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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Don't Shoot the Messenger: Part Three

Despite how it might seem, being a messenger for the feared sea-demon pirate, Admiral Satrasi, infamous far and wide for having an entire fleet of raiding vessels who answer to him alone, is a relatively safe job. After all, no one knowingly crosses the Admiral. However, it appears the most recent captain looking to join his fleet hasn’t gotten that bulletin yet.

Fantasy, pirates, male monster x female reader, male demon, M/F, Part 3 of 9

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Don't Shoot the Messenger Chapter 3

[Part One] [Part Two] Part Three [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven][Part Eight] [Part Nine - NSFW]

As if to soothe and remind yourself of where you are now, you dream of your first meeting with Satrasi.

You triple check your basket, wanting to make sure you’re leaving none of your precious few possessions behind in this barn, lost among the straw.

Mr. Herly had asked you for your help managing the animals and other household chores while his wife recovered from giving birth. Long days getting up early and working late, doing all manner of physical tasks, is hard, but having fresh food and a warm place to sleep is worth it. They don’t have much to spare, especially with the babe to account for now, and so soon enough they let you know it's time you moved on.

You check your clothing last, making sure you skirt and jacket are as clean as you can make them and your stays are as tight as they can be over your chest. One of the easiest ways to make you look younger is by keeping your chest as flat as possible. Folks are less wary and more sympathetic when they forget how old you were.

You’ve lived in this town your whole life, so everyone knows about the girl orphaned by tragedy—and you want them to keep thinking of you that way as long as you can, want to hold onto that goodwill, with a slight wariness like bad luck might be catching, for as long as can. Only trouble can come on the heels of them realizing you grew into a woman of marrying age—or more likely, bedding age—two years ago. Luckily, time is a slippery thing to keep track of and no one ever wants to believe its passing as fast as it is, especially not older folks.

Between the fact that you never grew overmuch and you do your best to keep looking as you always have, you hope to stay a child in everyone’s eyes as long as you. People underestimate a child, at least one as small, polite, and quiet as you, far more than they do a grown woman. Or at least they don’t think of you enough to distrust you. Just enough to think on how you might be useful to be worth some food. Then you move on to the next few who might be willing to feed you—and someone always needs help with something.

Not that you haven’t been thinking, more and more often lately, that it might be best to leave your town for good.

You’ve no permanent home, but you have hideaways you frequent: an overhang by the river, Old Man Mills’ outlying barns, ruins of the road lookout. Today, you head for the cave on the outskirts of town. Far from the river, but far less frequented, it would help you stay cool and had its own freshwater pool which made for a good respite from the sun and its heat.

With its spot by the road, it should also let you keep an eye on any comings and goings. People coming in are always worth giving the innkeeper a fair warning about so she could get the inn ready for guests. She might even need a hand taking care of them. If any townsfolk are heading into the city to trade, that might also be a chance for you to tag along to the large port city three days ride. You've been trying to familiarize yourself with it as much as you can before moving there permanently.

Unfortunately, the cave isn’t one you can stay in long term: too cold in the winter, not secure in the slightest—not to mention eventually your back starts to ache something fierce from sleeping on stone for too long. But it was a wonderful escape for a few days, to think by yourself and take stock of what you have, and you like to give yourself and the town a break from your presence so no resentment or annoyance starts to fester.

It’s a fine line to walk between helpful and pitiable orphan and troublesome, layabout beggar.

You’ve always preferred it on the edges anyways.

You duck off the road and head down to the cave, eyes sharp for any obvious foot traffic or signs someone else might have thought it a good place to camp out in. Nothing on the way down at first, but right by the entrance there are some odd tracks in the dirt, almost like large snakes. That’s enough to make you wary—there aren’t any animals of that sort around here and you’re fairly certain the forest demon that roams these woods is more deer- or wolf-like than snake-like. You’ve certainly no desire to disrupt them and so you wait in the shadows, listening and watching for any sign someone else might already be in your refuge.

When enough time passes, you carefully enter, ready to flee if a single thing looks out of place. Slowly your hackles lower as the cave looks as if it always has and no sound—not even of someone sleeping—reaches your ears. You perform your usual checks, storing your food only when you’re certain there’s no one here that might take it from you.

All you find is a rusted and bent belt buckle that looks weeks old. Maybe a traveler did take advantage of the cave rather than pay for a night at the inn and this is all they left behind. That's happened before.

Finally more secure in the knowledge you’re alone, you leave your jacket—once a few different threadworn blankets people had thrown out which you sewed together to help keep you warm— and your basket in an alcove invisible from the main cave and head for the pool.

