#white horse cavendish

[the-bar-sinister]

Deicide: Red Shift (6392 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/?

Summary: A mysterious signal is drawing ships across the Grand Line to a place called Elegia for the first ever concert by the rising star singer, Uta. Following the signal are Cross Guild and fallen emperor Shanks, the Charlotte family, the Donquixote Pirates and the shattered remnants of Law's crew, and Kid's crew, and Cavendish and Bartolomeo.

And the Straw Hats and their captain Luffy, who hasn't seen Uta since they were both little children at their idol Shanks' knee.

Perhaps this meeting was ordained by fate. Perhaps, in the end, there was only ever one tragic outcome possible.

But Luffy has other plans.

catch up here

-

Kidd didn't like being at the mercy of another captain's course— or in this case the mercy of two other captains, which was somehow even worse. Admittedly, even if he'd still had his ship, he probably would also have investigated the mysterious signal.

He wouldn't have been considering attending a pop concert though. He swaggered down the gangplank, shoulder to shoulder with Basil and Killer on either side of him, letting Cavendish, Barto, and the 'wano girls' walk up ahead of them. Kid wasn't sorry, at all, that he'd picked up Kiku, Otama, and Speed as they left the isolated island but he was frustrated and angry that they were now all that was left of his and Killer's crew.

"This isn't exactly my scene," Eustass growled, looking around at the beach where a huge number of merchants and laborers were putting up hasty bodegas and tents.

-

Basil Hawkins was a little out of his element, though it was hardly a surprise. He'd been out of his element ever since his entire crew had been butchered by Kaidou. The briefest semblance of something familiar and customary came with Captain Kid's welcoming of him into his crew, only for that to be rather swiftly dashed.

The turn of the cards came up against them, and they'd gone face to face with a marine battleship and a madman of an admiral. It had not gone in their favor. Kid lost his entire crew save for the misfits he'd taken on in Wano, Basil included, and been set adrift only to be saved by the infamous 'Pirate Prince' and 'Bartolomeo the Cannibal' when they swung by to investigate the ashes.

One dead admiral later, and they had latched onto the mysterious signal circling the whole world. A call to either watch streaming over the illegal 'video transponder snail' signal hijacking, or attend in person the concert of a girl named 'Uta'.

Basil had known of her. His first mate had brought one of her tone dials on board back in Sabaody. Her music was interesting, holding something primal and dark under the candy-coated vocals and her sweet-tempered voice.

But that didn't mean he was exactly comfortable in the crowded masses bustling about setting up their stalls and stands to hawk overpriced garbage his way. 

"This isn't exactly my scene," Kid had said.

"No, I can't imagine it is Captain," he replied with a note of amusement.

Ahead, Otama was running around with wide eyes and an excited grin. The teenage kunoichi had likely never seen anything like this, had she?

She pointed to a stand and looked back at Kid. "They're going to be selling 'tee shirts' here, Captain!" 

Kid glanced over and grunted. "No kidding."

Killer, on the other hand, actually looked interested. "Might be fun to have a souvenir of whatever's gonna go down here. Also— we don't have any spare clothes."

Basil nodded slowly. The man did have a point. All their clothes, everything they owned except for what was on their backs were gone. Expensive or no, it wouldn't go amiss to grab something. The image of Killer in one of the red and white themed concert shirts flashed through his mind– it wasn't distasteful, that much was certain. 

Kid looked at Killer incredulously. "You want a t-shirt?"

"Maybe."

Otama grinned wider. "He's got the right idea! I love the color. Whoever this Uta is, she's got a great sense of color. Oh!" she seemed to get distracted by a stand being set up proclaiming 'Tone Dials for Sale'

Speed chuckled as she walked with her hand on her hip. "Come on, Captain. Killer would look pretty good in onna those shirts… and we are, admittedly, a bit hard up." 

"We are," Kidd agreed, grudgingly. "Concert t-shirts aren't about to ease my own fucking suffering but I'll allow it."

He paused, and touched his chin with his hand, smiling his feral, wicked smile.. "Do you want to wait until they're set up or should we just fucking help ourselves to a box right now?"

Otama was already slowly inching towards the box of tone dials. It seemed he had her answer. Basil chuckled softly under his breath at the sight.

O-Kiku put her hand to her chin, her eyes closed thoughtfully as she drifted along. "We can always support the local merchants later, if we are so possessed. But for the here and now— we're pirates, are we not?"

Basil gestured with his straw arm towards the scattered handful of people in 'event' shirts. Staff, most likely. Locals. "If we manage to stay undetected we may not even be ejected from the venue, Captain." 

Kid raised an eyebrow. "Subterfuge ain't my usual style. But if you've got a thought, give it to me."

-

Barto hadn't seen Cavendish this excited since— no, no he just hadn't seen Cavendish this excited, period. The waifish pirate captain was gleefully prancing through the rows of stalls as they were being set up, talking excitedly about the thrill of live music.

Now, it wasn't like Barto didn't get it. There was a HELL of a thrill with live music. The pounding sound, the movement of the people, the excitement of bein' there for something that'd never happen the same way again. It was a damn heady mix, and he was already feeling lively just thinking about it.

It being Uta only helped more. He'd heard her a few times in his quest to catch up to Straw Hat Luffy, and …well. As a professional fan, he had to say he knew why the whole world was hyped about Uta. He grinned at Cavendish. The real surprise was how excited the prince over there was. "Didn't know you were a big Uta fan, Cavey." 

"Fame has to keep up with fame, Barto!" he declared, watching some men paste up an enormous poster of Uta. "Can you imagine how insane everyone would go if I were seen together with her? We have to make sure the papers see us here."

Barto rubbed the back of his neck with a dubious smile that exposed one of his fangs. "I mean, wouldn't that start a war? You always go on about how if you're seen with a woman the whole world will erupt into war, right?" 

"No, no, dear, it's different because Uta's famous. All the speculation will increase both of our profiles. Unlike some poor random girl who'd simply be, you know, dragged out and beaten to death." He waved his hand dismissively, as if it was obvious.

"...fuckin' shit, the lifestyles of the rich and famous sure are brutal, Cavey." Barto shook his head with a grin before he laughed. "Alright. We'll BOTH get seen with her. I love her music, pal…if it helps boost her profile and yours, I'll engineer a whole-ass photoshoot." 

"Perfect!" Cavendish cooed, draping himself against Barto's side. "It's even juicier if we're both in the shot, really. It gives fans more to talk about. And it'll boost your profile, of course, though I know that doesn't concern you too much."

