#FLASHBANG !
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now that the game is out, check out this meme I made during leaks season
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Flashbang
Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung
Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12
Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader
Synopsis: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.
Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content
Word Count: 13.9k
Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.
Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?
I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.
New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~
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“Let me put myself in your shoes
As a puppet loosely strung
Around you, they were so confused
That a faulty man could have so much fun”
.
All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar.
Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat.
Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed.
Until it wasn’t.
Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see.
Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them.
“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision.
Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real.
“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”
The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself.
Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.
Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you.
“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.”
That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented.
“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?”
You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—
“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it?
He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”
The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”
Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly.
There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes.
“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”
“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.
“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused.
“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.”
Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim.
“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body.
“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?”
You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him.
“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture.
You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.
“Right,” you agreed.
“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”
“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.”
Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.”
“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.”
He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?”
“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”
Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.”
“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.
“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”
“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”
He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it.
“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”
There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.”
“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity.
Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?”
Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.”
“How’d you lose it?”
“I didn’t… lose it.”
“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.”
“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-”
“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him.
The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains.
“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”
“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder.
“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”
You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears.
“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”
You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully.
“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again.
You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said.
“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”
Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“Why…?” you repeated, confused.
“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?”
A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.”
His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not.
“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”
“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.”
“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…”
He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees.
Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete.
“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”
“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.
“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck.
It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him.
“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?”
“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support.
“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”
“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion.
“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash.
You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-”
“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain.
There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.
"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”
You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”
“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else.
“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.”
The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.
"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.”
“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?”
“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it.
“Of course, captain.”
“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”
“A cage?” you asked.
“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?”
You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men.
“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”
The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both.
The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.
But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.
Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.
You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad.
Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.
At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”
“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it.
“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow.
“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful.
“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”
Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.
“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”
She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s.
“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.”
You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did.
“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.”
Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say.
“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”
You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.
“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.”
The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.”
“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.”
You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.
“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.”
“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?”
“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”
“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you.
“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.”
You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.
“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”
“What do you mean?”
Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”
You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway.
“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.”
“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?”
“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”
“He… killed them?” you asked.
“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”
“It sounds like you don’t like him.”
“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”
Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around.
Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.
Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen.
Vinegar, oil, wax.
You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing.
Twine, needles, thread.
There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling.
You scratched the scar again.
Vinegar, oil-
Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.
What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.
Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort.
But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind.
You stared and stared and stared and-
Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates.
“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?”
Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up.
“I’m sorry,” you told him.
“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”
“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.”
“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.”
The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground.
“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath.
“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover.
The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.
“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.
You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine.
Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this.
“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense.
Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—
Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.
“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”
You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here.
“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?”
“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy.
“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin.
“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.”
Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?
“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.”
“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him.
“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”
“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.”
“Then how did he find this place?”
“I don’t… I don’t know…”
“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”
“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.
“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same.
“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought.
“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?”
“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”
“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”
“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly.
“It’s true,” you said.
“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”
“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while.
“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”
Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.”
“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”
You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over.
“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?”
“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said.
The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.
Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.
“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”
“What?”
“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.”
You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.
“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”
“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth.
“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.”
As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real?
“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?
Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”
Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping.
“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”
“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!”
You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain.
“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still.
“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”
“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head.
“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?”
Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really.
Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process.
There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.
Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away.
And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood.
“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.”
The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?”
A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor.
And after that came the chaos.
Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else.
Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.
“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?”
A gloved hand waved in front of your face.
You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly.
“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm.
“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.
“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”
“I didn’t know you were there.”
“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”
“I guess I… zoned out a little.”
“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.”
“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.”
Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?”
“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said.
“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“Me?”
“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.”
“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm.
Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?”
“I-”
“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.”
You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.
“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot.
Flushing, you wiped your mouth.
“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”
“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill.
“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.”
“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him.
“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you.
That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked.
He nodded, urging you on.
Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.
“What if I get drunk?” you asked.
“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”
The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know.
“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.
“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”
The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another.
“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle.
You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat.
The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.
“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”
You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink.
On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?
“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.”
“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you.
“That’s even better,” Buggy said.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?”
“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.”
“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it.
Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.
“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ”
Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself.
“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes.
“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.”
He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.”
That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”
“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.”
“Come on, let me hear it.”
