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[emberh3art]

He nodded at Mary's words, as if to confirm their shared opinion that the Crown's servants were not as obedient as they liked to appear beside the pirates. The line between good and evil had long been blurred, and it was impossible to say who the villain really was. Perhaps it would be up to God himself when everyone stood before him when their time came.

He knocked on one of the doors and pushed down the handle to open it and check if anyone was there. The room was empty, so Magnus stepped aside to let the woman enter. He followed her inside but left the door ajar not to unsettle her further, and so as not to startle the true occupant should she return.

"Will you tell me more about yourself? What happened in your life after the tragedy that befell you?"

He didn't want to sound like he was hoping to hear some gossip from her lips. They had time to kill, and he was curious to learn more about her fate and how she had come to this, cowering so fearfully at the mere sight of the Crown's men.

"I can tell you about myself if it will make you feel better. A fair trade," she said cheerfully and smiled, hoping that their conversation would do them both good, making them forget their problems for a few minutes.

Mary looked back at the Captain. He was being strangely nice for a Captain of one of the most feared vessels out there. She felt like Magnus and herself were being discreet enough to not attract the attention of the soldiers outside.

"That's true. Soldiers usually don't pass their chance at a brothel if they do enter" She was able to calm herself with the thought. There were enough Sirens working today to distract.

Those soldiers wouldn't hesitate to kill both Mary and Magnus if they had the chance. It would be best if they hurried.

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Her words were as sweet as honey, and Magnus couldn't deny that Cassia flattered his pride as no woman ever had before. Her soft voice sent pleasant shivers down his spine, making him close his eyes briefly, before regaining his composure soon after. Part of him wanted to give in, but the other part, filled with so much pride, refused to fall into her trap. He wanted to leave as a victor, not as a man who needed a little tenderness and attention from a beautiful woman just to feel whole. Her words would never make him the strong man he was - and was meant to be. He would achieve that himself with the decisions he made. Was he wrong? Only time would tell, but the captain had no intention of straying from the well-trodden path. Life had presented him with countless of trials, and he expected many more, but not in the form of a beautiful temptress.

He lifted his hand in a gesture like hers, yet instead he brushed his fingers against her cheek in a caress. Then his hand moved upward, tracing softly to her eyes, which he touched with the same care. He made sure to prepare her for each of his touches, leaving her the option to push him away if she chose to. Then he leaned forward, closing the already non-existent distance between them.

"What if I want you all to myself?" he asked quietly, smiling crookedly. The thoughts swirling in his head were too chaotic, but he still managed to sound firm. "I'm a man who does not like to share. You long to be the wave that breaks through my high walls, but what are you willing to risk to claim what you desire? If I make a concession, will you make one too?"

His blue eyes rested on her face, which he could barely see at that moment. He wanted to know what was going through her mind. Did she want to deceive him, or was she willing to compromise in order to fulfill the desire that drew her so strongly to him?

"Can you be mine alone, Cassia, or will excitement draw you toward other towering walls that have caught your eye?"

The Blue-Eyed Devil knew himself too well to hide the truth, and even though the brunette believed she had unmasked him, she had no way of knowing what would happen if she chose to continue playing with him.

the contact drew no falter from her, though his insistence in guiding her hand to his chest flickered something wry in her gaze — as if she’d expected the move long before he thought to make it. her palm lay flat against him now, the steady rhythm beneath her fingers betraying far more truth than his tongue ever did. ��do i bring all men here?” she echoed, voice soft, curved like a smile she did not wear. the moonlight cut her face into shards of silver and shadow, and her eyes found his with a patience that was almost cruel. “no, captain. most men are content to drown in tavern light and call it depth. but you—” her hand shifted just slightly against him, a slow press, a claim disguised as curiosity, “—you build walls so high even the sea would grow weary of climbing them. i do not waste tide on stones. only on cliffs worth breaking.” her other hand rose, brushing the air near his jaw but never quite touching, a gesture balanced on the knife-edge between intimacy and restraint. “as for what part is yours—” she leaned closer, close enough that her words stirred warm against his mouth, “—the part where you decide whether to play at devils and masks a while longer, or let me see the man who grows weary of wearing them.” the boathouse groaned again, timbers aching with the tide, as if echoing the weight of choice between them. cassia’s lips curved faint, a ghost of triumph and tenderness twined, dangerous in its softness. “you fear being one of many,” she murmured, voice as fine and cutting as sea-glass, “but what you do not yet see is that i do not gather men like shells to scatter along the shore. i gather storms. and you—” her eyes held his, unflinching, “—you are one worth weathering.” she let the silence stretch then, her hand steady at his chest, her breath brushing his, leaving the moment suspended — an invitation, a dare, the edge of choice sharpened and waiting in the salt-heavy dark.

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Magnus' lips curved into a slight smile when he heard the man's words. He wasn't going to argue with him - instead, he acknowledged his modesty and praised his dignity. People like him didn't need the approval of others - they kept doing good without craving recognition.

The stranger's voice sounded familiar. It took him a few minutes to remember where he had heard it, and then to match it with the right face. The captain didn't know much about him and couldn't form an opinion due to the lack of communication in the past, but his current actions spoke volumes, and to be honest, Magnus was impressed.

"I haven't lost anyone, thank God," whispered the pirate as he began to help the other man more seriously.

Meanwhile, an idea had formed in his mind, causing him to consider the potential development of his relationship with this honourable and dignified man. Would he find a new member of his crew in him? He couldn't be sure, but there was no harm in trying.

"Have you ever thought about a pirate's life, or do you like staying on shore?" asked the Blue-Eyed Devil out of the blue, considering what exactly to say once he heard the other man's answer.  