"Nothing wrong with a little free publicity, huh?" Barto looped his arm over the man's shoulders as he watched the Kid pirates— or rather, Basil, cheating some idiot shopkeeper out of his money with his deck of cards. "Dunno, wasn't exactly my big concern for a while but you're startin' to rub off on me." 

"It's about time you had a positive influence in your life, Barto!" he teased, winding a finger through his hair, and tugging on it teasingly. He followed his gaze and tutted. "What are they doing over there. Oh my goodness, are they getting t-shirts? I want one!"

"I think they're…" He watched as the small-figured ninja girl swiped an entire stack of boxes from behind two of the tents and vanished into the shadow where a taller figure was waiting. "They're robbing them blind. Huh. Good for 'em. You gotta make your own fun, even at something as exciting as the Uta concert, right?" 

Cavendish squealed excitedly. "Oh, let's see if they'll share, shall we? Otherwise we can steal some of our own." 

He grabbed Barto's arm and hauled him towards the excitement.

-

Basil ducked out from the shady inlet behind a row of shops in a new shirt and long coat, the fluttering coat bearing Uta the Idol's personal flag and the face bearing a skeletal pair of hands forming a heart to the backing of neon pink and blue flames bearing the text 'Backlight'.

It wasn't exactly his style, but he had to admit it held a bit of charm to it. The box of now emptied merch sat behind him as he rejoined the crew, watching as Otama played around with the set of tone dials she'd hooked to her stolen belt.

Yes, things had gone according to plan, and It just wasn't the Grand Line Entertainment Commission's lucky day. 

At least in the end only one of them had to be knocked out and left in a heap. 

The rest of the crew had helped empty the box, and now quite a few of them— including Barto and Cavendish– were wearing some greater or lesser amount of Uta merchandise. In the end, even Eustass changed his shirt to one of the more edgy looking logos.

"The coat suits you," he grumbled at him.

Basil turned to him with a slim smile and a thankful incline of his head. "And that shirt doesn't look half bad on you, Kid. Fetching, even."

He watched as Otama ran up to Kiku to show her the tone dial, who was fussing with the collar of her own jacket with an amused edge to her smile. Unsurprisingly to Basil she'd gone with one of the more feminine designs in the box…she was in luck that it was in her size.

"It suits the mood, and suits you well enough for it. I admit, I never expected to wind up at a concert quite like this." 

Kid grunted with something like wry amusement. "Yeah, me neither." He glanced away, and Basil followed his gaze, to Killer.

Killer had grabbed a t-shirt, too. A cute white one with a design of Uta's face on it. 

It was about three sizes too small on him and showed his entire stomach.

That seemed to be what Kid was looking at.

Admittedly it was a pretty captivating view. He watched for a moment himself through lidded eyes before he took a soft breath and continued. "but I think we should make the best of it."

Speed had appeared in some candy-colored dress to punch Killer in the shoulder with a grin, and chatting loud enough for Basil to hear her joke 'imagine that shirt on you when you shift into a boar, man'.

Kid smiled his grim smile, not bothering to tear his eyes away as he answered. "We'll make the best of it. I'm thinking we wait until everyone's busy in the middle of the concert and then make off with the coolest ship in the dock."

"Clever man/" Basil's voice took on a low purr. He put his hand on his chin. "It's no wonder we were rivals once. When Uta's concert hits its peak, we put our future in the hands of causality. A concert like this should bring all the choice we could ask for." 

Kid slipped his arm around Basil's shoulders. "Keep an eye out for one that catches your fancy. We can add the spikes and skulls later if we have to."

Basil laughed under his breath, shoulder to shoulder with the man as he watched the crew…strange and eclectic as they were, laugh and chatter in their new clothes.

"Aye aye captain. We wouldn't want to fall too far off theme after all." 

-

Cavendish tugged on the lapels of his new coat as he stood and modeled it in front of Barto– and the girls from Kid's crew.

"Looking gorgeous, Cavendish," Barto snickered as he watched the man preen like a show cat. It was charming honestly. The guy's self-love was off the charts in a way that seemed to spill out to the people around him.

He fussed with his own coat, black with the word 'Uta' on its shoulder, bare chested and wearing a pair of neon-color striped black pants and chains. The right kind of attire to celebrate the first show of the Grand Line's biggest surprise star.

Speed hung a little behind while Cavendish preened, mostly watching with amusement as Otama whistled and leaned in with a grin. "Wow, Mr. Cavendish, you sure look ready for the concert."

O-Kiku tilted her head to the side as she watched the man in a way that was not unlike he was some kind of mysterious bug under a glass. 

"You're too kind," Cavendish purred, preening even more. He tossed his golden hair and it glittered in the sunlight. "I feel much more in tune with the venue now. Oh— but really we ought to bring all our other clothes back to the ship, don't you think? It would be miserable to lug them around all day. Unless you want to carry them for us, Barto?"

Barto looked up, snapped out of his concentration on the man's hair for a moment to hold his hands up with a grimace. 

"Woah, I mean…I'd be happy to carry 'em but I actually wanna SEE Uta at the concert and not just the entirety of the Kid Pirates' dirty laundry."

He overheard Kiku murmur towards Kid something along the lines of 'is he always like this? He breaks the bounds of human vanity. It's impressive.'

Cavendish didn't seem to hear her— or if he did, he made no sign of it. "That's what I was thinking you'd say, dear. So let's get these things back to the ship so we can go back to touring the venue, shall we? Maybe we'll run into Uta if we can sneak backstage!"

Now that got Barto's attention! "Well what are we wastin' time for, Cavey! Let's fuckin' GO!!" He ran over and started gathering up the discarded clothes and hefted them up in a smooth movement.

"Ladies, captains, gents. Lemme take care of these for ya." 

Soon they'd gathered up all the extra clothes— Barto had more of them, but Cavendish did at least carry a fair share— and had brought them back to the ship. They were on their way back to meet up with the others when something new caught Barto's attention.

A group of children in oversized business-wear and staff shirts were charging through the stalls in an uproar, chasing after a figure that bolted in a long coat that trailed along the ground as they hopped and skipped up onto the top of a tent with a sharp and abrasive laugh.

"Just 'cause you idiots gave me a ride doesn't mean I'm gonna be your chore girl forever!" the figure yelled as she stood. A long and messy tumble of hot-pink hair fell from under her battered teal cap, framing a childish face split in a wide and wicked grin painted with a dollop of lipstick.