You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible.
“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”
“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.”
You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”
“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too.
“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were.
“Beg me again.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”
“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.”
He looked at you skeptically. “Really?”
“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.
“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?”
You frowned.
“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue.
You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage.
“There was a young lass who thought
Very little but thought it a lot.
Then at long last she knew
What she wanted to do,
But before she could start, she forgot.”
Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them.
Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”
You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”
“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.
“There was a young plumber named Lee
Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.
She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,
There's somebody coming’
Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"
Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”
“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”
“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.”
“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue,
Once filled her vagina with glue,
She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in,
And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”
You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles.
“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”
“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth.
And then there was nothing left.
“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”
“And how do you feel?” he asked.
You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”
Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place.
“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”
Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.
“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off.
“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop.
“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist.
Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped.
“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?”
“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur.
“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.”
“No! You started it!”
“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?”
“I don’t!” you insisted.
“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands.
Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then.
Bad. Very bad.
“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.”
“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.”
“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin.
“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness.
“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”
“What’re you… talking about?”
“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”
“How d’you do that?”
“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”
“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”
“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.”
“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad.
“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.
“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed.
“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”
“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation.
“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.”
“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.
“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.”
“’m fine,” you told him.
You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.
#opla buggy#opla buggy x reader#opla x reader#buggy x reader#my writing#one piece live action#buggy the clown#buggy the genius jester#buggy the flashy fool#lmao all of those come up when you type buggy that's cute#flashbang
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My boss and I drove to a work site but then we got flashbanged and had to hide in the car until it was safe. Also, I was a vampire.
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Sh&co flashbang!
hey guys!!
I'm currently working on a Sherlock & Co flashbang with the amazingly talented @littleoceanbabe! Because of this I will be slightly neglecting this acc for 2ish weeks- I promise I'm not dead!!
Keep an eye out for our entry which will be posted on April 30th!!
#you guys are gunna love this I promise#also go follow them#do it I dare you#So glad I decided to do this!#sherlock & co#sherlock & co flashbang#flashbang#I'm doing the art!#starfruitsomething#sherlock co#sherlock and co
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Imagine curing your dad's clinical depression and it ruins your parents' marriage
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PLEASE CHANGE YOUR BLOG COLOR I AM GOING BLIND!!!!!!!!!!1!!1!1!1!1!1!!!!!1!1!1!1!1!1!!!1!!!1!1!1!!!!!!!
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Achoo
#flashbang#bet you weren’t expecting that were you#lesbians#butch#artists on tumblr#queer artist#digital art#my art#art
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Heavens 12.5
The benefit of hindsight makes this comment so much worse.
#Carol is a breaker because she breaks every man who Mark knows#Good for her#something something bunter carol's ball form something something#parahumans#wildbow#ward#ward web serial#wardblr#carol dallon#brandish#mark dallon#flashbang#bunter
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Two arts in one day What... any way ive been drawing her all day... le fishe
idk if this is my official design bc that 1% is staring at this Hard but im having fun Does Backflip
#i treat qBaghera more like my oc than i should LOLO#me art#qsmp fanart#qsmp baghera#shouldve done my pomme with scuba gear on#flashbang#moment
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Flashbang
Chapter 2 - Le premier bonheur du jour
Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12
Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader
Synopsis: What happened while you were blackout drunk? What is your actual job on the crew? Why is there a lion on this pirate ship? These questions and more are left unanswered as you stumble your way through your first day on Captain Buggy's crew.
Warnings: Mentions of past abuse
Word Count: 6.8k
“The first delight of the day
Is a ribbon of sunlight
It's the fresh breath of the sea
And it’s the beach that awaits
The first sorrow of the day
Is the door that closes shut
But soon after you come back
And my life resumes its course."
x
Waking up, all you knew was that you were cold. Freezing, really, shivering so hard that you felt your bones tremble. It was because you weren’t dressed properly. You never slept in your underwear. You forced your bleary eye open and looked off the side of the bed, spotting your bag haphazardly abandoned alongside your boots and bandana. Bracing yourself for the chilly air, you pulled the blanket along like a cape to grab your bag, quickly retreating. Even that small movement left your head spinning painfully, a headache pounding twice into your skull, once at the base and again at the left temple. At least all of your clothes were clean, even if they had been mushed into a wrinkled ball. Moving as fast as possible you put on leggings and a sweater, tugging your fingers through your hair before pulling the bandana over your eye. After that, you huddled back under the blanket, staring at nothing and waiting for the shivers to stop.
