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throughpatchesofviolet · 15 days ago

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To Sail Forbidden Seas ~ Chapter 1

Synopsis: After a long voyage, Yi Sang and Heathcliff seek shelter.

Ship: The Adventure of Wuthering Heights

Words: ~2330

Warnings: alcohol; a physical altercation between characters; food

“It’s not much further, now,” Yi Sang said, glancing over his shoulder at his companion, who ambled along behind him, his head hung low as he clutched at the ragged cloak concealing his shoulders.

For a moment, Yi Sang’s gaze lingered on his friend’s hand, eyes silently tracing the tattoos inked into his scarred flesh, then he shook himself, turning to point at an inn down the road.

“There it is—Thames Landing … you’ll be safe there.”

His partner slowly lifted his head, eyes gleaming beneath his hood as he quietly studied the building Yi Sang indicated—it was a quaint, two-story structure, built from shabby wooden planks. The slanted roof had been bleached by the sun, and a makeshift fence, cobbled together from bits of driftwood, encircled the building. It was simple, almost rustic, in presentation.

“This place … good. Has charm.” The man spoke slowly, his sentences short, but each word was firm. Still, his brow furrowed, and he cast a questioning glance towards Yi Sang. “Safe … you sure?”

Yi Sang nodded, smiling as he motioned for his companion to follow him down the road. “At ease, my friend … I promise you Mycroft Holmes won’t lambast you with questions—aside from those pertaining to your stay, of course.”

The pair halted in front of the inn, and the man lifted his gaze to the sign hanging above the door. Even in the semi-darkness, he could make out a series of white letters that spelled out the inn’s name, the words painted to resemble a bridge arching over a dark band of water.

“Now, Heathcliff,” Yi Sang said softly, drawing his companion’s attention back to him, “while I can guarantee the Holmes siblings won’t object to you residing here, I cannot say the same for their other patrons—many of them are unscrupulous fellows, you see … the shameless, deceitful sort who’d sell you out in a heartbeat.”

His friend nodded solemnly. “Then I stay under cloak. Until you sort things out.”

Yi Sang smiled sadly, his fingers settling on the door handle. “Yes … I do believe that’s for the best.”

Taking a deep breath, Yi Sang threw the door open, and Heathcliff blinked as warm, golden light spilled onto the street. Hushed conversations tickled Heathcliff’s ears, and he reached to pull his hood over his eyes before following Yi Sang inside, quietly studying his surroundings from beneath his cloak. Wooden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, providing ample light for those below, and a massive fire blazed in the hearth built into the far wall. A large, bubbling kettle was suspended above the flame, the steam rising from the cauldron carrying a mouthwatering aroma that reached Heathcliff’s nostrils from the doorway, causing his stomach to growl.

“This way.” Yi Sang motioned for Heathcliff to follow as he approached the bar, flagging down the man behind the counter. “Mycroft! Can I trouble you for a moment?”

The bartender glanced up from the glass he was drying, his face brightening when he recognized Yi Sang. “Well, well … if it isn’t the first mate of the Pequod, himself! To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“The pleasure’s all mine—though, you could raise a toast to Captain Ishmael, if you so desired.” Yi Sang smiled, settling onto a barstool as Heathcliff melted into the corner. “She led us on yet another successful hunt.”

“Ah … Sherry did mention something about her going after another Whale …” Mycroft set the glass in front of Yi Sang, then reached beneath the counter for a bottle of whiskey, proceeding to pour the sailor a drink. “Now, what exactly can I get for you?”

“Well … my companion and I were looking to room here for the evening …”

Heathcliff exhaled slowly, tuning out the conversation as he scanned the inn—men crowded around large, rickety tables scattered throughout the dining room, swapping stories and downing tankards of liquor. Oftentimes, the amber liquid missed its mark, sloshing onto the floor, instead.

The harpooneer snorted, and was turning his gaze back towards the bar when something—nay, someone—caught his eye: a woman, the hem of her periwinkle gown trailing along the soiled floorboards, circled the tables, unimpeded by the sailors stumbling around her. She cut through the intoxicated mob like a ship through the Waves, her tawny hair streaming behind her as she weaved between toppled stools and unconscious men, scooping up dirty dishes as she passed.

Something about the way she carried herself intrigued Heathcliff—despite the chaos unfolding around her, she remained calm and collected, tending to her clients’ every need without complaint.