She had a bucket of popcorn under one arm, and a large turkey drumstick in the other hand that she tore a chunk from before she grew into the form of a young woman. Her loose fitting clothes clung tight to her larger form as she stood and pointed down with them after swallowing.

"You're in the presence of Jewelry Bonney, twerps! One of the Worst Generation, and a future pirate queen!" 

That brought Cavendish up short, and he paused to stare. "Well! Quite a few well known faces here, would you say!"

"Well I'll be damned," Barto said with a lopsided grin. "Bonney! I thought she …well. After that whole mess I heard about with Blackbeard, I thought she'd dropped out of the race. But here she is, huh?"

He was glad. Bonney was a spitfire, a real nightmare of a pirate who had been taking the Grand Line by storm. A pirate's pirate. And then she'd gone radio silent.

Bonney took another bite of the turkey leg—seemed her ravenous hunger didn't wane since her vanishing— and broke out into a sharp laugh. "So you're all gonna give me all the food, drink, and merch I want and I'm gonna enjoy Miss Uta's concert? Got it? Chase after me and you're gonna be stuck reliving your primary days…or WORSE!" 

Cavendish laughed."Good for her! Guess she's harder to knock around than one might think! Bonney!! Good show!" He jumped up on his tiptoes and waved at her. It seemed like Cavendish had decided this whole concert thing was a party.

Bonney's attention snapped to them, and for a moment she squinted at them as if to try figuring out what to make of them.

And then she smiled from ear to ear. "Lookit who it is! It's Barto and Cavendish! WOW, I thought you guys were gonna stick around Paradise forever!"

She made a move to hop down when one of the youthified vendors began to shake the tent in what Barto was sure was an attempt to send her toppling to the ground. 

Cavendish, ever the noble spirit— raced forward arms outstretched to catch her as she toppled

The fearsome 'Glutton Bonney' let out a squeak as she fell, landing solidly in the arms of Cavendish as the vendors scattered.

One of them stayed though, speaking up with as much of a growl as he could manage with his young and cracking voice.

 "That brat stole hundreds of berries worth of food from me after I was kind enough to give her a ride! So help me, I'm either putting her to work, or sending her to the local authorities!" 

Cavendish's eyes flashed with menace and there was an oddly jolting quality to the motion as he cocked his head to glare hotly at the man. He licked his teeth. "Oh, is that so?"

The man– or boy at the moment, Barto couldn't help but snicker– took a step back with a grimace. "It is! Even a child knows that passage comes with a cost!"

Bonney wriggled in Cavendish's arms for a moment before she reached for her belt. "...lemme down and I'll show this guy kinda future he's got! You'd think some rich fucking merchant could look the other way, but noo, moneybags over here has a stick up his ass!"

Barto cast a barrier between the man and them, both to protect Bonney from his wrath and uh…frankly to prevent a scene. He knew that face on Cavendish. That was a 'bodies were going to hit the floor' kind of expression. 

Cavendish set Bonney down gently, and reached for his own belt. Barto was absolutely right to cast the barrier— he was out for blood.

"A stick up his ass?" he laughed, eyes flashing. "We could cut it out for him."

A feral edge had overtaken Bonney's expression as she grabbed her pistol by her side with a giggle. "We could! I could also give him a little 'near death experience' to shut him up for a long, long time!"

"Hey uh…" Barto wasn't used to being the sane one in any given situation. The sensible one. The one who wasn't going to start a fucking murder spree at his favorite musical artist's big concert…but hey. Life works in mysterious ways.

"Who wants to go get some lemonade and glowsticks with me? Maybe see if we can get a special face to face with Uta? Remember?" 

Cavendish' expression twitched. "That's… true…" He glanced at Bonney, seeming to try to judge her mood.

Bonney's expression of rage very quickly melted into a wide grin at the offer of a sweet drink and the chance to see the musical star personally. It seemed that she rather quickly forgot the merchant as she turned towards them with a clasp of her hands together. "You're gonna pay? Guys, You're the best." The situation was defused—Barto finally let the barrier drop only for Bonney to lurch forward and pat the merchant on the top of the head, sending him another handful of years younger as she cackled and turned towards them. "Mind if I ask for a snack too?" 

Cavendish laughed. "You live up to your reputation, Bonney! Come on, let's get a bit away from all this before we find you something to devour."

Barto was glad he and Cavendish had wound up embroiled in …a situation together, he wasn't sure exactly what to call it. For many reasons, really. One of them, especially as Jewelry Bonney the Glutton rubbed her hands together, was 'thank the damn devils of the sea that Cavendish has deep fuckin' pockets or my boys would go broke tonight'.

Bonney laughed excitedly, clapping him on the back with a grin as she pointed towards the stalls deeper in."You'd better! This whole mess started because I was startin' to get hungry and bored!" 

"Well, we can relate to that," Cavendish teased. His expression had returned to normal for the moment, and he slung his arm around Barto. "Barto gets hungry, and I get bored."

Admittedly, Cavendish getting bored was just as dangerous as Barto going broke.

Barto laughed sharply. "And both those situations don't end well for people," He grinned. "Cavendish getting bored maybe worst of all. Don't let his prettyboy looks fool ya."

Bonney fell into step beside them, her hands behind her head as she looked him over. "I heard stories that he was a real fuckin' maniac. Like…'a deadly storm of blades' in Dressrosa." 

"Oh, you heard about that? Let me tell you all about the coliseum, and the fight afterward!"

There was no stopping Cavendish once he got started. They wandered back toward the rest of the group to the sound of his admittedly melodic voice.

He kept his arm slung around the man the entire time , listening to the story he'd heard a thousand times and seen once —even if the specifics of Cavendish's greatness kept shifting and growing grander and grander with each telling— as Bonney looked on with a curious grin.

This Uta concert was a hell of a meeting of the greats, bigger than Sabaody , bigger than Loguetown—anyone who was anyone from Worst Generation to a beloved Idol were congregation' in on the show of a lifetime.

Things were going to be fucking wild, and Barto was glad to be smack dab in the middle of it with the pirate prince.

[zell-dincht]

Cavendish at Dokidokon, day 1!

[wingsofsong]

Cavendish and The Little Prince

In Chapter 784 "Gear Four" Oda forestalls the reveal of Luffy's new form to emphasize he and Law as the "eye of the storm" to follow Doffy's defeat through the words of Cavendish "The Pirate Prince."