Between the headache and the cold, the only thing you wanted was to go back to sleep. That was the best way to deal with pain, or chills, or hunger, or whatever else you felt. If you were asleep, those things became automatic, you didn’t have to deal with them.
You were halfway under when somebody knocked.
At first, you hoped it was in your head. A dream. They knocked again, louder, calling your name. That was the thing to wake up the part of your mind that had been sleeping so soundly, that made you realize how wrong the situation was.
Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You had slept in a bed that did not belong to you, wearing nothing except your underwear, in a room you had never seen before. The bed itself was set into the wall and hung with thick, velvety curtains. Windows lined the far wall, but they were covered enough to let in only the barest amount of light with more curtains and a familiar Jolly Roger, one with a red clown nose. After you recognized that, everything else fit into place. The desk littered with shiny clutter, the red and white theming, the odd mixture of grunge and opulence. You were on a ship.
The person knocked again. Growing nervous, you threw off the blankets and pulled on your boots, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You had to cross through an anteroom to get to the door. It exchanged a desk and bed for couches, but was fundamentally the same. The air was cold. You opened enough so you could peer through the crack. Crina stood there, looking impatient.
“So you are alive,” she said, giving you a once over with smokey dark eyes. “Barely.”
You opened the door a little further, blinking against the light. “What time is it?” you asked, your voice hoarse.
“Nearly noon. Some ships were spotted so we had to leave earlier than expected, I’m surprised you slept through it all.”
You blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Everything was blurry, bleary, a puzzle with a picture so worn you couldn’t make sense of it.
“Did you have fun last night?” Crina asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I… I guess…” you said, confused. You remembered the drinking, and talking, and laughing, but the specifics were lost in a blurry whirl. “What time is it?”
Crina rolled her eyes. “Okay, come on. You shouldn’t be in there.” She didn’t wait to see if you complied before turning around. You followed, stumbling a bit before getting your balance and shutting the door behind you. “Those were the captain’s quarters, and these are the officer’s rooms,” she said as you passed a few more doors.
“That was Captain Buggy’s room?” you asked, your brain chugging to play catch up. The headache was awful.
She shot you a frown over her shoulder. “You don’t remember?”
“No.”
She shook her head, although you couldn’t see her expression. “We’re going down to the officer’s mess. Careful on the ladder.”
She turned from the narrow hall to an equally narrow drop of steps, easily descending. Dizzy and a little sick, you didn’t match her grace, but you managed to avoid falling.
With your recollection of the ships you had been on when you were young, you expected the officer’s mess to be fitted with elegant yet utilitarian finishings. Modest, but not so much that it forgot civilization. And, in another life, perhaps it had been. Now it was a pirate vessel, and they did what pirates always did. Various props lined the walls, batons and boxes and fabric and wheels and all kinds of other things. Red and white striped banners hung across support beams as if to mimic a big top tent. Signs of age and destruction were everywhere, indication of the tumultuous seizure, but it had once been a fine vessel. Crina didn’t pause to let you gawk, indifferent to the decor as she led you to another narrow hall and turned. You got an odd sense of deja vu there, pausing.
“Are we going to the infirmary?” you asked, steadying yourself against the wall.
“Yes,” Crina said as she unlocked the door. “You’ve sailed before?”
“When I was young,” you said. “My dad was-” You cut yourself off there, realizing that the end of that statement wasn’t something you should reveal. Marines were the enemies of pirates. It wouldn’t look very good if you suddenly revealed that you were the daughter of a Marine Captain, retired or not. “That was a long time ago.”
“I see,” she responded impassively, opening the door for you.
The smell hit you hard, like a brick to the face. Scent formed a sort of endless memory, one so ingrained into your mind that you didn’t know exactly where it came from, that you couldn’t remember independently but never forgot. Your body locked up, arrested by the familiarity. Perhaps it was what every ship infirmary smelled of, even masked with the sweet aroma of incense and smoke.
“What are you doing?” Crina asked.