The Blue-Eyed Devil. Ned knows him at once, has devoured the tales of his exploits with the same voracity as he has those of all the great pirate captains that sail these waters. A man that came to his position soaked in the blood of traitors, whose eyes flash like lightning in the clouds above, and whose blade strikes with similar devastation. Even with all he's heard, he had not been prepared for just how young the storied captain seems in person. There can't be more than a year between Hammarström and Ned himself.

"I dinnae do it to be noble, sir," he says in a quiet voice, shaking his head, "I'm doing it because it didnae seem like anyone else would." And he can't blame them. It's a fool's errand, Ned knows this, but he couldn't let it lie. "But I'll not refuse your help, if you're really offering. Thank ye."

With the captain there to hold the swinging corpse steady, Ned redirects his efforts, making quick work of the first noose and letting its unfortunate occupant slump down into their waiting arms. It's a heavy weight to bear. "Ye... ye havenae lost anyone in all this, I hope?"

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Dangerous flames flickered in his eyes as he watched Voss, who quite skillfully twisted his words. He couldn't deny that he liked her sharp mind and the way she deflected his attempts to hurt or even anger her into revealing more about herself. For many men, such behavior would be discouraging, but Magnus was even more determined and had no intention of giving up. It seemed that the blonde wanted exactly that from him and would be disappointed if the gave in to her at some point. In that case, their game would continue, but who would emerge victorious?

"Are you sure you know what you're talking about?" the captain asked with a smile that never reached his eyes. There was no satisfaction or challenge in it - only regret that life had brought him to this point. "The first murder is the hardest, but after that it becomes very easy to stain your hands with blood. However, your behavior is not that of someone who has gone through the torment of committing this sin. It's as if you want to present yourself in that light, but at the same time you are trying to maintain moral purity. You are an interesting woman, Voss."

His fingers spun the knife a few more times, then he pointed the blade at the woman, as if taking aim at her. He remained like that for a minute, then dramatically tossed it back into his boot.

"You haven't formed an opinion of me, yet you think I'm thoughtful - and even an actor or a circus performer. These are not hasty conclusions. But the truth is, I find them offensive - I am neither an actor nor a circus performer. I was born to be a prince, but life decided I should be a pirate."

His laughter filled the space between them, and Magnus clapped his hands, playing his part with exceptional ease - he had told the truth, masking his reaction, as though a man like him could never have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

He leaned forward, smiling at her suggestion about his looks. Was this flirting, or was she truly cared? The Blue-Eyed Devil tried to keep his hair in order, imitating the old Viking styles, but he knew he could never manage it the way women could.

He opened his mouth to answer, but then he heard someone searching for Oliver nearby and turned sharply, following the voice with his eyes. His blue eyes stopped on an unfamiliar face looking in the other direction. His heart, which had been pounding wildly at that moment, began to calm, yet Magnus still muttered absently:

"Yes, yes. That's right. Do you want to help?"

What was willing to be given away for free was almost always a double bluff - to hide the truth, reveal it. What he assumed of her, naturally was what he would do himself. Confessions could always be found in projections.

It made Josephine smile. The distrust in his eyes, the wariness in the lines on his face, the way his mind was ticking, pushing, moving, a pirate's ship in its own right, charting the waves with expert maneuvers and a fearlessness that would have gladly challenged the gods to a duel. He was a force, even with the earth beneath his feet. No wonder they called him a devil - when they expected him to be lethal on the seas, no doubt they saw something demonic in him when it turned out he was something to be reckoned with on land, with a sword, and in their minds.

But Jo - well, evil wasn't the word she'd choose.

"Capacity and execution do not always occur simultaneously," she chuckled, amused at the insinuation that every single impulse must be acted on - that the past must always influence the present in such a direct manner. "Just because someone can do something does not predicate that they will, especially in the exact same way. A pity, sir, I did think you were cleverer than to think in such simple terms." That didn't mean she didn't enjoy a good ribbing, though. "But perhaps you're right to be cautious. Behavior is not compartmentalized, after all. Believe me, I wouldn't waste energy or your time wounding your pride. It does me no good to see a man with his tail between his legs. Victories don't stand well against time if they're hollow."

He produced a small knife that seemed nimble and harmless the way he maneuvered it with grace, agility, not a single flick out of place or drop of blood to be shed. A wide, naked grin spread across her face like wildfire. Jo's eyes danced with delight, a shimmer of lives past, years gone, time buried. Somewhere inside, behind them, five years old, seeing fireworks for the first time.

Then his eyes, piercing, an arrow flung from an invisible archer, struck her gaze, and she latched on with a grip of equal measure. Earth and ice. "Ah, that's where you've gone wrong, Blue Eyes," a moniker chosen just as deliberately as the first; a downward tip of her chin, as if to tell a secret, "I haven't made up my mind about you at all." Josephine's eyes trailed, as one would on a single rut through the dirt road, until they reached his hand wrapped around the handle of his blade. "I think you are thoughtful, despite your reckless reputation. And behavior. I think you enjoy entertainment as much as seafaring. You would've made a remarkable actor, or a circus performer." She grinned, only lifting her eyes for a beat, as if to say, Laugh, it's all right, don't invest. "I think you think I'm cute. And I think your hair is in dire need of a comb."

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Magnus hated to admit it, but Cassia had been right not to fear him - he would not harm her. His presence beside her in the half-ruined boathouse, and the absence of any threat in him, proved that she had glimpsed behind his mask and understood he was not what he so often pretended to be. He didn't like that he had fallen into the trap of the beautiful woman, but on the other hand, he was glad that despite everything, she had some trust in him and, even with his attempts to scare her away, she hadn't left. There was something pleasant in the realization that he could be seen after all - truly seen. But this path was dangerous - it could force him to let his guard down and allow the siren to get close to him, revealing too much to her, which could lead to his demise at some point in the future.