But given the implicitness of that conclusion; the scene more so exists as character building for Cavendish.

Sitting criss-cross amongst the chaos grants him a very understated character moment for Cavendish and the reader to just "be" and soak in the beauty and adventure of Dressrosa; a feeling the anime expertly captures.

Displaying concern and appreciation outside of self from a character who's core gag/drive is self-absorbenent; putting his own place on the seas into perspective.

But there's more too it.

Cavendish's archetype is that of the White Knight/Knight Errant in European lit/mythos; his epithets being a verbalization of that fact.

Dressrosa is One Piece's analogue for Spain-

Cavendish's name is English in etymology and his real world namesake "Thomas Cavendish" the privateer is partly known for his raids of Spanish ships.

He's the former prince of the Borgeoise Kingdom, hailing from Rommel where himself as Hakuba became known as their slicing winds (a Kamitachi; a Yokai in Japanese mythos) alluding to Dr.Jekyl and Mr.Hyde and Jack The Ripper as you may know, both English refrences.

His former kingdoms name shares it's etymology with Mary Geoise in the French word Borgeosie and Cavendish's aesthetics/rapier are very Musketeer/French.

His weapon/attacks are all references to European mythos/lit/plays.

-Durandal a French blade of legend

-Round Table (King Arthur)

-Blue Bird

-Biken: Zan t-Exupéry

-Precious Metal Axe

The tontattas/fairies being another tie to literature and mythos.

Given that pastiche it's notable that Oda chose Cavendish to sit in a childlike manner and note one of the two most fantastical aspects of the arc in the "dwarves" (the other being the toys).

It taps into the feelings fantasy ferments in children and the inspirations behind Oda's writing, in a land where Doflamingo has cast a cruel veneer over the settings beauty.

A recent realization on my part is on the fourth attack listed above "Biken: Zant t-Exupéry" or

"Beautiful Sword: Stardust Prince."

The attack's name coming from French novel "The Little Prince-" and it's author; a childrens novel dealing with space, a loss of imagination in adulthood, love and loss and the human experience more broadly.

The titular character being the lonely, blonde "little prince" of an asteroid where he resides and tends to his love.

A thorny, vain, rose that "The Little Prince" knows not how to love properly until they've lost each other and he learns to see the uniqueness in those he values through their worth to one another vs outside validation/being a lone rose.

Cavendish is first seen with a red rose and his attacks often have rose petals swirling around him.

He's a blonde prince, exiled from his home with his animal companion Farul (The Little Prince tames/makes a companion of a fox on his journey).

From Oda's SBS we know that he also carried roses as a child and in a cover page we see him tending to a garden of roses with Farul, his vivre card lists roses as his favorite food, making it clear that Cavendish and roses is imagery Oda is intentionally/continuously associating him with.

Knowing this all; I propose that Cavendish's character is partly inspired by The Little Prince (the novel/character) in his design, own emotional makeup having aspects of various figures in the book, and the tapping into child-like wonder described above as the Little Prince's narrator is a man at risk of losing that imagination, as multiple adults seen through the stories pages already have.

Also:

-The stars on his pants are similar to the stars on the little princes coat which is also similar to Cavendish's coat

-They both use rapiers

It makes me wonder what Cavendish's childhood was like; if there was any lonliness, whether there's anything to be said abolut the potential of "taming" Hakuba and growing in self-love/past his obsession with uniquness.

Of course there's much more to his character than a single inspriation and differences to see between him and The Little Prince but I'll definitely keep the story in mind going forward.

[multifandomnonsense]

[kacievvbbbb]

Mihawk, King and Cavendish all definitely shop at the same bespoke members only warehouse that only specially invited people can find (we know this because shanks is forever trying to find this warehouse so he can get gifts for Mihawk that he will actually wear but shanks’ fashion is so atrocious he can never find it)

And I refuse to hear otherwise. I don’t make the rules 🤷🏿‍♀️

[peterofthedrakes]

if you like my work, please consider commissioning me!

[vergina-spva]

I love Cavendish because he's a shojo character lost in a shonen anime.

[imjustapoorwayfaringgeek]

im too lazy to draw anything else so character portraits is all you get sorry

[yaoioioay]

[kyyuuuy]

[diablademon]

So does just about anyone let Luffy climb on them like this?

Or does people go “What a small child. I need to have him on my shoulders”

[zell-dincht]

That Worst Generation can only dream of being so fabulous~! 🌹

[wingsofsong]

Is today the day I finally write a novel on how Bartolomeo and Cavendish are irreplaceable allies and the two best side characters introduced in Post-Timeskip One Piece???

Maybe.

[multifandomnonsense]

[villainscomplex]

Odds and Ends

Forgot to post my piece for the One Piece Grandline Gunsmoke zine over on twitter... my bad.

if you were wondering if i was off my bartocav shit? the answer is no <3

Also on: AO3

------------------

Days prior to their first encounter, Bartolomeo catches wind of the stranger in town. 

His companion leans into his space, wild hair sticking out from beneath his hat. He’s grinning his gap-toothed grin, breath heavy with the stench of alcohol. He’s known Gambia as long as he’s been in this town, and the man never changes. That said, most things around here stay the same, so the news of a stranger spreads as quick as wildfire. 

It piques Bartolomeo’s interest immediately. He lifts his gaze, and the silent acknowledgment is enough to keep Gambia going. 

“Apparently, he’s stickin’ out somethin’ fierce,” the other man continues. “Ain’t nothin’ like the rest’a us. The real prissy type from what I’ve heard, but he’s goin’ around asking questions. Somethin’ about the gold river.” 

The people around these parts know better than to go snooping around. The town is packed full of outlaws, and one wrong move could be a bullet in your head. People come and go, but they’re all the same at the end of the day, claws sharp and guns loaded. 

“Must be real slow,” Bartolomeo remarks, grinning wickedly. “Makes ‘em an easy target.” 

“That’s yer plottin’ face,” Gambia looks vaguely concerned. “What’re ya planning this time? Ain’t we got enough trouble without ya startin’ more?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bartolomeo laughs, reaching over to slap Gambia’s shoulder. 

His companion looks a little nervous, but he doesn’t question any further, sinking back into his seat. 

The gold river. That’s a name Bartolomeo is far too familiar with.

He kicks his boots up on the table, stretching up so far that his chair tips back. The bar is perpetually filled with noise from the rowdy bunches that call the town home, temporarily or not. 

