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“Leaving without a goodbye, are you?” Haddock questioned from his place against the rail. “You know I never run. I fight. Always have and always will.” There’d never been a choice for anything else.

“I knew I was a fool to choose to return here when the Ironmoor dried up. I’m haunted enough by the horrors that sent me sailing without these ghouls roaming about. I’ve half a mind to set sail again–perhaps you might persuade me to allow you passage if you’ve the inclination to run.”

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The last time he’d seen the hunter, Haddock had shown him a way into the city. Then, when the deed was done, he’d vanished along with Bane. “Quite a bit.” People in their unorganized panic, stares with bulging eyes, and then there was himself-- amused with each fine detail. “Some are true. Some are exaggerated.”

“—The hell did I manage to miss last night?” Orell muttered in disbelief, brows furrowed as he addressed the person who’d reached his side. He didn’t look at them until he finished speaking, busy watching all the pale, worried faces milling about. ( The day was too full of dread for riots. ) “Are the whispers true?” 

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“The latter sounds more interesting.”

“I was half-expecting to find the ground shattered in half and the sky turned to red when I woke up this morning. Weird became normal here.”

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“Rather boring.”

“That was a very….very sweet wedding.”

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@bringerxfdeath

The last time Haddock had used his gift to soothe his twin’s emotions and lift the weight of destruction, his nose had bled enough to create a crimson sea. But it didn’t matter. Not to Haddock. “You look as if you could use some help,” he proposed, “clear your head and get some rest.” He outstretched an arm toward his brother’s, fingers twining around Thane’s forearm to take hold a loose grip. “You aren’t in a useful state for anyone as it is.”

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“No one has ever been willing,” he reminded him, “therefore it’s simpler that way. What you're doing is...different. It's difficult." Yet, Haddock was beginning to find a slow-building appreciation for the earnest care. The only thing he couldn't wrap his head around was why Jude cared.

"Consequences, I'm afraid, never stop me." It could have been a worse trade off. Still, he found himself exploit a brief grumble. Jude was certainly an adamant one on the matter. "You may be more stubborn than I." Haddock allowed cool wind to prick his skin as he exposed the color lining several of his ribs. It had gone from spectacularly dark purples and blues to dull, sickly shades of yellow-green. "It's hardly worth wasting your medication on, see?"

Haddock believed himself rather he expert when it came to shifting attention, but Jude made a point to be especially perceptive with him. "Insignificant detail," liar liar, "but the clothing is an easy fix. Once you've taken care of the bruising we'll go. Shouldn't take too long-- a few measurements and color picking. Inconvenient, boring, but survivable."

Jude drew breath to argue, only to have it stolen in a kiss. He wasn’t one to abandon his cause so easily, though. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it if someone’s willing to try and help you. Just because you don’t need help doesn’t mean you couldn’t use it.”

Jude’s brow furrowed as he considered the invitation. “Ah, yes, the wedding. Holden isn’t exactly my biggest fan, but I suppose if I stay in the periphery, keep the meddling to a minimum…” he scratched at the back of his head, working out the cost-benefit of the situation. “I doubt if you need the consequences of committing murder at a royal wedding. How about…if you let me try this remedy to aid your bruised ribs, I agree to accompany you?” 

He glanced down at himself, almost perpetually shirtless aboard his ship, his vestments hardly ever appropriate for high-born company. “You will have to help me figure out the issue of dress…and why exactly you’re obligated to attend a royal wedding in the first place, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

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For as long as Haddock could remember, he only wanted death in the end. Something-- after his vengeance had been sated-- to end the life he never had a chance to live. “I fear I’ll get an answer similar to the state I’m used to.” He expected it; usually knew it before the words were even spoken. The next action would have been suffocating once, but there was no lack of air when embracing this father.

“I thank you,” he muttered against the fine fabric at Isiah’s shoulder, “father.”

      “No, you’re not.” He softened a bit, for a moment more Isiah than Iapetus. “It’s what all of us want in the end, whether we admit it or not. To have someone.” He rolled his shoulders in a small shrug. “Would it be too simple of advice to suggest you ask him how he feels? Ridgelow’s as honest as a pirate gets, I suppose—he’s got his own twisted code of honor. He won’t lie to you or lead you astray.” 

      Alright, so he didn’t particularly approve, given that Ridgelow was almost twice the boy’s age and he’d never been known to have any particularly committed relationships. But Haddock was grown, he could make his own choices. It reminded Isiah vaguely of when Marcellus had first told him he was in love with Astrid—except then, a part of him hadn’t been concerned about Marc’s honor. If this went south, he’d have to have a talk with Ridgelow. 

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"Better," Haddock assured him as Jude approached, "but you don't need to concern yourself with it." Taking hold of Jude's upper arm he pulled him down enough to easily press a kiss to the man's lips. "I do remember telling you I didn't need the help. Used to it, remember?"

He released Jude's arm before leaning back. "The wedding. I have to attend." Haddock was far from the happy couple in which the invitation concerned. "I'd like for you to come with me. I'll cover the clothing situation. I’ll most likely end up murdering someone if I go alone."

Jude would have rolled his eyes, but the way Haddock called him Pirate had begun to strike him as endearing rather than annoying. He crossed the deck to meet Haddock at the railing, looking him over to see how he moved. A bit more fluid, clearly some of his pain had abated, but there was a stiffness in his posture that indicated there was still some discomfort.