He didn't know what to do, and he saw no point in continuing his attempts to deceive her - she was braver than he had expected. And yet he could not shake off the image of the Blue-Eyed Devil, who never dropped the act of a madman drowning everything in mockery.

He turned his head to look around them, needing a few more minutes to gather his thoughts. His features softened, the harshness fading from his gaze, no longer sharpened by the relentless storm of thoughts in his mind.

"You've chosen a nice place for us to coo to each other, Cassia," whispered the captain without any emotion in his voice, as if he were tired of his own pretense. Yet his tongue still spun the familiar words in their usual style. "Hardly anyone will find us here. I'm just curious about one thing - do you bring all men here, or only the distrustful ones like me?" His eyes rested on her face, which was dimly lit by the moon and the lights of the city in the distance.

He didn't mean to offend her, but part of him would not accept the admission that she had been here with others, making him just another one, when he considered himself exceptional. But in these relationships, no one was special, so he had no intention of deluding himself.

"The rest is yours," he repeated her words carefully, then leaned his head forward to shorten the already small distance between them. "Which part exactly?"

His fingers found hers, forcing her to place them on his chest and thus finish what she had begun. Would his apparent surrender finally make her reveal some of her cards?

his lips against her skin drew no gasp, no startle — only the smallest shift of her chin, a tilt that allowed it, as though she had already calculated the path of his intent. a faint curl of a smile ghosted her mouth, not quite triumph, not quite surrender — something quieter, sharper, meant to slip beneath pride and linger. her fingers laced with his, letting him think he had taken her hand, when in truth it was she who guided the touch, drawing it with her as she stepped forward. “then walk,” she murmured, soft as the tide, but laced with an undertow that pulled deeper. “the dock is crowded with eyes too eager for rumor. if you want truth, it will not be found beneath their gaze.” she did not tug, only leaned, the way the current leaned against a ship until it had no choice but to follow. her path curved off the main boards, down a narrow pier where lanterns swayed with the hush of wind. beyond, the outline of a half-ruined boathouse hunched against the tide — forgotten, save for those who knew where to step without the planks giving way. slipping inside, she let the hush of the harbor settle around them. moonlight slid through the broken slats in silver shards, painting her face in fractured light. she released his hand, though the echo of warmth lingered between them, and turned to him with that same unwavering gaze. “here,” cassia said, her voice low, edged like sea-glass smoothed by years of salt. “no masks, no audience. you asked what i would do if i found something worth it.” her head tipped, that same calm, dangerous poise. “this is where i begin to find out.” she stepped closer once more, close enough that the air between them tasted of salt and warmth and the iron tang of risk. “you wanted to see if my stories were to keep death at bay, captain? listen carefully now — for i do not waste words in shadows.” her hand hovered at his chest, not touching, not yet — a promise unclaimed, a fire banked. “you gave me leave to take you where i’ve decided,” she whispered, soft, certain. “and so i’ve brought you here — to the edge of choice. the rest is yours.” the boathouse groaned with the tide below, lantern light flickering through broken wood, as if even the harbor itself leaned in to listen.

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He was on the verge of calling Hanna a good girl for swallowing her pride and handing the dagger back to him. His lips curved into a charming smile that held nothing sinister - a gift for the woman who had chosen to keep their relations amicable. After all, had she refused, Magnus would have invaded her personal space without hesitation. Would she like him to be so close to her? Of course, not.

"Is it just me, or are you offended that I said I want to impress dangerous women like you, but not you in particular? If you want my attention, just say so, dear Hanna, and you shall have it," said the captain with a laugh. "Just don't let us turn into a Caribbean Romeo and Juliet with this little game of ours."

He annoyed her and was not at all ashamed of the nonsense he was saying to the woman who was showing such patience towards him at that moment. Yes, she followed him like a shadow, whether obeying orders, or rather her inner feelings, but the captain knew that he often preferred to get on people's nerves, which didn't always end well. The pirate didn't believe he would get into a real argument with Hanna, but he would definitely reinforce her opinion that he was completely insane.

"You sound extremely confused to me. You think I'm dangerous and my crew is reckless, as if everyone else, including you, are obedient lambs who bow their heads when someone in uniform comes near. You're not being honest, and I hope you understand that, even if you're not ready to say it out loud." Magnus tried to sound disinterested, even mocking, but her words had hurt him, and he wasn't going to let her insult his people any further. "Of course I'm not going to kill you. I don't wake each morning plotting to take lives just because someone displeases me. Surprising, isn't it?" A dangerous gleam played in his blue eyes, as if he wanted to challenge his own words.

as magnus stepped forward, hanna held her ground despite the way she felt something cold wrap around her spine. it was as though he urged shadows to move about him, coiling around her boots all the way up to her throat, a constant reminder of the threat that he could harm her, all it would take was his command for them to squeeze.

but she kept her chin high, letting herself settle into the feeling rather than push back or try and run from it. a little darkness was not enough to shake her, only enough to make her tread carefully for preservation's sake. she watched his hand as it moved closer to her, a gesture for her to return what was his. a feeling settled in her stomach, one that told her that her choice here would bear consequences no matter which path she took.

so, without making a show of it, she slowly handed the blade back over into his palm as she spoke. the coward's route, one might think, though hanna had no pride to swallow. "you say predictable men are boring, and yet you admit your desire to impress a woman. that is about as predictable as they come." a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of hanna's mouth, one that could easily be missed to those that didn't know her well. she was not always so serious, but in the face of an adversary, she knew better than to let her guard down to crack jokes as he was.