That had been days ago, and Bartolomeo has been keeping an eye out for this supposed stranger. He’s just starting to think the guy skipped town or finally got what was coming to him when the bell over the saloon’s wooden doors jingles loudly. The hinges creak loudly, but it isn’t the sound that draws the attention of Bartolomeo, among others. 

Bartolomeo understands why people were saying the man sticks out. His efforts at blending in are mediocre at best, clothes still visibly higher class than the majority of them can boast. It’s the rest of him that really gives him away, face clean and hair falling in silken, golden waves over his shoulders. He’s got the top two buttons of his shirt loose and a clean black hat tipped down on his head. 

Blue eyes skip across the crowd. They’ve gone silent, gazes sharp and hands dipping down to waists as they assess the threat in their midst. The blond man has the sense to drop his gaze at the very least, heeled boots clicking across the rickety wooden floor as he crosses straight to the bar. He’s got this irritated little twist to his lips as he slides into one of the stools, leaning in over the counter.

Bartolomeo grins crookedly. Even the way the other man walks is distinctive, back straight and steps forward and sure. He’s making an effort to blend in, but it’s shit enough that even Bartolomeo notices. He slings one arm over the back of his chair, settling in to continue watching the stranger unabashedly, uncaring if he’s caught. Conversations begin again, but they’re quieter now, and the other outlaws continue to side-eye the stranger. 

“Excuse me,” the blond murmurs, tipping his head at the barmaid. 

When she crosses to him, his voice drops just enough that Bartolomeo can’t hear him anymore, but whatever he says makes the woman look a little more nervous. 

“I ain’t heard of nothin’ like that, sir,” she tells him, slipping away to refill drinks at another table. 

The blond opens his mouth to call after her, but he catches some unfriendly gazes and seems to think better of it. Bartolomeo finally sits up from his slump and rises up. The screech of his chair draws the blond’s gaze, alongside a few others, but Bartolomeo ignores them as he sidles over to the stranger. 

The other man scrutinizes him, crosses one leg over the other, and then immediately uncrosses them like it had been subconscious. Bartolomeo spins him around in his stool so they’re both facing the bar again, slinging his arm over the blond’s shoulders.

“Listen,” Bartolomeo leans in, but his grin isn’t too friendly, “most’a us have already heard about ya, so let’s be real clear. Yer a stranger here, and we don’t take too well to ya. Let’s just say blending in ain’t your strong spot.”

The blond glowers at him as Bartolomeo slides into the seat beside him but doesn’t let him go.

“Well,” Bartolomeo pats the man’s arm expectantly, “got a name?”

Blue eyes, sharp like twin flints of flame, flick to him. “What do you want to know for?”

“‘Cause I hear yer goin’ around pokin’ your nose where it don’t belong,” he drawls. “People round here don’t take too well to nosy passersby.”

“I’m just passing through,” the blond snips back, unexpectedly more fierce than Bartolomeo had given him credit for.

“Yer real funny,” Bartolomeo remarks, leaning onto his elbow against the counter.

The blond screws up his face into something resembling distaste, sliding off his stool and out of Bartolomeo’s space. He looks irritated, undoubtedly still wanting to seek out what he’d come for, but coming to the realization that nobody here is willing to lend him a hand. Bartolomeo waves the woman at the bar back over, and she pours him a cup without him needing to ask. The blond eyes her, but she scurries away again before he can open his mouth. 

“Well,” the other man huffs out a breath, “this has been helpful. Goodbye.” 

He turns on his heel and gets two steps closer to the door before Bartolomeo turns on his stool, leaning back against the bar top with his drink in one hand. 

“I know where it is, by the way,” he drawls out, “the gold river, I mean.”

The blond starts, halting mid-step. His head turns, just slightly, but it’s enough that Bartolomeo knows he’s listening. 

“It’s a death wish ‘ta go alone,” he continues. “I could help ya get there. Might be a shot of surviving with two of us.” 

The stranger fixes him with a stony stare. His lips draw up in a scowl, but he doesn’t dignify Bartolomeo with a response. Bartolomeo watches him continue out the entrance, heels clicking against the wood. His grin widens, all teeth. 

“I give him a day,” he says to himself, turning back to the bar. 

His prediction is off, but only by a few hours. Sure enough, the next evening sees the blond man marching back into the bar, wearing the expression of someone trying to salvage his pride. Bartolomeo watches his approach with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Changed yer mind?” 

“Do you really know how to get there or are you just screwing with me?” He demands. 

“Nice to meet ya, too,” he retorts. “Yer new name is gonna be ‘Stranger’ at this rate.” 

The blond looks like he’s beginning to regret the decision to come back, gaze darting to the door like he’s gauging if this is worth it. Bartolomeo will admit that it probably won’t be, but he’s going to have fun either way. 

“Course I do,” he continues. “Been there plenty. It’s a real dangerous trip though, so my help ain’t free.” 

There’s a long moment where the two of them simply stare each other down, each waiting for the other to break first. Finally, Bartolomeo nudges out the chair across from him with his foot, knocking it against the blond’s leg. The man scoffs, yanks it out, and drops into it with his arms folded over his chest. 

“Cavendish,” the man relents. “Was that so hard?” Bartolomeo snarks. “Bartolomeo.” 

“What’s your price?” Cavendish asks impatiently, crossing one leg over the other and then thinking better of it again. 

Bartolomeo’s observance is here and there, but Cavendish is obvious enough about hiding his habits that they’re easy to spot. He definitely isn’t from any place like this with that sort of posture, manners, and attitude. 

“I’ll help ya get there, but in return, I want a share of the prize yer chasin’,” Bartolomeo tells him. “After that, we go our separate ways and never hafta deal with each other again. Sound like a deal?” 

He sticks his hand out across the table. Cavendish eyes it for a moment, gaze flitting over soot-stained fingertips. Finally, he sighs, grabbing the other man’s hand and shaking.

“Fine,” he scowls, “I’ll play your game for now. Try to cross me and it’ll be your last.” 

Bartolomeo barks out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Pretty boy’s got teeth. Good ‘ta know.” 

Their partnership is temporary, but Bartolomeo thinks he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts. Cavendish doesn’t seem as pleased about it, but he’s visibly resigned himself to this, so he wipes his hand against his pant leg and leans back a little as Bartolomeo leans in, dropping his voice to discuss their plans. 

He doesn’t drill the blond on his origins or what he’s looking for at the gold river, but he’s got no interest in talking about himself either, so it’s only fair this way. If the man is trying to get to known gang territory, he must be desperate, and Bartolomeo’s got some business of his own in the same direction he’s been meaning to wrap up.