The pool’s surface is as still as it always has been, reaching the back wall of the cave and obviously going deeper under the rock than you could ever swim. Every few years the young and brash remember this cave and try to dare each other to see how far they can get, see if they could find the secret room legend says holds treasure if only you could swim far enough, but no one ever has. You’re fairly certain the water never hits air again and you’re grateful when the others forget about the cave once again.

There’s a few small holes in the ceiling near the pool, enough to let a couple shafts of light in, but not big enough for anything else to come through. It gives enough light to the closest shore so to speak of the pool, helping to ensure you don’t just walk straight in. Besides, the water was dark enough even with that light, always so deep even this close to the edge. The light helps make it approachable enough for you to take a drink.

You lean down to do just that, cupping some of the cool, clear water and slurping, only for something to catch you attention. Is there something reflective in the water? You narrow your eyes and reach, carefully holding the edge of the pool with one hand as you plunge the other down. There’s a narrow shelf around the edge of the pool and the water goes up past your elbow before your hands close around something long and metallic, but pliable too. You frown as you pull back to sit on your heels, kneeling next to the pool to study your prize.

It's not quite a chain, almost a braid of silver. A lanyard of some sort? But why make one out of silver? Awfully pricey for a bit of flash. It doesn’t appear to be a necklace or bracelet–too thick for that and the wrong length. How would one even wear this?

“Is that my aiguillette?” an echo-y, wet, but deep voice makes you freeze, your head wiping up to try to discover the source of the sound. How could you have missed someone else being here? You’d looked everywhere. “Thought I’d lost it.”

Without realizing it, you find yourself staring across the pool to the back wall of the cave. Red eyes that glow with black pupils stare back at you from just over the water’s surface. They blink and you realize numbly that the creature has four of them, two smaller eyes without pupils at all are just off the outer corner of their primary eyes.

Demon, your mind instantly supplies.

The eyes move up, getting higher above the water for all it doesn’t so much as ripple at their movement. They move closer too, but you can’t find the energy to get up. You’re fairly certain it wouldn’t matter if you could. Demons are notoriously fast and strong. If this one wants to catch you, you're already caught.

A shaft of light finally illuminates more of them and your eyes trace over slick, gray skin and scattered clusters of dull red scales reflect some of the light. A brief glimpse of his facial expression seems amused more than anything, which you suppose is better than hungry.

“How about you hand that back over to me, hm?” he asks, coming to a halt about two yards or so away from the edge of the pool where you are. His eyes dart to where you have the silver braid clutched instinctively to your chest.

Silver’s worth something, even the town blacksmith would be able to give you good coin for it, not to mention a silversmith at the port.

You don’t hesitate in tossing it to him. Not only does it sound like it was his to start with and you’re no thief, but no bit is worth your life.

An arm reaches to catch it with ease, although… You frown. There’s a frilled fin coming from his forearm, but the skin of it looks dull and limp, almost fragile. When he moves forward just a little bit more, he ends up in a larger pocket of light. While he runs his fingers over the silver, you notice that all of his skin, or is it scales on a sea demon? look similarly dull and pale. Are they actually gray? Or some other color that’s been almost washed out?

“My thanks,” he says, and he sounds sincere enough under his amusement that your eyes snap back to his strange ones. He appears to be studying you with some interest and your skin prickles with nerves. You prefer to be below most people’s notice and this demon certainly is no exception. Still, you’re not certain fleeing is the right choice. What if that just makes him try to chase?

You can’t seem to look him in the eye for long without losing your sense of where you are, which scares you because you always keep your surroundings in mind. So you let your eyes trail down, noticing he’s not wearing a stitch as far as you can tell. Has he been back somewhere in the depths of the pool, of the cave, all these years? Wouldn’t the silver have been more tarnished? You’ve certainly never seen it before.

You narrow your eyes because there is a silent sort of movement in the water around his chest, as if he’s breathing heavily, but he doesn’t sound out of breath and you can see his face. You have to stop yourself from leaning closer, instead just squinting to try to make out… a glint of…teeth?

All of a sudden the image solidifies to you. He doesn’t have a large scar down his front: it's a mouth with almost metal teeth in it, opening and closing as it takes in water.

“No need to be so nervous,” he says, definitely entertained by your newly discovered fear likely evident by the goosebumps that spread to cover you. “You’re hardly more than a morsel.”

A shiver goes down your spine at his words, despite the fact that you do find you believe him. You can’t decide if you were wrong about him being hungry or not. Each second that passes without him attacking you helps ease your nerves.

When next you refocus on his face, he’s leaning a bit closer, his own eyes narrowed at you. “Do you speak at all, little bite?”