"i think you're dangerous." she muttered, finding no shame in it. "i think your crew is reckless and that you all threaten the fragility that already cracks on this island. i don't trust you. i keep a close eye on the things i don't trust." a wiser move would have been to ask someone more stealthy and subtle to watch from the shadows, but hanna couldn't explain the pull she felt to do this for herself. "and yet i know you won't kill me." there was a pause, a moment for her head to cock as she mulled over the truth. how could it be possible to distrust someone so greatly, but feel wholeheartedly that she wasn't in danger beside him? "i am trying to make sense of it." she admitted.

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Magnus was extremely distrustful, taking every word with a grain of salt, convinced that everyone was ready to betray anyone given the chance. This moment was no different, and it showed on his face, but most of all in his eyes, which he had narrowed slightly, as if studying every twitch and movement of Voss. Her beauty could not deceive him, and if she had misled him with her claim about her father's murder, she had only brought his distrust upon herself.  

"Of course I'm sure you would attack me if the opportunity arose," the captain said with a forced laugh. "Wouldn't a woman capable of killing her own father harm her rival, her enemy? I'm sure Ginika would shower you with gold if you brought her the news that you had managed to hurt me or my pride, let alone if you managed to kill me. The confession you so recklessly reveal will not be erased by your pretty face, which radiates deceptive innocence."

His fingers closed around the small dagger hidden in one of his boots, and he drew it - not to threaten the blonde, but to prepare another theatrical act. It was his madness, his strongest weapon, that kept others at bay. He twirled the knife between his fingers, casting it glances as though it might vanish from his grasp. In truth, he only sought to impress her, to unsettle her with the chaos that always trailed in his wake.

"I don't know. You tell me what kind of man the Blue-Eyed Devil is," Magnus asked with irony, locking his gaze on Voss. "I've noticed that everyone has their own opinion on this matter, and I have no intention of shattering other people's illusions. You've already made up your mind about me, too. Why should I destroy your opinion?"

He winked at her, as if to encourage her to tell him what she thought of him. Would it differ from what was already accepted? He doubted it.

Dangerous. A word that carried heavy weight under such a quickly-made assumption. His determination laid upon her chest like a handmade blanket, each stitch woven with careful consideration before becoming what it was. Only under true, honest light - the sun, where nothing could hide - would they know if the blanket went with her colors. If they matched. If what he knew to be was, indeed, the whole story.

"Mmm," she hummed, not in agreement, but as if he had taught her something she'd heard before, yet it rang anew, as if she'd forgotten. Her eyebrows lifted with the sound, taking in his claim (dangerous) with an openness that lent itself to explanation. "Dangerous implies a mastery of one's weapon of choice. And a decided intention to use it. You think I mean to bring you harm, captain, and in the form of an answer to your question?" A subtle, heartfelt lean on her voice sounded of a wounded animal, not on the verge of perishing, but simply looking at the aggressor and asking, Why?

Josephine chuckled again at his assessment, with good humor and a smile that desired no blood or gain. "Aye, it does pay to be cute," she bobbled her head as she brought the drink to her lips. She spoke over the rim, through the veil of lashes and liquor. "But you strike me as too clever to bend a knee to those kinds of petty games. You're not a man easily swayed by the obvious." A long pull off the glass, finishing it with a swallow that let one drop slide down the corner of her chin, wiped away by a single flick of her thumb. Jo leaned forward, settling in, not hunting down. A great cat whose prowl was long finished, and was enjoying the meal of her pride, even if the kill hadn't gone cold yet. "So what kind of man are you, captain? If I am a dangerous woman, and you do not fear danger, nor can be swayed by a woman's wiles. What kind of man is the Blue-Eyed Devil?"

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The Blue-Eyed Devil spread his arms as if to present himself in all his glory. He enjoyed his conversation with Ginika, but he could also sense the tension between them, because it was clear to both of them that they did not trust each other and were ready to replace their smiles with knives if necessary. But for now, there was no prospect of such a development - they would continue to exchange sharp words, veiled as compliments, which they would offer each other one way or another.

"I haven't heard such fine words from a woman in a long time," Magnus said casually, smiling broadly at the woman. "I will keep them close to my heart," he added with mock solemnity, shaking his head in quiet amusement.

Part of him enjoyed their rivalry for it pushed him to be sharper, stronger, more inventive. He felt a certain sense of satisfaction that no other relationship could give him. But there was another part of him that wanted to see all the captains and their crews together to strike such a blow against the Crown that they would be remembered forever, and perhaps even wound it so grievously that its forces might be driven from the Caribbean for a time. But it seemed that his dream was not achievable.

"What are you planning that you don't want me around?" Magnus asked, leaning forward toward Ginika. His blue eyes lingered on hers, as if searching for the answer in them, because it was crystal clear to him that she would not reveal her secrets to a man who was her enemy. Still, what harm in asking, if only to reinforce the unpleasant image she already held of him?

Ginika let out a chuckle, but it was clearly fake. She shook her head as she took a sip from her drink. Alcohol gave her an edge that she sometimes lacked when completely sober. It was either alcohol or a strong drink such as kopi or tea. 

“I was hoping that, but I guess I should’ve expected you’d stay around for the aftermath.” She for one had stayed behind for that reason exactly, wanting to see what she could do, if there was anything she could do while on land to plan her revenge, because her revenge was coming, whether the crown was ready for it or not. She’d have her blood. 

She scoffed. “And I do love dumb pretty boys,” she retorted, her grin filled with loathing and amusement. She’d dubbed herself Pirate Queen because she was one of the oldest women to sail her own vessel, but she would accept the teasing from a fellow captain. A regular pirate would have to deal with a knife in their back at such a comment. 