You shook your head quickly, holding your breath as you hurried in. It wasn’t like it was actually the same. The room looked far more like a place of mysticism than medicine, with a rainbow of glass bottles lining the far wall, herbs hanging to dry, and scarfs draped to hide the stark wall. It wasn’t even slightly the same. Slowly, you released your held breath. It was fine.
“Sit,” Crina told you, shutting the door and immediately busying herself at the sideboard. You sat down on the table-like bed set into the wall, your shoulders and head immediately drooping. The surface was hard, meant for surgery rather than sleeping, but you didn’t care. With the weight of your head, you would have happily drooped down onto the floor. “Have you ever been drunk before last night?”
“No.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired,” you answered. “My head really hurts.”
“Of course it does, you’re dehydrated,” she said, pouring water into a tin cup. The sound alone perked you up, made your parched tongue that much more dry. She added a spoon of powder before turning and offering it to you.
“Thank you,” you said, taking the cup. You intended to take it slow, but the second you got a taste of water, you couldn’t stop until it was gone.
“That’s two times,” Crina said when you were done and wiping your lips. “Two times that I could have poisoned you.”
You frowned, looking down at the cup and back up at her. “That was medicine, wasn’t it? Like before.”
“It’s already in your body, it doesn’t matter if you know what it was.”
You averted your gaze, flushing. “I’m sorry.”
Crina didn’t respond to that, approaching you instead. “How’s the bump on your head?”
“It’s fine,” you said reflexively. It hurt, of course. It would hurt for a while.
“May I check?” Crina asked. You hesitated, but eventually nodded, turning to give her access. The second she prodded the sore spot, you yelped, tears springing into your eye. “Ice will help with the pain and swelling.” She paused, smoothing your hair back into place. “Did you and Buggy have sex last night?”
“What?” you asked, whirling around. The quick movement did not help your sore head, sending little sparks of pain down your spine, your left temple thumping in protest.
“You slept in his bed after a night alone on the ship, it’s not an unreasonable question. Everybody will assume, but I’m asking you. Did you and Buggy have sex.”
“No!” you said, blushing furiously. “No. Captain Buggy wouldn’t… I can’t… There’s no way.”
“Earlier, you didn’t even know it was his bed. Could something have happened and you don’t remember?” Crina asked, her tone softening. You stared at her, stricken, your heart racing with sheer panic. “I’ll ask you another question—Is there any chance that you could get pregnant?”
“No,” you said, rubbing your face to hide the blush, feeling a little sick. Surely you would remember if something happened between the two of you. You didn’t even remember how you got into his bed. What you remembered was the warmth, and the saccharine sweet desire, and… Nothing. “He wouldn’t… do that. I wouldn’t.”
“I’m not here to judge you,” Crina said. “And I don’t want to embarass you. Do you remember when I warned you about consequences? This is one. Sex is fine, but if you get pregnant, you either get rid of it, or he gets rid of you. It’s better to avoid pregnancy in the first place—safer too. I can help you with that.”
She let that hang in the small room, waiting for your response. You had none, unable to so much as look at her. The thought of having sex was enough to make you wish the world itself would open up and swallow you whole. More than that, it was absurd to think that any man, let alone Captain Buggy, would bother with a one-eyed midget. It was disgusting to even entertain the notion. You were disgusting.
Eventually, Crina sighed. “When you need contraception, tell me. You have to look after yourself, god knows that no man will. But that’s all I’ll say on the subject. Do you want more water?”
You opened your eye. She held out the jug like it was a peace offering, which you accepted after a moment. There was no added powder this time. You wouldn’t have cared anyway, you emptied nearly half the cup before your sloshing stomach uneasily warned you to stop.
“Those bruises on your wrists are impressive,” Crina said. “May I take a look at them?”
You winced, fixing your sleeve to cover the discoloring and wrapping your hands around the cup to keep them from shaking. “They’re fine.”
“They look painful,” Crina said, leaning against the sideboard with her arms crossed, fixing you with a stare you didn’t like. It hadn’t been a question, but her silence made you want to answer.
“I’m fine,” you insisted. She still said nothing, just looking at you. It made you squirm uncomfortably, the table creaking. “I was sick a lot when I was little,” you explained. “I’m better now, but I still bruise easily and… It’s fine, my dad says it’s normal.” He said it was expected for a child, especially a girl, to be a little more breakable. You were weak. Frail. That was why you got hurt so often, got hurt by things that shouldn’t have hurt you.