Their soft conversation is lost to the volume of the packed bar, but a plan formulates slowly. Bartolomeo isn’t the planning type of guy, but this will work for now. 

Cavendish leaves first. He’s still an eyesore in the town, so when the sky begins to grow dark, he slips out of the bar. Bartolomeo watches him vanish around the corner and downs the rest of his drink. Once the sun sinks entirely behind the horizon, he slides his boots off the table and rises, stretching languidly as he makes his way out of the saloon. 

Since they’ve established Cavendish doesn’t exactly blend in here, it’s Bartolomeo’s job to secure their transport. He isn’t exactly a subtle-looking figure either, but he walks the walk, so most people don’t glance twice. 

On the eastern side of town, the land opens up into a range. Bartolomeo knows of the man who owns the area, but he also knows there are always horses running around inside the fences. He leaps over the wooden posts, staying low to avoid being spotted as he creeps further in. 

His luck holds out, presenting him with two horses strapped up to the fence side. Their saddles are still on, but Bartolomeo can’t tell if they just came back from riding or are preparing to leave. Either way, this might be his only chance, so he crosses toward them. Both of the animals look nervous when he approaches, but they don’t cry out as he unties them, taking both back toward the opposite gate.

“Oi!” 

Bartolomeo curses, picking up his pace. A gunshot echoes behind him as he throws the gate open and leaps onto the back of the larger of the two horses, barely managing to adjust himself in the saddle before they’re taking off out of town. The shouting fades behind him as he struggles on the saddle, but it’s only a matter of time before they continue their pursuit. 

Cavendish steps out of hiding as he approaches the agreed-upon spot, taking the reins of the other horse from Bartolomeo’s hands. He barely has his foot in the stirrup before the yelling picks up again, and he wheels around to glare at Bartolomeo. 

“You got caught?” Cavendish demands. 

“Get on the horse,” Bartolomeo snaps back, clutching his horse’s reins as the creature shuffles nervously. 

The blond glowers, swinging onto the other horse. The two take off into the night, pursued by the sound of a few angry men. Cavendish pulls ahead easily, Bartolomeo trailing a few feet behind as he sways on the saddle, struggling to keep up with the horse’s movements. A bullet whizzes past his ear, startling the horse. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Cavendish demands from up ahead. 

“It ain’t listenin’ to me!” Bartolomeo barks back, fighting to stay on the saddle as the creature rears up. 

The horse whips around sharply, successfully dislodging its rider. Bartolomeo grunts as he hits the dirt, rolling to avoid getting crushed as the horse takes off back toward town. He can see the outlines of their pursuers as one breaks off to catch the runaway, but he isn’t going to give them the chance to catch up. Bartolomeo wheels around on his heel and starts running. 

Cavendish makes a sound of frustration ahead of him. He doesn’t appear to be having any problems with his horse, Bartolomeo notes, as the blond wheels around and starts back toward the outlaw. He flies past Bartolomeo, and then whips around again, coming straight for him. 

“What are you doing?!” Bartolomeo demands, backpedaling in an attempt to get out of the horse’s path.

“Get on!” 

Cavendish reaches out a hand as he flies past, and Bartolomeo grabs it without thinking. He jumps, and Cavendish shouts as he yanks him up over the horse’s back. Bartolomeo isn’t even sitting properly, draped behind the blond on his stomach, but Cavendish picks up the pace regardless. 

“If I’d known you were such a terrible rider, I wouldn’t have suggested horses!” 

“I am not a terrible rider,” Bartolomeo grunts, and then he nearly has the wind knocked out of him by a particularly hard step. “Let me sit properly, at least!”

“Get over it!” 

By some miracle–a miracle, truly–they get away. 

Having lost their pursuers, presumably hours later by how dark it is, the two continued to travel up until the sun is well over the horizon, rapidly heating the sand around them. It’s only then that they seek shelter, finding it in the form of an overhang of rocky shade by a pathetic creek. It’s a death wish to be caught out in the middle of the desert in the middle of the day, so it’s safest to take a break during the peak daylight hours and continue once it starts getting cooler at the end of the evening. 

Bartolomeo slides gratefully and unceremoniously off the back of the horse, the soreness in his legs visible in his gait.

“What made you such a good rider?” Bartolomeo huffs as he inspects his chest from his new spot in the dirt. “Ya ain’t even got a horse of yer own.” 

He’s certain he’s going to bruise after their rough getaway ride. It won’t be the worst he’s ever had, but he’s still going to complain about it. Cavendish cinches the horse’s reins around the scraggly tree growing up against the stacks of rocky terrain they’ve picked to rest at.  

“I do have a horse,” Cavendish informs him, “he just isn’t with me right now.”

“Left ‘im at home, huh?”

The blond’s gaze flits away, focusing out across the path ahead. “Something like that.”

He’s hiding something. Bartolomeo had figured as much from the get-go, but Cavendish constantly deflects anything that could even give something small away. He isn’t sure what personal connection his horse has to do with his story, but Bartolomeo decides he’s bored of prying anyway. It’s enough, though. He sees the way Cavendish runs his palm down the length of the stolen horse’s face, and then he turns away. 

Bartolomeo doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but then he’s waking up to the sound of Cavendish shifting around. The sun is beginning to sink beneath the horizon, bringing cooler air slowly with it. He parts his jaws in a wide yawn, stretching until he earns a satisfying crackle through his shoulders. Cavendish makes a face, but he doesn’t comment on Bartolomeo’s manners, even though he visibly wants to. 

The blond unties the horse. “Are you finally awake? It’s time to go.” 

Bartolomeo huffs in his direction, but he gets back to his feet, dusting off the back of his long coat in a futile attempt to get rid of some of the newly acquired dirt. Sure enough, it doesn’t work very well, but he thinks the effort is what matters. Cavendish hops back on the horse’s back, giving Bartolomeo a chance to properly get adjusted this time before he takes off. 

Over the next two days, it becomes clear that with one horse down, travel is noticeably slower. Bartolomeo isn’t miraculously better at riding, and Cavendish doesn’t magically have infinite patience.

“This isn’t working,” Cavendish snaps first. 

“Well,” Bartolomeo scoffs, “good thing ya won’t need to worry about it much longer, then. We won’t be able ‘ta even bring the damn horse much further.”

Cavendish glances back, giving him a nasty look. “What the hell do you mean?”