[emberh3art]

It was only natural that she would seek his help when she was alone and at a disadvantage against the officers - men who were most likely hunting for her or another pirate whose portrait they had marked with a cross, branding him as their next victim to be erased from existence. And Magnus would help Mary if necessary, though he still hoped they would not be forced into mortal danger. He had enough problems of his own - and so did she, most likely - to get involved in another one. Part of him growled at the idea of acting in such a way - surrendering, hiding - but the captain must not give in to his primal instincts. Sometimes he had to trust his mind rather than his soul, which raged like an awakened volcano.

"Of course I'll help you. Don't worry," he replied calmly, hoping to instill confidence in her so she could calm down. "Let's hope we don't have to meet them. I doubt they would enter here, and with duties awaiting them. Not only would they put their position at risk, but they would also lose a few coins."

Magnus knew all too well that some men could not restrain themselves when they should, and the Crown's courteous servants were not known for their restraint or holy thoughts of God.

Mary observed Magnus's surprised look. It was true that her reality was a pirate captain's nightmare, but she had learned to adapt through her struggles. It was a disappointing fall from being one of the most feared pirates around to a rouge hiding in a brothel

Mary chanced a glance back at the soldiers outside the brothel. She followed Magnus down the corridor, looking back to the parlor as she did. It was a little concerning seeing The Siren's Nest so quiet. Mary did not think too much of it. Perhaps it was a slow day. "Will you fight beside me if they venture in?" Mary was not completely defenseless, but with three soldiers against one pirate, the odds were not in her favor. "Or at least distract while I sneak out the back door". She muttered the last line

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His expression grew thoughtful the moment he heard Bartholomew's words. He guessed that a part of his friend might even prefer tackling the unpleasant chore of cleaning, yet he chose instead to suggest the simplest and most seemingly acceptable solution to the matter.

"Would you like me to find someone to help you with the cleaning?" Magnus asked, smiling broadly, revealing the delight that had overcome him.

The Blue-Eyed Devil felt a quiet pride and satisfaction knowing that his friend was content with his service on the Revenge and took joy in being alongside him. It was not only he who needed unity and understanding - the whole crew did, if they were to withstand the threats of others with their feigned power and importance. He even thought to himself that it was safer in open waters than on shore with so many enemies, some of whom were ready to stab him in the back, and others who would do so openly without batting an eye. The captain's ominous feeling would not go away anytime soon, but he tried not to become paranoid, setting the wrong course for his own life and that of the others. One thing was certain - many more trials awaited them, which would take away these rare moments of pleasant conversation.

Bartholomew focused on his work. It would not be long before his quarters were a mess again. It always seemed to happen soon after his experiments.

"I'm always satisfied by my work. I would not trade it for any other profession" He said with a rare and genuine smile. Discovering the intricacies of the human body while assisting his captain brought Bartholomew joy. "I dislike cleaning the bloodstains off my table" Bartholomew grunted "It's an unavoidable part of my job so I try not to mind it" Though, half the time, Bartholomew thought he spent more time cleaning the aftermath than his actual job.

He was grateful for Magnus's companionship. Captains could often be abusive, but Bartholomew valued Magnus's leadership and direction. It was not often that someone superior asked Bartholomew what he thought.

[emberh3art]

ALEX HØGH ANDERSEN as IVAR THE BONELESS and MARCO ILSØ as HVITSERK VIKINGS 5.06 The Message

[emberh3art]

His free hand immediately wrapped around her waist to hold her, as she had surprised him with her movement and desire to be even closer. Perhaps he should have expected it - Cassia had proven herself a worthy opponent in this intriguing game, evading his every attempt to intimidate her or convince her that none of her assumptions or words were true. He didn't like to lose, but that's exactly how he felt at that moment, when the barrier between them had disappeared and he could feel the warmth of her body against his. He wouldn't lie - he was enjoying their verbal duel. She made his imagination paint completely different pictures, and she was probably sure she could use her strongest weapon to break him and make him kneel before her - literally and figuratively. His pride was whimpering miserably inside him because he was unhappy with how things were unfolding, but another part of him liked their closeness and the raising of the stakes.

Pleasant shivers ran down his spine because of her fingers touching his like butterfly wings, and her whisper in his ear forced him to close his eyes for a few seconds to regain his resolve. He mustn't forget where he was and who he was with on the pier, but most of all, he mustn't forget who he was. Oliver Howard Magnus Hammarström - captain of the Raider’s Revenge. The man who could not be easily deceived, nor seduced by a few beautiful words, touches, and the scent of flowers and sea salt that wafted from the temptress beside him.

His fingers released her neck and found hers, squeezing them gently and pulling them away. Then he removed the part of her hair that prevented him from having direct access to the skin he had been gripping a minute ago, and gently made her bare it to him, tilting her to one side. He leaned forward slightly and his lips carefully placed a light kiss on the exposed spot. The Blue-Eyed Devil wanted Cassia to think she was victorious, to believe he had succumbed to the trap of her enchanting words and promises. He would see how far she was willing to go and whether she was sincere with him, because he still didn't trust her, and going around in circles would not get him anywhere. He didn't want to bang his head against a wall like a stubborn ram refusing to look for another way out.

"All right, have it your way, Cassia," the captain whispered with a smile. "Take me wherever you've decided."