“He says that it’s normal for you to have bruises? Did he tell you that broken bones and fat lips are normal too?”
“No… No, that was all my fault,” you said. “Because I’m not careful, I don’t ever think about how weak I am—because I was sick.”
“What kind of sickness was it?” Crina asked.
You shook your head quickly. “I-I don’t know.”
“What were your symptoms?”
“I was… sick.”
“Dizziness, headaches, fatigue, chills, anything like that?”
“I don't… Maybe. Some of those are because of the accident too.” You touched your bandana, tugging it down to ensure it was covering as much of the scar as possible.
“So you still have symptoms?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you told her, flustered by the relentless questions. “I’m fine.”
“Why did that man, Randall, claim you were mentally unwell?”
“I’m not,” you said, shaking your head, searching for the right answer, the one that she wanted. “He only thinks that because my dad… My dad worries about me. After everything that happened, he worries a lot.”
“Is that why you ran away?”
You shook your head, staring down at your lap. Crying now was embarrassing, you focused your entire self on fighting the sting of tears in your eye. Trying to cover it up, you adjusted the bandana again, desperately forcing your thoughts onto something, anything else.
“If it were up to me, I would not have medically cleared you to be here,” Crina said. “Asking you to perform any physical labor is out of the question, and you’re frail. It is more than likely that you’ll suffer severe injury by the end of the year.”
“I’m not weak anymore,” you said through clenched teeth, soft enough that she couldn’t hear that you were crying. “I’m okay, really. I’ll get stronger.”
“You can’t fix stunted development,” Crina told you. “But it’s not up to me. I’ll do what I can to help you as long as the captain insists upon keeping you around.”
Your shoulders heaved with a dry, pathetic sob.
“Finish that water and we’ll go to the galley to see about getting something to eat,” Crina told you. “Cry now, if you need to. After that, you’re going to have to be someone else’s problem for a while.”
Crina’s medicine and some food had helped you feel better. The headache remained, a stinging, painful reminder of the past night, but you ignored that as you emerged onto the main deck. Sunlight blinded you and the wind whipped your hair into an unruly mess, the oppressively humid salty ocean air staggeringly familiar. Not all memories were bad. Really, some were good. Since your dad was a surgeon, he was allowed to bring you along to help. Fetching things, bringing meals, cleaning up, running messages, helping tend to the wounded. Back then, you were his sweet little girl.
You shook your head clear of those thoughts, squinting through the sunlight to look around. You were looking for Cabaji, Captain Buggy’s Chief of Staff. A man with green striped dark hair and a blue checkered scarf and, according to her, a sour expression. From the description, you would have thought he’d stand out, but it seemed like Buggy’s entire crew could be described with equally colorful traits. Most of them were busy with some task or another. Those who noticed you watched with expressions ranging from unimpressed to hostile. To your great relief, you didn’t see the blunt-featured Ivo anywhere.
Assuming you would find the man by the quarter deck, you headed in that direction, trying very hard to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Strangely, your unassuming sweater and leggings made you the odd one out instead of helping you blend in. Eyes made your skin crawl as you passed. Did they all think you had slept with the captain? Crina’s words bothered you. They bothered you a lot. But if the two of you had done something, there would be evidence. More than just a missing dress.
Hesitating at the steps, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate to approach the quarter deck without invitation, you stalled out. People were still looking at you, likely wondering what you were doing. You didn’t know either. There, caught in a cycle of anxious uncertainty, someone passed right by you. At first, it didn’t register, but then you blinked and turned. Dark hair, checkered scarf.
You rushed to follow him, relieved.
“Excuse me,” you called. Nothing, although the deck was terribly noisy. You had to rush to keep up. “Excuse me, sir?”
Nothing. He was walking so fast too, with a grace and balance you couldn’t hope to match.
“Excuse me!” you called, reaching out to touch his arm. Your hand missed the first time, catching air. The second attempt connected, and that finally got a reaction, albeit a slightly violent one. You pulled back, narrowly avoiding his elbow. He turned around, searching at eye level before looking down at you. “You’re Cabaji?” you asked.