You flush and reply without thinking, “When the situation calls for it.”

He laughs at that, revealing pointy, bright white teeth. “Well said. What brings you to this lovely cave? I’ve been here for days with no visitors.”

“I should think not,” you say, adjusting your seat and interested in what he might reveal. Now that you’re fairly sure he isn’t going to kill you, you’re intrigued despite your survival instinct. “No one really comes here, except kids trying to see how far they can swim.” You nod towards where the pool goes under the rock wall. “Too out of the way for most townsfolk.”

“So there is a town nearby,” he says, seemingly to himself.

You frown. “What are you doing out here, if you don’t even know about the town?”

His smirk returns at your question. “Some folks managed to get the jump on me, intent on cashing in some bounty from the Governor based on their chatter.”

You don’t need to hear the rest. The Governor of your province doesn’t have an outstanding bounty for demons in general, so this one had to have done something to earn a bounty substantial enough to warrant someone going after him. He must be some sort of bandit or, more likely, a pirate given his nature.

Your eyes have continued to adjust to the light and his small movements so you give him another sweep as you think on his story. There it is—a gash on his shoulder you hadn’t noticed but now you can see is fresh. Something else on that same side of his torso also looks damaged, murky as your view is through the water.

“I assure you, they came out of the encounter far worse,” his voice has more of a hiss to it this time when it interrupts your thoughts. He doesn’t look defensive, but rather as though he doesn’t want you getting any bright ideas—as if you thought yourself able to take this demon on even if he’d been missing the arm entirely. You don't survive by fighting. You survive by not being noticed and by making yourself useful enough to outweigh any burden you cause.

“You’re stuck though, aren’t you?” you ask, feeling the truth in your words as you say them. Sea demons need the sea, although to what extent you’re not sure, and this pool is freshwater. The fight he was in might justify a brief rest to recover, but despite the lack of blood and his own admission to being here for a few days now, he’s not left yet. He isn’t doing too well either, he looks faded somehow or maybe even swollen? It's so hard to tell with the light and the water, but something isn’t right and he hasn’t left to make it right yet.

You’re always on the lookout for who best to offer your help to, an expert at determining who needs you enough to accept your aid and not chase you off. This water might be better than no water, especially after however long he was captured for, but it's not the sea.

He raises his brows at that and adjusts himself so he’s leaning on a stalagmite that reaches from down below to just barely breach the surface of the pool. “Is that so?”

“Sea’s more than three days' ride from here,” you say instead, answering his real question. “By road. Can’t get across the mountain without the tunnel on foot any faster.”

He hums thoughtfully at that, the sound resonating through the air and water. “I see.”

When he seems content to think over your words, you chance moving. Leaning to the right, you take the waterskin you have, filling it up, before leaning over to drink more yourself, never having truly satisfied your thirst before he spoke.

“Bold little creature, aren’t you?” he comments and your eyes move to meet his once more. You’re good at reading what people think of you, and while no one’s ever called you ‘bold’ before, you can tell he at least doesn’t think it bad thing. If anything, he seems impressed. No one’s ever been impressed by you before. “I think I might be offended, if you’re over your fear so quickly.”

You tilt your head to the side as you consider his words. “You already said you’d no plans to eat me. And if you wanted to, I doubt this distance,” you motion between you and him, “would cause that outcome to be any different. And I’m thirsty.”

He chuckles, the sound bouncing around the cave oddly. You’re not sure if he’s intentionally trying to be menacing. He doesn’t seem to be and, for whatever reason, it's not working regardless. You have long honed instincts about people and, for whatever reason, your nerves don’t rate him as a current threat. Dangerous because of what he is and how strong he is, but with no intentions of causing harm. Far better than the reverse.

He gestures back at the water and says, “Far be it from me to stop you, little bite.”

You blink once at him before taking another sip, slurping even louder than before, not sure what about him is bringing about this cheeky side of you. Maybe it's just that he’s the first person in a while that doesn’t seem inclined to take advantage of you right up until they turn you out.

After drinking your fill without further commentary, you look up to see he’s gone back below the water’s surface. You don’t see him again while you work on patching your clothes in the light by the cave mouth and taking time to enjoy the lack of back-breaking farm labor in the cool cave. It’s not until you eat supper and need another drink that he resurfaces.

You chew the bread in your mouth as he watches silently, as if he’s weighing you or his next few words with care. You glance down at your basket, at the food you have to last you the next few days and mentally tally up how much longer your supplies will last, even if you manage to gather some berries, if you have to feed him too. It’s hard to gauge height with him in the water, but he’d called you a morsel so you figure his appetite must be large.