Whether his decision was right or wrong... only time would tell, but the pirate would not give up and would emerge victorious at any cost.

she did not flinch when his chest pressed against her back, nor when his hand curved against her neck — only the stillness of someone who had long learned the weight of proximity, someone who could let closeness exist without yielding. slowly, deliberately, her hand rose and came to rest atop his. the contact was neither submission nor dominance, but a question pressed in silk: how far will you dare to go? her fingers draped lightly over his, brushing a subtle rhythm along the back of his hand, each movement a dare, a measure of his courage. “there,” she murmured, low and steady, carried on the tide, mingling with the slap of water against pilings. “now the choice is not just in words. dare you take it, or do you flinch from what you might find?” her gaze was unbroken, unflinching, the air between them humming with the tension of unsaid possibilities. then she leaned into him, a calculated, bold move, letting her body press against his chest, her shoulder and side resting there with a deliberate weight. it was neither yielding nor pleading — it was a test, an invitation, a challenge. the warmth of her pressed against him was fleeting, but deliberate, a spark set against the dusk. “i’ve given you a spark,” she said, letting her words roll slow, deliberate, carrying the gravity of salt and storm. “now it’s yours to kindle, if you have the courage. the harbor will not make legends of men who wait safely behind their masks.” her thumb traced lightly along his hand, the rhythm like the pulse of the tide. she let the pause stretch, letting the wind, the slap of water, and the creak of timber fill the silence. “and if i find something worth it?” she asked softly, edges sharpened like stone against the tide. “then i keep it. not for spectacle, not to cage it, but because there are too few things in this world that survive storms and salt without rotting.” her head tipped slightly, daring him to lean closer, daring him to claim the intimacy she offered, yet her eyes remained locked on his. “love?” she whispered, faint, daring. “i do not barter in promises dressed as romance. if it’s worth standing for, i will stand. the world’s gossip is wind — loud, passing, and without anchor. i have withstood worse than whispers.” at the mention of scheherazade, a faint shadow crossed her gaze, a curve of a smile there but without humor. “she told her stories to keep death at bay. i tell mine to see who listens closely enough to hear the truth hiding in them. i am not the one here who should fear the telling — not now, not ever.” she leaned just a fraction more, her lips brushing near his ear, her breath carrying the scent of salt and dusk, her body a deliberate weight pressing against him. “i do not scare easily, captain. but i am not without temptation. take the step — if you can. show me you can handle the fire without burning.” the dock seemed to hold its breath, the tide brushing the pilings below, the world reduced to the rhythm of their shared space. her hand remained over his, a delicate pressure, a dare; her body pressed against him with calculated intimacy, and her gaze never wavered, steady and certain, as if to say, this is yours to claim, if you are brave enough to risk it.

[emberh3art]

It was cruel of him to remain silent and refuse to tell her if he accepted her apology. Magnus was proud - too proud, if we are to be honest, and with his excess, he could spare some for those who lacked even a shred of this mortal sin. Alas, he guarded it jealously and often used it in his dealings with others in his desire to assert himself or break down those who opposed him. Now was no different, even though he was sure that Voss didn't give a damn about him or his big ego. That was good for her - otherwise, she would have fallen into a trap from which she would not have easily escaped, and the captain of the Revenge loved to torment in one way or another those who showed any weakness in front of him.

His eyes rested at the table where her hands had been a moment ago, now hidden in her lap. Were they really stained with blood? What had her father done to deserve losing his life? Magnus knew very well how cruel a parent could be, but he had never in his life imagined that it was possible to harm his father and commit the greatest sin a child could.

He didn't believe her. He quickly made his decision, choosing not to trust the blonde who had so easily confessed to her crime - no, she was lying to him. He didn't mean to underestimate her, of course. Nothing would stop her from pulling out a hidden knife and stabbing him in the chest right now, but Magnus believed she was trying to mislead him with the information she had so easily given him.

"You are a dangerous woman," said the captain, determined to play her game. "It doesn't show - you have such an innocent face that would deceive any man."

He smiled charmingly at her, as if he himself wanted to fool her into thinking he was kind and good and would not bite her finger off if she gave him the chance. But that's exactly what the competitors did, right? They deceived each other until one of them made a mistake.

"Oh, forgive me, captain," she replied with a slow steadiness that rivaled his fire, no quickening to her pulse or flush to her face to speak of yet; a quiet confidence, bred out of curiosity rather than knowing, "when I spoke of no conversation between us, I meant it in disappointment, not judgment." Experience and time had taught her never to underestimate even the most brutish of men - that is, not their physical force, but their strength to withhold, to consider, to render excellent restraint and reflection. The pages of the human condition folded in on each other like a forgotten map, overlapping and creased and complicated, often difficult to read to the untrained eye. Her expertise was in smoothing out the lines, knowing the route with certainty, and executing the course with precision.

To his insult, Jo couldn't help the trickle of laughter that came up, accompanying the fuse like music - again, in amusement at the irony, rather than retribution. Offense was only taken when there was truth hidden beneath the words. She would not pretend her past did not exist. "You're right, captain, and I'll tell my mother as much next time we pass through," she nodded. "I hope you'll accept my apology."

His ask masqueraded inside a threat piqued her interest, not because she thought the threat was veiled or immaterial, but because it carried with it the expectation that she should invest in what he thought of her. An expensive consideration - better was it to allow anyone to think what they desired of her, and her advantage was in neither fact nor folly. Assumption was a powerful tool. Still, she took into careful thought what he was asking, even if he only said it to draw blood.

Josephine sat back in her seat, loosely weaving her fingers together and placing them in her lap, something feline and sated about her posture. Not a conquest of territory, but a lounge in what already belonged to her. The faintest of smiles whisked across a corner of her mouth, and she lifted her gaze to him, green of the earth colliding with blue of the sea - or, perhaps, ice. "I killed my father."