“I’m open to consider it,” Jude answered, though he wondered just what sort of not-fun Haddock was speaking of. “First, how is the bruising? I’ve procured some medicine I think you could use…”

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The rage was so palpable, so real in that instance that Haddock was prepared to implode. “This isn’t about you,” he snarled, “despite what blood you come from. Despite being passed over. You will never understand what this is about. You’ll never be faced with what I have.” A hollow laugh escaped him. “Protect me? Where were you through the abuse? Where were you when I was nearly dead– drowned in pig’s blood?” A hard shove followed the inquiries, then he was pointing in the direction far, far away from him. “Leave. Before I carve out your heart.”

“I don’t think they have a problem with tearing each other apart,” he echoed the boy’s low chuckle. They had called the Argos heartless and disloyal, yet he watched the entire castle fill up with games and backstabbing. It was despicable. They were hypocrites.

“So you think the insults and shunning you away was sincere? Is that what you prefer? What have I ever done to earn this distrust from you? Do you blame me for being adopted before you were ever conceived or the way I felt an obligation to protect you since Naria let me feel you kick in her womb?” Preston shook his head and stood up. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I never should have come here.”

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@notasaint-jude

There had been a swell of time between their last visit, but it was one not easily forgotten. The harbor had come to be such a frequent place of his that the route to Jude’s ship could be walked to blind. “Pirate,” Haddock called once arriving at the end of the dock, “there is somewhere I have to be.” He took up the ship’s ramping in two strides, swinging himself over the railing to sit along its edge. The action only caused a slight wince opposed to one of greater force. His ribs were slow to heal-- in turn making him slow to move-- though were healing nonetheless. “Would you like to not have fun with me?”

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There was a soft huff as he was drawn away; mouth leaving Jude's in which caused a frown to make an appearance. He cursed the storm at his torso, but found himself unable to protest. It showed the man cared, after all, and Haddock could have used that mentality at a much earlier point in his life. He allowed the pirate's hand to catch in his hair. The action swiped the defeated look straight from tired features.

"If that is what you want." Haddock pressed himself close to the man beside him. He set his head tentatively upon Jude's chest, though doubted sleep would find such a restless soul. By morning, it would be a surprise if Jude found Haddock in his presence.

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He grinned against Jude's neck, mouth pressed to skin made salted by the surrounding sea air. The slip of a moan from the man only encouraged his movements. Haddock continued to weave a hand through Jude’s hair as the other followed the pattern of a darkly tattooed, painted bicep. There were scars that riddled him; various markings that held stories in which one day he may come to know.

Haddock pulled himself free from the shirt that Jude pushed up the length of his back. He released a momentary shudder as fingertips traveled across a surface of various healed lacerations; where angry white markings were raised amongst smooth flesh. Some days they managed to bring him phantom pain. Bruised ribs did not agree with the rocking of his hips in which found a rhythm to follow after Jude’s initial upward-tilt. He caught his companion’s lower lip between his teeth before eliciting a soft, appreciative noise of his own.

Jude was prepared to be consumed in that moment, washed away with nothing left to linger on the shore. To lose himself would be to find peace from the guilt of his last life’s abandonment, the shame of its hubris, and the sorrow of loss that plagued him for a family he never had. As Haddock’s fingers slipped through his hair, so did Jude’s tortuous thoughts from his addled mind. He happily accepted the younger man’s affections, a deep-but-quiet moan slipping from his parched throat as Haddock’s lips found his neck.

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“Perhaps so,” Haddock allowed, “but I could mean nothing to him in return. I’ve been used to that all my life-- accepted it-- though this time the possibility doesn’t appeal to me. Am I foolish for it?”

      “That’s not a common sentiment,” Iapetus observed, tone softening a bit. As much as this wasn’t really his area of expertise, he knew that feeling intimately. “To kill is one thing, for people like us. But to be willing to die for someone… I’d say it sounds like you’re falling for him, if you aren’t already there.” 

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“Maybe.” It was difficult to understand in the sense Haddock was unfamiliar with the range of emotion involved. A feeling that was foreign to him tended to be one locked behind his mental fortress. “I would kill for him. Or be killed.” His father by blood would quite literally burn him alive if he heard. “I can’t make sense of it.”

       The words ‘so, like a father-figure?’ died on his tongue as Haddock continued speaking. Iapetus considered his response, weighing his words carefully. “So you care for him?” he asked, though that seemed obvious. “In a deeper sense than just physically?”

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“For one,” Haddock paused, finding no other way to word what was to come next, “I’ve found trust in him as I have you. He’s helped me. I’ve helped him. But there’s more now. Other things that were done. We may have..kissed and that sort.”

      “He’s different than what a lot of people are used to,” Iapetus replied, not quite sure what the younger man was getting at. “But I figure he’d be pleasant company. But you said it feels different with him? How so?”

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Haddock listened intently, unable to hide the curiosity that arose upon the mention of his time within the Ironmoor. “He’s different,” he started, choosing his words with a caution Haddock had always known when people were concerned, “from what I am used to. I’ve been spending a great deal of time with him. It feels different.”

      “Ah, I do. Uncommonly good soul for a pirate, impressively well-established mercenary. He spent a long time in the Ironmoor; I’ve had the odd drink with him now and again. What about him?” It was likely someone Haddock needed dead, but Isiah figured he was more the type to do such a thing on his own. Curious.