“I am,” he said.
“Um… I’m-”
“I know who you are,” he said, cutting you off. “We met last night when you were boarding the ship.”
“Really?” you asked, taken aback. The entire previous day was blurry. Except where it wasn’t, but you couldn’t think about that. “I’m sorry I don’t… remember.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you need?”
“I was hoping to talk to you. If you’re not busy, sir.”
“I am,” he said, clearly irritated.
“Oh. Right. Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked. “I’m not busy.”
Cabaji looked at you critically. “Do you know where the kitchen is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go down and pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch then wait for me on the bridge. I have to take care of something first. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” you responded, eager to have something to do. “I’ll be quick.”
“Just don’t mess it up.”
With that, he turned and stalked away.
Having a task reinvigorated you. You probably drew just as many eyes, but now it didn’t matter as much. How many times had you been tasked to serve meals when you sailed with your dad? Countless. It was something you could do, a way you could contribute.
Descending back down into the dark belly of the beast, you had to be careful. Last time you were on a ship, you had both eyes. Although you had gotten used to it in so many ways, you had even been able to scale the southside buildings, the sea required a different type of balance.
“Back for more?” The cook asked when he saw you, his round cheeks ruddy from working in such a small, hot space. “I haven’t got any scraps, you’ll have to beg somewhere else.”
“Cabaji asked me to pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch,” you told him, unsure if you should be offended by the comment.
He looked you up and down, his mouth twisting. It was the same look Cabaji had given you, even similar to the way Buggy had sized you up. Nobody lingered on your bandana like the people in town, far more concerned with your size. “If you drop it,” he told you, grabbing a silver tray to put into your hands, “I’ll be frying up your skinny rump instead.”
“I won’t, I promise,” you said.
“When the captain’s done, you bring that back to me. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better hurry then.”
With a final awkward nod, you made your way back up, extra careful with the tray. It was already getting easier to find your balance. You didn’t care if anybody was watching you as you crossed the main deck, all of your attention on not dropping the tray. If you messed up your first task as a part of Buggy’s crew, you’d be better off tossing yourself into the water.
Unfortunately, Cabaji wasn’t on the quarter deck. The door into what you assumed would be the navigation and office was closed, but that was probably where Buggy would be dining.
Standing there quickly became awkward, the sun piercingly bright and the tray getting heavier and heavier. You looked around for Cabaji a final time before going into the map room. It was empty, but on the other side of the sliding doors, you heard voices. Cautiously, you circled the large center table, intending to knock. The map, however, drew your attention. You knew it. You had seen it before. Your town was a burgeoning center of trade traffic, and so new routes needed to be mapped for merchant vessels to facilitate that growth. As a retired Marine, dad was always willing to help out with that sort of thing. He was well connected. Respected.
One of the pirates had stolen the map right out of your own home.
Before you could figure out how to feel about that, the door into the captain’s office slid open. You jumped, nearly dropping the tray as you turned around. A man with a white fur vest stopped at the threshold, his eyes immediately narrowing.
“Who are you?” he asked, his tone unnervingly accusatory.
“I… Um…”
“Well, well, would you look at that,” Buggy called. You looked around the man to see Captain Buggy at the other side of the office, sitting behind a big desk with his feet up on its top. “She’s standing and everything, I’m impressed. After how wasted you got last night, I thought you’d be out for the whole day.”
“I brought your lunch, sir,” you said faintly, not knowing what else to say.
“It’s about time,” Buggy said. “I’m starving. Bring that over here.” You entered his office, nervously skirting around the man who was still glaring at you.
Just as you set the tray on Buggy’s desk, avoiding meeting his eye, the other door opened. You looked over your shoulder to see a very displeased Cabaji come in.
“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” Cabaji said as he crossed the map room. “I told her to wait for me out there.”
“Don’t worry about it, I was meaning to get you two in here anyway. Mohji, Cabaji, this is my new cabin boy—er, girl. Woman?” Buggy looked at you inquisitively. “How old are you?” He shrugged it off just as quickly, taking the top off of the tray. “Whatever. I had one, but that didn’t work out. An artist of my caliber doesn’t need a spineless yes-man to run my errands, I need a protégé that I can mold into something really special. I knew you were just the girl from the minute I saw you… Wait, no… No, I knew it from the moment you said that you would happily serve me for the rest of your life.” He grinned, cutting off a chunk of meat. “Yeah, that was it.”