[emberh3art]

Magnus laughed, imagining how his crew would look in the elegant halls of wealthy English families, who often liked to gather to show off their wealth and success in various fields. At least that's how they should have looked if his words were true and these men really distinguished themselves with their impeccable manners. But in truth, they at least made no pretence of being what they were not. The wealthy often hid behind a mask of virtue and faith in God, but in reality their souls were rotten, and the former lord knew this very well.

His gaze settled on Bartholomew's hands, who had returned to his work, and this made the captain frown slightly, wondering if the surgeon was missing something, if he was satisfied with his job. The Blue-Eyed Devil was, of course, happy to have him by his side, but their relationship was not one-sided.

"Are you satisfied with your work?" Magnus asked suddenly, unable to hold back the question that had been circling in his mind. "Is there anything you don't like? I want you to be honest with me because I care about you and I would not see you gone."

Good companions were not easy to find, and he knew it, which made him keenly mindful of the crew’s morale. After all, the mutiny was not so far past that he could forget it - or imagine that every choice he made was flawless and without consequence to the others. They were crewmates, not a group gathered to flatter the pride of a supposed great leader. No, his task was to lead them, taking responsibility for their prosperity.  

Bartholomew sketched a small and respectful bow to Magnus. "I aim to improve my Captain's health however that may be" Though, the path to improving health was fraught with, shall we say, ethical consequences.

His recruitment into The Raider's Revenge was chaotic. Bartholomew enjoyed his time on board, but at the beginning there wasn't too much of a choice. It was either join or face the mercy of The Crown. "I'm thankful that you even let me on" Especially considering his reputation as a deserter and a body snatcher.

That was in the past now. Bartholomew shouldn't dwell on it. "We only instigate if it's necessary" he said with a devious smile. "Honestly I don't know a more well behaved pirate crew" He threw a rag with old bloodstains into a bucket, continuing to tidy his workspace.

The fact of the matter was, Bartholomew may have enjoyed his current job a little too much. Sure, there were probably worse pirates out there. And The Raider's Revenge reputation for cruelty was most likely overblown. It had been a very long time since Bartholomew had the privilege to torture a prisoner.

[emberh3art]

His eyebrows arched in surprise, but Magnus chose to remain silent, studying the woman next to him with visible interest. He regretted that they had not met earlier and that it had to happen now under such unfortunate circumstances - they would hardly have much time to talk and get to know each other. He felt that he could learn something truly useful and interesting from her, but perhaps that opportunity would present itself at a later stage.

He was tempted to call her Sad Mare, but at the last moment he managed to bite his tongue and keep that comment to himself. Surely her courage had earned her her real nickname, and it would not be right to change it, even for a moment, because of the sad fate that had befallen her.

"Let me take a look," Magnus said, standing up to go to the nearby window and see if the danger to the woman was truly gone. He saw the silhouettes of two men in uniform on the corner and shook his head. "They're still here. Come on, let's hide you somewhere inside."

He reached out to help her up, then led her to the nearest corridor, where she could safely hide. He was sure that one of the girls would be happy to come to her aid.

Mary gave Magnus an exhausted look. She was grateful he wasn't approaching her for advertising. However, she noticed the Captain's cheerful tone. The soldiers must have cleared out then. "Luckily, I won't be seeking them from you" or anyone really. Mary preferred to keep her relations at a distance.

She leaned away when Magnus leaned towards her. Mary had heard of The Raider's Revenge and their exploits. They could be a violent crew when they wanted to be, and Mary had the good wit to stay away from pirates that may do her harm

Mary smiled sadly at the Captain. "That's my name. Though my enemies called me Mad Mare" She sighed heavily. "I haven't been fine ever since I saw my crew killed and my ship sink" Not that Magnus needed to know that she was a rouge pirate, but Mary was too tired to try to stop the words coming from her mouth. "Did those soldiers leave? I was hiding here"

[emberh3art]

The expression on the Blue-Eyed Devil's face shifted in an instant, stung by the insult her assumption carried. He did not deny that there was logic in her concerns, but he had given his words no such intent - nor would he ever allow such a thing aboard his ship. Few knew that Magnus had a sister, and he associated every female misfortune he encountered with her, which made him much more careful when it came to any kind of mistreatment of women - even those who were part of the crew of a rival ship.

The captain tried to smothered his true feelings with the familiar mask of mockery and contempt that he used so often. His blue eyes pierced Voss's face like needles and scanned every feature, searching for answers to the questions that had just struck him. Was it the frightened lady speaking, or was it the manipulative pirate who wanted to deceive him by expressing the expected fears?

"Your distrust offends me, dear Voss," the man snapped. "Do you think we are monsters who would tear a defenseless woman apart? We may have a reputation, but we are not like that, and your desire to denigrate us without trial and judgment speaks of inexperience and fear. If you wished to avoid the company of men, you should have stayed at your mother’s skirts."

His words were harsh, and he knew it very well, but what she had said had hurt his pride as a captain, and he couldn't remain silent. It was not in his nature to be quiet when someone dared to insult his crew. Whether the blonde would believe his explanation was irrelevant at that moment.

"Well, tell me about yourself. Where are you from? How did you end up in Tortuga? Let me hear your story. Otherwise, I'll decide that you're father's little princess who got bored of living in her castle. Or maybe you were betrothed to some old admiral and ran away from him?"

Every word dripped with cruel sarcasm, which he didn't even bother to hide. He was going to respond to fire with fire.

Something in the pit of her belly stirred when his massive hands claimed her own, petite and fragile by anyone's eye. A contrast she felt herself relish rather than avoid. In fact, when he traced around the lines of her palm, as if reading the language written in cosmic ink, she dared entertain the wish that he would decipher it all, press his thumb firmer into her wrist, wrap around the tiny bones like shackles. A captain's touch was a captain's touch, after all, no matter the helm.