Bartolomeo jabs a finger up ahead. “We gotta cross those mountains. Between the railroads and the animals, a horse ain’t survivin’ there.” 

The blond catches him with a sharp smack to the side, deft and practiced despite currently holding the horse’s reins. Bartolomeo scowls back at him, hand flying to cover the aching spot. For someone as skinny as Cavendish is built, he smacks hard as hell.

“Oi!” He snaps. “The hell was that for?” “For not saying that sooner!” 

“It wasn’t necessary until now!” 

“Oh, so you were just planning to abandon both horses the entire time?” 

“I ain’t heartless! There’s a town just before the mountain footpath begins!” Bartolomeo snaps back. “Are ya happy now, princess?”

Evidently, the reply satisfies him. Cavendish snorts and whips around to face the path ahead again. Bartolomeo is dreading this journey more and more, but it’s far too late to turn back now. He probably can’t go back to that town, even if he wanted to, but it had been fun while it lasted. 

They reach the town just before sunrise. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Given they’re both technically outlaws, this is the best time to leave the horse and rush through the town to the mountains. It would be easier to find a place to rest there once they knew they were out of danger. 

Bartolomeo slides off of the animal’s back, staggering when his feet hit the ground. Cavendish dismounts with considerably more grace, securing the horse to a post near the town entrance, where someone would spot it quickly once the sun came up. The route through the town is faster than circling around it, so it’s best to bite the bullet now and risk it to rush through. Bartolomeo takes the lead, and Cavendish trails a step behind him, blue eyes hooded beneath the shade of his hat. 

Their luck holds out this time, and they make it through without incident, clearing the last half of the town just as people begin to rouse for early chores. Bartolomeo peers up at the mountain footpath. This is the most time-consuming part of the trip, and they’re on foot to make it worse. 

Cavendish is obviously anxious to get to the gold river, so they’re going to have to find a faster way to cross. Bartolomeo knows a way, but he gets the feeling Cavendish isn’t going to like it very much. 

Sure enough, it’s the following day when Cavendish finally vents his frustrations. 

“This isn’t going to work!” He throws his arms up. “It’ll take days to cross at this rate.”

“Well,” Bartolomeo finally approaches the subject, “there is a faster way, but it ain’t gonna be easy or fun. Might kill ya, actually.”  

Cavendish eyes him. Bartolomeo grins, all teeth. 

When they arrive at the tracks, Cavendish puts his foot down. He crosses his arms over his chest, glances both ways, and then whips around to glare at Bartolomeo.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, ya wanted a faster way. This is the better option.”

The train sounds in the distance, and Cavendish glances back. 

“Let me get this straight,” Cavendish puts one hand up, “you want us to risk our lives jumping onto some rickety, moving train?” 

“S’that or keep goin’ on foot, yeah. It’ll probably be fine.” The sound of the train grows closer. “Better make yer choice now, princess. We gotta start running soon if we’re gonna get on without losin’ something.” 

Cavendish tears his hat off, frustrated. “If we die, I’m going to haunt you in the afterlife.” 

Bartolomeo doesn’t think he could have come up with a more effective threat. He’s not sure he could deal with Cavendish for the entirety of the afterlife, however long that may be. Cavendish puts his hat back on and takes off along the tracks, Bartolomeo in close pursuit. The train rounds the corner behind them, swaying along as it speeds up the tracks. It’s coming fast, but not so fast that Bartolomeo thinks they’ll have too big of an issue getting on. Cavendish pulls a few paces ahead of him as the train blows by them. 

Bartolomeo waits until it’s about halfway past him and glances back for his opportunity to board. He sees it coming up with the next car, a handle sticking out just low enough for him to catch. As soon as it nears him, he snags it and hauls himself up. Ahead of him, Cavendish hasn’t boarded yet, but he spots Bartolomeo as the other boards. Even without words, the two exchange a nod. Bartolomeo grins, making sure he’s secured before he stretches out, holding his hand out to the other man. 

Cavendish catches it with a shout, leaving the ground as he jumps for it, his other hand clutching onto his hat. Bartolomeo throws the entirety of his body weight back, staggering into the body of the car and hauling Cavendish in with him. Both hit the ground in a heap, gasping at the exertion, and then Cavendish laughs, loud and breathless. 

“We did it,” he manages, eyes wide and hair windblown. “I thought I was going to lose an arm.” Startled by the laughter still, Bartolomeo only has the capacity to blink back at him. He’s a little out of breath, between pulling a grown man onto a train and then having the air knocked clean out of him by the weight of the same person falling onto him. Cavendish has the sense to roll off of him first, sitting up to fix his hair and clothes. 

“I told ya it would be fine,” Bartolomeo says, matter-of-factly, once he gathers his bearings. “That wasn’t so bad.” 

For once, Cavendish cracks a smile. “I’ll give you this one. I suppose it wasn’t awful. It was almost fun.” 

Well, Bartolomeo isn’t expecting the confession, but another sharp grin cuts across his features. He’s starting to think Cavendish isn’t as big of a stickler as he’d initially thought. He’s prissy, but there’s a daring guy somewhere deep down in there. 

Bartolomeo stays on his back, splayed out across the floor of the train car as it bumps beneath him. It isn’t going to be the most comfortable trip, but it’s leagues better than the hike they would have had otherwise. Cavendish shifts to lean up against the wall, kicking Bartolomeo’s leg with his foot. Bartolomeo gives him a side-eye. 

“Listen, I’m only going to say this once, and if you mock me I’ll push you off the train.” Cavendish jabs a finger at him.

Bartolomeo does not doubt him. 

Cavendish sighs, turning his gaze away. “Thank you. For helping me.” 

Bartolomeo cackles, turning over to face the blond. “Listen,” he says, “I got my own agenda too. I’m sure ya know that. I helped ya for my own reasons, but it’s still been fun.” 

“I know that,” Cavendish scoffs. “I could tell you were the selfish type from the get-go. Even so, I’m sucking up my pride for this, so just accept it.” 

Bartolomeo glances him over, but Cavendish refuses to meet his gaze. Finally, he lays back down, closing his eyes. 

“Okay,” he concedes, “yer welcome, then. Now, I’m gonna sleep while we can.” 

Cavendish’s gaze flits over to him just before Bartolomeo closes his eyes, but the blond remains silent. As Bartolomeo sleeps, the train carries them through the night and across the mountainous terrain. He doesn’t dream, but there are a few times when a particularly harsh bump rouses him briefly enough for a glance around. At some point, it seems Cavendish doses off too, head dropping to the side, and his hat resting in his lap.