“No need to fret, little bite,” he says, voice sounding even wetter than before, which you hadn’t thought possible. “I’ve no interest in pilfering your scraps. There’s food enough for me in the water.”

You blink and then lean forward to ask, “Is there?” This demon has no doubt managed to explore far further than anyone else from town has and you’re fascinated by what he might have seen. “Never seen any fish in the pool. There are only rumors of treasure so deep none can reach it.”

He smirks and says, “No treasure that I’ve seen, but there are some other pools, close but not connected, that I can move between.” He goes on to tell you of his exploration. You mostly let him talk, content to listen to his strange voice and hear tales. You feel the weight of his red, red gaze every time you ask a question. You wonder if he’s mesmerizing you—you’ve heard tell of sirens who can do that—but you don’t think that’s right. And why would he bother, even if he had the strength?

When he’s done talking about the caves and you’re done eating, he swims closer and asks about town. This is more the type of talking you’d expect, though he needn’t try to hypnotize you to get it—if that even was what he was doing.

It’s strange how comfortable you feel with him. You’ve never even met a demon or a pirate before, but maybe that’s part of it. Maybe it’s that you know how strong he is and so there’s no point in worrying about it. Maybe it's just that it is nice to be seen and not worry about the consequences. He’s so beyond this small town and its small minded people who will remember everything about you that you’d rather they didn’t and only half the things you wish they would.

Maybe it's just that he’s giving you a taste of the world beyond this town that appears more enticing by the day.

Without the need to watch yourself, leaning against the wall of the cave with your knees drawn up and your arms wrapped around them, you find your eyes constantly tracing his inhuman features. His eyes, the wild tendrils he has in place of hair, each new cluster of red scales that your eyes can find—all captivate you, so unusual and beautiful, but in a way you’ve never seen before. Even so, the more time you spend doing so, the more time you spend listening to him and talking with him, the more you feel a worry grow in the back of your mind.

Worry for him.

Because he is not well. The color of his skin looks more and more unnatural, the strange almost puffiness to his form, the way he looks almost squishy concerns you—he looks swollen. Even the way that strange mouth continues to heave in his chest.

“Little bite?” You blink, startled from your thoughts at his breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen. “I’ve a proposition for you.”

“What sort of proposition?” you ask, interested despite yourself. Even though you’d previously liked the lack of expectations, you know as well as anyone, when you need help, politeness or pride has no business being in the picture.

“You were right earlier,” he admits with a disgruntled frown, though you’re fairly certain it's with the situation he finds himself in, not with you. “I was held out of water entirely for too long and this freshwater is barely any better—with its own set of problems. If you can get word to my crew or even just you fetch me something to help me gather enough strength to leave this hole, I’ll reward you handsomely.”

You assume his crew is at the port and a minimum six day commitment to go there and back, regardless of your ability to find them, is a lot. As for supplies… “What sort of something?”

“Salt,” he says. “Sea salt preferably, but any salt will do. Three pounds of it, at least.”

While there’s certainly salt in the village, that would be a lot to go missing at once—for no one would sell you that much and you don’t have the money for it regardless. Trying to take some from everyone would be too risky as well. “I’d have to go to the port for that. I’d need money and food to get me there, in the least,” you point out.

He’s not thrown off by your request and nods. “I’ll tell you where the wreckage from my fight with my kidnappers is. They had a series of wagons and other supplies. Since they were avoiding towns, I bet no one else has found it yet.”

“How do you know I won’t just take that salvage and not the rest of your offer?”

“I don’t,” he says bluntly. “ Beyond that I assure you I can offer far more than such meager scraps, if you do take it.”

“What if I go through all this trouble and get back to find you dead or gone?” you ask, more to hear his response than because you think it’ll change your mind.

“That’s a risk you'll have to take,” he concedes.

You appreciate how up front he is as you continue to weigh the risks in your mind.

“I don’t work with people I don’t know,” you say, more out of habit than expecting anything in return.

“Name’s Satrasi,” he replies easily. “We’ve already been talking. What more do you want to know?”

As you say his name to yourself, realize you don’t need to know anything more about him, not really.

You’ve already made up your mind.

So you simply ask, “Where’s the wreck?”

Satrasi smiles.

[Part Four]

#my writing #story: don't shoot the messenger #don't shoot the messenger #story part #terato #exophilia #male monster #male demon #demon #reader #monster bf #osha compliant #okay #later than i wanted #but here's the first part of the flashback portion of this story #there will b two more flashback parts before we get back to 'present day' in the first two parts #you might notice satrasi sounds diff from the lovely pic literalnobody drew of him but thats just because he's not doing great right now #i hope you enjoyed their first meeting!

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