot caused a few of them to rethink, running back into the courtyard. She once again set her empty rifle aside, picking up a fresh one. "Avast! I've got 'nuff guns up 'ere to take the lot of ye! What'll it be?" She asked the duo's pursuers, mounting her gun on the railing.
Captain Whetstone and Marion ran as far and as fast as they ever had before. Despite eventually making their escape, the two were in need of leave from Marseille. Jules' ire is doubtless to have stirred all manner of trouble, and he had a wound to prove his opponent's guilt. When they arrived at the docks that evening, out of hiding, The Honeyed Word was no longer moored at the harbor. The surrounding area was lousy with law, searching for the both of them. They spent that night together in a cove on the beach tending to Whetstone's wound, making plans for tomorrow and the tomorrow beyond that.
–
"That's awful, Miss Puukko!" Moominmama had returned from the kitchen to the veranda with a tray set for coffee. She set it down upon the table, having a seat next to her husband.
"Yes, quite! And what became of the two of you next?" Papa asked from his seat across the table. His agreeance to Mama's exclamation was betrayed by the excitement in his voice. He held a love for all things nautical as well as for a good story, and could not hide it.
The fluffy brown moomin scratched at the underside of her snout, eyes fixed on the distance as she reminisced. It was a calm, and pleasantly warm evening in Moominvalley. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon and crickets chirped from their hiding places. She puffed on her pipe, exhaling deeply with a contented sigh. She bore a scar across her left eye, and the heavy brow of a long life. Seeing her dressed comfortably, swapping stories on the veranda, you'd hardly believe she'd once been a fearsome pirate captain. Obscurity suited her quite well, as the last breath of a legend long past.
"In my absence, Ruthie 'ad told me crew t' weigh anchor an' make fer somewhere near. I reckon I'd consider her t' be a hero, least by my account anyway..." She took another drag off her pipe. "Trouble were certain to have found them if she hadn't got 'em outta there. That was the last anyone saw of her. Sent some men that-a-way fer to go about findin' her some time later. Not hide nor hair. I think she aimed t' make the rest o' her life a quiet one."
"But you pirates are all flare and bravado! A life of excitement, and er, uh, and freedom! Why would you want to give up that?" Moominpapa gestured in his chair as he spoke.
"Papa…" his wife laid her paw on his arm as if to settle him down.
"It's a fine thing t' be sure, fer a spell. But it's got its rigors. I fear what I mean t' say ain't kind enough fer this valley. It's foul, and it's wretched. Turn folk into beasts and beasts into.. well I hardly even know what ye'd call it. Bastards 'n scoundrels. When ya find a one like the one I were sweet on, well… it's hard t' live a life like that seein' thems that you'd protect with their teeth gritted behind a sword." She dropped a sugar cube into her cup, watching it slowly dissolve beneath the dark waves of coffee.
"And to think I'm the one writing memoirs." Papa mused. "And what happened to Marion?"
"After we made it back aboard me ship, I weren't in a way fit fer sailing. Without a first mate and without their captain and helmsman, the crew had t' band together. They fell in with Marion right quick. She'd read up on sailing her whole life, call to the sea an' all that. Just ne'er put it to practice. Did a good turn at the old bailiwick once more, plundered as many ships carryin' the Cane King stuff 'tween Nassau, Curaçao and near Marseille as we could. She learnt t' be quite fierce in a short while. A force to be reckoned with under my care. We became as tall tales walkin'... We got t' bein' quite close, too. Didn't ne'er get to talking out the particulars though, I'm afraid."
She stopped for a moment, enjoying the coffee, company, and relative peace and quiet. Ever since she'd moved to Moominvalley she'd known more peace than she ever had. Even in her own childhood home, there were always storms and turmoil. As no more than a pup on the seas apprenticing under good men, she knew even further strife and noise. From her start on the seas she thought she could earn the peace she had now, and never did.
"It's funny how misfortune and heartache can get ye where ye need t' be goin'. We coulda stayed tall tales iffin things hadn't shaken out like they did. The thing about it is…" She took one last puff on her pipe before tapping it into the ashtray.
"Whether or not ye tuck it when ye run, if ye made yer tale long enough, someone always catches ye by it in the end. But that's a story fer another time I suppose."
#puukko#moomins#moominvalley#moomin oc#first mate marion#fillyjonk#sator you did an amazing job with the cover i cant express just how much i love it! ❤️❤️❤️#i really hope everyone likes the story it took a loooong time#in case anyone's wondering this is that big project ive been talking about#the one that used to be called sea of stars and underwent multiple rewrites#the sequel is already in the works! so hopefully it shouldnt take as long as this one did#the sequels also gonna be shorter than this. more like an addendum really. then we can take the travel log series off hiatus!#i still dont know how to tag writing stuff#anyway please give this a read if you can. id love to hear what you think! send me an ask! ^^#also expect me to reblog this like a hundred times#Whetstone's whispers
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I'd like to ask about your brother.
<3
Jamie is my half-brother. He loved creepy crawlies and flying things.
Mom would lock me alone in a room with him to 'bond'.
And I used to really dislike him because he ignored me for weeks. After about a month, I was so frustrated that I threw his book and deliberately got him in trouble.
As payback, he would talk my ear off about owls and insects every time he saw me.
Looking back, I was lucky my brother was, well, Jamie.
It's never a good idea to lock your 8 year old daughter inside a room alone with a 15 year old boy.
#OOC: BEFORE YOU GET PUT OFF BY AN OC--PLEASE HEAR ME OUT#OOC: so there’ll be mention of the people she used to love and hate and have mixed towards as she grew up#OOC: IF I WANNA MAKE HER MORE THAN just a fridged chararcter--#OOC: she needs to have relationships that define her as more than just a mother and wife!!!!#OOC:--she needs to have a history that shapes her decisions prior to having tim or meeting Jack#ooc: there was a lot of tension growing up with a socialite father-- a mother who was his mistress--and the children caught between#OOC: Her brothers full name is James Thomas Crowne#OOC: ANON YOU <3333#ooc: ask if you want to learn more about them!! i have a whole backstory lined up for her lmho#jan tidbits#jan chats#undefined arc#homebound arc#dc red robin#tim drake#batman#batman and robin#dc robin#dc rp#janet drake#tim drake wayne#dc comics#dcu#dc#dc universe#timothy drake#robin tim drake#tim drake robin#janet drake rp#batfam
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