He shrank further into the corner as she drew near, his eyes dropping to the floor until she’d swept past. As her footsteps faded, Heathcliff slowly lifted his head, staring after her.

“Oi! You, there! You’re not ogling that lass, are you?”

Heathcliff flinched, shrinking back into the corner as one of the sailors staggered to his feet, scowling at the harpooneer. “Did not mean to stare,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze.

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” the man growled, lurching towards Heathcliff, who drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “But you were, weren’t you? Bet you’re thinkin’ you have a shot with her, too.”

“Was not,” Heathcliff muttered, pressing his back against the wall as the man stumbled closer.

“What was that?” The sailor came to a stop a few feet away from the harpooneer, his face set in an ugly sneer. “Speak up, you bastard—no one can understand you when you’re mumbling.”

Heathcliff grit his teeth. “Said, ‘was not.’ You need your ears checked.”

“You think you’re clever, eh? You wouldn’t be talkin’ like that if you knew who I was.”

“Do not care who you are. Go away. Want to be alone.”

“Do you? Well, you should’ve thought about that before you started makin’ eyes at the lass … now you’ve gotta pay the price.”

The sailor lunged forward with surprising speed, and Heathcliff raised an arm, barely blocking his fist. Swearing, the man struck out with his free hand, clawing at the edge of Heathcliff’s cloak, and the harpooneer hissed, attempting to squirm away, but it was no use—his assailant caught hold of his robe, grinning as he tore it from Heathcliff’s shoulders.

But his smile faded as the cloak fluttered to the floor, his eyes widening in horror as he noticed the tattoos inked on Heathcliff’s skin. “By the Wing’s … you’re … you’re …”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the inn as everyone stared at Heathcliff—at the markings covering every inch of his exposed flesh.

“You’re from … the Middle …” The sailor stumbled backwards, clasping his hands before starting to beg. “P-please … spare me—I didn’t mean any of it, I swear!”

Heathcliff lowered his head. “Tattoos from Middle, yes. But I … I not with them. Not anymore.”

The sailor blinked, his brow furrowing. Then, he straightened, his sneer returning. “You left the Middle? Isn’t that some kind of taboo?”

Heathcliff said nothing, and the man laughed as whispers passed through the crowd.

“Silence speaks louder than words, or so they say,” he said, grinning. “So, you ran out on the Middle, fully knowing the consequences … I wonder, just how much are they offerin’ for you?”

The sailor glanced at the men behind him, still smiling.

“Perhaps we should see about turning you in—we could use some extra cash, right boys?”

Murmurs of agreement echoed behind him, and the sailor, emboldened, grabbed Heathcliff’s wrist.

“Right, then … I’m goin’ to need your name—I’ll be givin’ it to the Middle, you know.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

The man blinked as a voice rang out from across the room, and Heathcliff lifted his head, his heart skipping a beat when he saw a woman striding towards them, her eyes flashing.

“Sh-Sherry …” the sailor stammered, stumbling backward. “I-I’ve gotta do this, love—if the Middle were to find out your brother was hiding this man, they’d kill him …”

“The Middle isn’t going to find out we’re serving this gentleman,” the woman replied icily. “You aren’t going to breathe a word about him to anyone. Right?”

“B-but … this is to pro—”

“Right?”

The man flinched as she cut him off, eyes dropping to his feet. “Right.”

“That’s what I thought.” She folded her arms, nodding towards the door. “Now, leave, Victor. You’ve harassed my clients enough for one evening, and I shan’t tolerate your indecency a moment longer.”

“Sherry, I—”

“Leave. Now.”

Her words were like thunder, ringing clearly through the silent inn, and a shiver shot up Heathcliff’s spine as the sailor whimpered, slinking away. The woman watched him leave, then turned to the throng of men behind her, scowling.

“As for the rest of you … I trust you know what’ll happen if I find you’ve sold this man out?”

A chorus of soft “ayes” rippled through the crowd, and she nodded.

“Good—as you were, gentlemen.”

With that, the men exchanged glances, some smiling, others shaking their heads, before resuming their conversations. The woman knelt down, retrieving Heathcliff’s cloak from the floor and gently dusting it off before draping it over his shoulders.

“My sincerest apologies, sir … I do hope your stay hasn’t been spoiled by Victor’s poor conduct.”

Heathcliff blinked, unable to tear his gaze away from her face—she was even prettier up close than she had been from afar, with sharp, angular eyes whose color reminded him of the sea at midday.