Observant, she noted, though not surprised. A leader did not stumble his way to the top, nor waste his energy on that which could be thrown away or dismissed. From the stories, it was treachery that brought the newest captain of the Raider to his throne - treachery, she knew, that often disguised sorrow, or bravery. Courage was overblown in narrative but undervalued in practice, like adjusting sails to the winds during a hurricane.

Josephine allowed her eyes to become a soft place for gaze to wash ashore as it fixed upon her, soft sands welcoming in the weary bow of a well-loved ship. No malice, no study - she looked for nothing, simply saw. Watched. Absorbed. Ebb, flow. Sands in, sands out. "Unscathed hands are a fool's idea of being weaponless," she replied, no venom to be found, but a truth that curled like a flower petal, soft against the rain and open to the sun. "Importance, like ladyship, is immaterial. One must be indispensable." Anyone could be subject to trade, death, mutiny. Josephine tipped her head to the side, her hand sliding around to place her palm in his, soft as it was, a protective case over calloused fingers.

"That sounds like an invitation," she said, with a warmth that showed less commitment to the tease and more investment in the moment. Her smile widened, a sugarsweet amusement overtaking the glimmer in her eyes, endeared by the insinuation. "I believe your crew would tear me stem to stern, captain. After all, you've deduced I rarely handle a weapon or endure the labor of true sailing. Then where would that leave us? No drink, no conversation, just a brief touch between soft and scarred hands to remember me by." A pause, a beat, a breath, lingering in the space between them, like smoke from a candle. "Is that the kind of captain you are?"

[emberh3art]

He tilted his head to one side, as if weighed down by Catherine's words, which, to his great regret, he could not deny. He had no intention of excusing the other side's methods or painting the pirates in a noble light, as though they were saints among men. No, there were no innocents, but he knew there was a difference that probably not everyone thought of when they pointed the finger at those who chose to sail the seas under the black flag. He assumed his friend would not judge him harshly and would understand him. Or maybe, over time, she would come to her own conclusions and decide what kind of world she preferred to live in. Freedom came at a price, but was it better than the golden cage in which they had both been for years?

"Oh, I make no claim they're different, and that's the problem. They're too similar," Magnus began thoughtfully, shaking his head slightly. "We all know what people say about pirates - they've always been cast as villains, and that has created a certain impression in everyone's minds and led to the belief that the Crown's men stand for good because they fight criminals and want to wipe them off the face of the earth. The truth is, they are no different from the men they condemn. Where are the honour, morality, and rules they are supposed to follow? They are no less cruel and deceitful."

The captain fell silent, as he had allowed himself to raise his voice because of the fire that had ignited his blood and made it boil with rage. As a young man, he himself had held idealistic ideas about the world and had expected them to turn out to be true, not an absolute lie. That was why he had sailed to the New World, hoping to prove to his father that he too was worthy of being among the best. But were they really good? He already knew the answer to that question, and it was not the one the young man in him had wanted to learn the hard way.

He nodded in response to her words and looked around, as if expecting all eyes to be fixed on them - but none were. He let his shoulders ease and return his gaze to Catherine.

"I'll see what I can do for you," he whispered softly, so that only she could hear him. "Where do you live now? I suppose I can send you there. That way we can talk about the rest of what interests you."

Few people knew what had happened to Oliver Howard, and the captain wanted to keep it that way. He knew that spies for both the Crown and other crews lurked in the shadows, and he didn't want such important information about him to fall into the wrong hands. He fixed his blue gaze on Catherine, waiting for her decision.

Catherine drew her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling lightly as she considered the possibility of being rid of her other half that had shackled her for years. If only it were so simple as a wistful thought. Then the man would have long perished. But the wicked never stayed dead, nor were they ever easy to kill. “You will have to educate me, Captain Hammarström, on the ways of this island. Do pirates here employ methods different than torture and killing to make their opponents bend? Are they truly so different from the men who wear the king’s colors?” Her voice was steeped in genuine intrigue. He was, after all, the most viable source of information she had yet found, if their past connection was worth anything at all anymore. It was a sick twist of fate and a gift from heaven, all bound into one rugged package. One that could prove her salvation or her swift end. She was willing to take the wager. After all, she was a decorated sitting duck in the lion’s den. Her husband’s name was both her shield and the bullseye painted in blood-red on her back.

The subtle wave of his hand pulled her gaze back to him. She reassured herself that as long as she kept her voice low and remained in the revered captain’s good graces, she would be safe. At the very least for this evening. When he leaned in, so did she, her voice a whisper that slipped between them like silk and smoke. “An unfortunate passing of my beloved husband might be more easily said than done. But I could use a guide in finding my bearings here on the island. I feel… most foreign.”

She reclined slightly, not wishing to draw too much attention to them. It seemed most patrons were far too consumed by their games to spare them a glance, but still. “A woman of my standing has certainly lived in finer places, yes, but I find myself adapting well enough to the heat and the peculiar ways here. The fragile peace provides just enough security. And, as you know, women of high society are best kept on a short leash. That particular custom has not changed, even with oceans between us and the motherland. The stationed soldiers ensure both I, and the men of this island, remain… proper.”

With a languid wave of her bejeweled hand, each gem catching the dim light like the many secrets she carried, she signaled to one of the staff. Her smile was a dangerous thing: equal parts invitation and warning. “Perhaps a drink,” she murmured, “before you tell me how you’ve been… and how the man I once knew came to pass. Or is that a story better whispered beyond these walls?”