When he really wakes, it’s from Cavendish shaking him.

“We’re out of the mountains,” the blond tells him, “get up. We have to get off soon, right?” 

“Hope yer good at breaking falls,” Bartolomeo mumbles, sitting up with another wide yawn. 

This isn’t Bartolomeo’s first rodeo, but he’s sure it will be entertaining to see Cavendish leap from a moving train. Gazing out of the train car, Bartolomeo takes in the familiar surroundings. It’s been a while since he’s come this way, for good reason, but it’s probably about time to settle that anyway. It’s not the type of thing he intended to drag anyone into, but he’d warned Cavendish from the start. He’d promised to get him to the river, and even from here, he can see the distinctive shine of it beneath the early sun.

Once they get there, they can go their own ways, and Bartolomeo will sort out his own mess from there. That will be that. 

He pointedly ignores the little twinge in his chest. 

Cavendish comes up beside him, hanging onto the side of the opening. “That’s it, isn’t it? The river.”

“Sure is,” Bartolomeo confirms. “Yer almost there.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, almost imperceptibly, Cavendish frowns. Bartolomeo doesn’t have time to think about that now–it’s their stop. He takes a few steps back and then gets a running start for the opening in the car. Cavendish shouts as Bartolomeo leaps out into the open air, hitting the ground into a roll that sends a shock up his shoulder, but leaves him mostly unharmed. 

“You’re insane!” Cavendish’s voice is nearly swept away by the wind. 

Nonetheless, Bartolomeo watches him disappear deeper into the train car. He takes the running leap, flinging himself into open air with his coat spiraling around him. Despite his prior statement, he looks almost thrilled, hair whipping past his face as he twists to catch himself in a roll. It’s the clumsiest thing Bartolomeo has seen from him thus far, but it serves its purpose. The train speeds on ahead, leaving the two of them in the dust. 

Bartolomeo joins him further up the hill, and together, they make the final trek to the river. “Oi,” Bartolomeo says as they grow near, “there’s somethin’ else ya should know. I meant it when I said these parts were dangerous. There’s a g–”

Sharp, cackling laughter slices through the air, cutting him off. Bartolomeo’s countenance turns steely as he turns to face the owner of that hyena laugh. Bellamy grins back at him, all teeth and vicious promise. 

“Long time no see, Bartolomeo.” The man sneers. “Thought you’d never come around.”

“Gang.” Bartolomeo finishes between his teeth. 

“Oh,” Cavendish exhales beside him. “This was your unfinished business.” 

Bartolomeo’s hand settles on the pistol at his waist. “Best we part ways now.” 

Cavendish hesitates. “You better not die.”

“Aw,” Bartolomeo grins lopsidedly at him. “Are ya worried about me?” 

Cavendish doesn’t admit it, but his expression gives him away. “We started this together. We’re finishing it together.” 

“Gold’s all gone!” Bellamy calls out mockingly. “That’s what you’re here for, right? You’re months too late.”

Cavendish turns, fixing Bellamy with a stony glare. Bartolomeo realizes, with a start, that he has never seen Cavendish’s anger, harsh and chilling. If looks could kill, Bellamy would have dropped then and there. Even Bellamy visibly hesitates in the steely blue stare. 

“I’ll get what I came here for,” Cavendish snarls. “You just watch.” 

“This is between you and me, hyena!” Bartolomeo moves forward. “Let’s finish this, here and now. Ten paces.” 

Bellamy’s hand goes to his own pistol. “You must have a death wish.” Bartolomeo grins. “We’ll see.” 

He circles around, crossing to stand across from Bellamy. All he can do now is hope his aim is true; otherwise, Cavendish will be finishing this journey alone. It’s ten paces, and they finish this. He counts them. 

Ten, and Bartolomeo turns, draws his gun, and pulls the trigger. 

Pain lances through his shoulder. He drops his gun, staggering back as he clutches the wound. Still, through his pain-blurred haze, he sees red bloom across Bellamy’s chest, and the man drops like a rock. He probably isn’t dead–Bartolomeo doubts it, but this is still his victory. It’s over. He turns to Cavendish, making a motion like he’s tipping a hat. 

“Guess yer stuck with me after all, huh?” 

The blond looks relieved. Bartolomeo can’t help but feel the same. 

Cavendish helps him tend to the wound, tearing off a piece of his own coat to stop the blood flow. He sticks close to Bartolomeo’s side as they cross towards the compound at the side of the river. They’re lucky–Bellamy’s lackeys aren’t here. As long as they get out soon, they might survive this yet. 

“You’re insane,” Cavendish says again as he shoulders open the door, peering around to make sure they’re really alone. 

“I’m starting to think ya like that,” Bartolomeo barks out a pained laugh. “What’re ya gonna do now? Bellamy ain’t a liar; gold’s probably gone.” 

Cavendish lowers him into one of the seats in the room, but his gaze isn’t on Bartolomeo. It’s fixed on something across the room, glinting in the faint light. He crosses towards it, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. It looks like a jewel - an old one, from what Bartolomeo can tell, but clearly well cared for. 

“It was never about the gold,” Cavendish breathes. “Bellamy’s gang robbed my hometown. They took two things from me–this heirloom, and my horse.” 

Bartolomeo can’t help it; he laughs. Somehow, this makes sense. Cavendish is some rich boy posing as a cowboy to get his things back. The pieces slot together seamlessly. 

“Guess that’s it, then, huh?” He asks, leaning back. “We both got what we came for.” 

“Farul is probably outside,” Cavendish says in lieu of a response, turning the jewel over in his hand, and closing his fingers over it.  “I should get him and go home.”

It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. Bartolomeo gazes back at him in the dim light of the building. He’s not much of a people person, but even he can tell that they’re both thinking the same thing. 

“We had fun, didn’t we?” Cavendish asks, looking up. 

“It ain’t gotta end, ya know,” Bartolomeo holds his gaze. “There’s always another adventure. Ya just gotta say the word, Cav.” 

“Don’t leave,” the words come spilling out. “Go on more adventures with me.” 

Bartolomeo grins in that wolfish way of his. He’s never considered himself a people person, much less a partner person. But he does want to continue adventuring with this annoying spitfire of a man, even if he’s sure it’ll drive him crazy down the road. That’s a risk he’s willing to take. He staggers to his feet, facing Cavendish.

“Where to?” 

[0ynes]

CAVENDISH WTF