“Your eyes … like ocean.” He said finally, his words soft. “Very pretty.”

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. “Thank you.”

Warmth bloomed in Heathcliff’s chest as the woman fussed with his cloak, straightening it so his tattoos were hidden. After a moment, she stepped back, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“Now, then … how may I serve you, this evening?”

Again, Heathcliff blinked, his gaze dropping to the floor as he mumbled a response. “Came for room. Yi Sang … said it was safe here. Said Holmes siblings … accept me. As guest.”

“Ah … then you’ll need to speak to my brother, Mycroft.” She nodded towards the bar. “He’ll see to preparing your lodgings.”

“Yi Sang said … he’d handle it.” Heathcliff murmured, shuffling back into the corner. “So, I wait.”

“Is that so?” the woman frowned, brow furrowing. “Well, if you have any trouble, do let me know—I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your stay is a pleasant one.”

She offered him a curtsy, then melted back into the crowd, leaving Heathcliff staring after her.

“So … my sister’s caught your eye, has she?”

The harpooneer started, turning his head to find the bartender studying him curiously—only then did Heathcliff notice his sharp, angular eyes. “Your eyes … shaped like hers.”

Mycroft nodded, setting down the glass he was drying. “That’s about the only feature we share, it seems … well, aside from one peculiar faculty unique to our family, that is.”

“Heathcliff …” Yi Sang spoke softly, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. “I … I failed you. I shouldn’t have allowed that man to expose you, and yet …”

“You have not failed me,” Heathcliff said. “You promised me a safe place, and this place … is safe. Even after seeing my tattoos, I am welcomed. Like you promised.”

Yi Sang was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat, rising to his feet. “Mycroft has generously arranged for us to reside in separate lodgings—and he’s providing dinner, on the house.”

“My sister will see to it you’re fed,” Mycroft said, chuckling softly. “Your friend’s in for quite the treat, Yi Sang … Sherry’s serving her finest chowder, tonight.”

“Please inform her I’ll be dining in my quarters.”

“Of course … and how about you, sir?” Mycroft addressed Heathcliff, raising an eyebrow.

“Eat in room, like Yi Sang.”

“Very well, then.” Reaching beneath the counter, Mycroft produced a pair of brass keys, setting them on the counter. “Yi Sang, you’ll be staying in room 212—it’s the third door on the right. And, Heathcliff, you’ll be in room 201—first door on the left after you climb the stairs.”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Yi Sang murmured, his fingers curling around one of the keys. “Your hospitality is sincerely appreciated.”

“As is your business,” the bartender replied, winking. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen … and do let either Sherry or I know if you need anything.”

He bowed as they turned, making their way across the crowded dining hall. Heathcliff kept close to Yi Sang, eyeing the drunken mob warily as they approached the stairs.

“Heathcliff,” Yi Sang said softly as they climbed the creaking steps, “about what Mycroft said, before … you’d best tread with caution.”

The harpooneer blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The way you were looking at Sherry … if you truly do fancy her, you need to be careful. That man from earlier—the one who attacked you—he’s one of her admirers. And they don’t take kindly to competition from strangers, as you’ve no doubt come to realize yourself.”

“Was not staring for that reason,” Heathcliff muttered. “She stood out. Could not look away.”

Yi Sang sighed. “She does tend to have that effect … just be careful, alright?”

Heathcliff nodded as they reached the second-floor landing—ahead of them stretched a short corridor with four doors on each side, and they paused, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the gloom.

“Your room’s here,” Yi Sang said, motioning towards the door nearest to them. “If you need anything, you can always—”

“Call on you. I remember.” Heathcliff gently nudged his friend forward. “But I will not bother you. Not tonight. You need rest.”

Yi Sang stared at him for a moment, then his gaze softened as a smile spread over his face. “I shall get on that, then … and I am wishing you pleasant dreams, as well.”

Turning on his heel, Yi Sang vanished into the shadows, and Heathcliff released a slow sigh, his shoulders sagging as he unlocked the door leading to his chambers.

#alright ... here it is--the first chapter of the fic I've been working on in private for the past few months #I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it #AU: I Love to Sail Forbidden Seas 🔱#otp: the adventure of wuthering heights ⛈️🔍#r: remind my heart to beat 💢#p: one more time‚ let me try to fly 🪶#si: to a great mind‚ nothing is little 🤎#oc: [Mycroft tag]#cuddle up with a good book #scattered pages

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