You shuffled awkwardly, trying very hard to avoid looking at any of the men. It was true, but when he said it like that, it took on a far different tone. They had to be drawing the worst conclusions.
“So, you two,” Buggy continued, talking at Cabaji and Mohji through a mouthful of food, “make it clear to everyone that she’s a part of the crew. I don’t want to hear shit about special treatment or whatever. Except for, you know, if anybody messes with her I’ll feed ‘em to the lion. Maybe that’ll perk him up, eh Mohji?”
“Yes, sir,” Mohji said.
“Great,” Buggy said. “Cabaji, you can take the afternoon to show her the ropes. Make sure she’s up to snuff.”
“What about crew inspection?” Cabaji asked.
“I’ll be here to help Captain Buggy with that. Your presence isn’t necessary,” Mohji said, looking at Cabaji with what you thought was a hint of animosity.
“I don’t need either of you to judge talent, that’s my business,” Buggy said irritably.
Neither man responded to that, but Buggy’s annoyance dissipated quickly.
“One last thing. Be careful with her,” Buggy said with a wink, his mood shifting yet again. “Don’t get fooled by the whole one-eyed innocent thing, she’s a real freak.”
“Understood,” Cabaji said, deadpan.
“Great. Now get out of here. She starts tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Cabaji said, grabbing your elbow and pushing you in front of him so he could basically herd you out of the room, past the uncomfortably familiar map, and back into the sunlight.
He shut the door and pulled you to the side, shooting it a wary glance before looking back at you. “Next time,” he said, “do what I tell you. I don’t care about whatever relationship you think you have with Captain Buggy, you will follow the orders that are given to you.” The implied or else was obvious from his intense stare. Part of you wondered what the or else would be, although the other part didn’t want to know.
“I understand,” you said, bowing your head. “I’m sorry, sir. And I don’t… Captain Buggy and I don’t have any kind of relationship. Last night, we didn’t do… Didn’t do anything. I swear.”
“That’s not my business,” Cabaji said.
“I really mean it,” you muttered, although you could tell he didn’t believe you, and you thought about what Crina said, and waking up in your underwear, and you felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with a hangover.
“We should get started,” Cabaji said, ignoring your weak objection. You swallowed hard and nodded. You had a job now, you needed to focus on that.
The first thing you learned about being a pirate was that you had next to no idea what you were doing. There were hundreds of things you needed to learn simply about living on the ship before you could begin learning your job, whatever that entailed. The biggest problem was how quickly you wore out. Cabaji was accustomed to being on a ship and athletic, you were neither. Having such a bad headache didn’t help. As the afternoon passed, Crina’s medicine wore off. If it were only the one hammering your temple, you could handle it, but the lump on the back of your head pulsed with every heartbeat, sending fresh sparks of pain down your spine every time you moved your head.
Like a wind-up doll slowly running down, you fell behind. It was only a matter of time before you collapsed, his voice fading out and the world blackening on the edges. You didn’t do something as dramatic as fall, but you distantly felt your legs fold beneath you, too rubbery to support you anymore.
“What are you doing?” Cabaji asked, stopping.
“‘m fine,” you said automatically, your voice faint. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just need a second.”
“Are you sick?”
“No, jus’ dizzy,” you said, trying to get your bearings.
Cabaji knelt in front of you, tilting your head up with a hand beneath your chin. Your eye spun, his face blurring.
“Let’s take a break,” he said, dropping your chin and standing up.
You might have protested, but the truth was that you very badly needed a break. It was embarrassing, but it would be worse to pass out. So you accepted Cabaji’s help getting your feet, the world blackening on the edges. Fortunately, the officer’s mess wasn’t a long walk, and you gratefully dropped into one of the chairs. Cabaji sat opposite you, his dark gaze unwavering. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but his stoic intensity made you squirm.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” you said. “This won’t happen again, I promise.”
“It’s alright,” Cabaji told you. “There are things we should discuss. About your role on this ship, and about your duty to the captain.”
That made you bristle, but you forced yourself to relax. He was your senior officer, this conversation was necessary. “Okay.”
“Captain Buggy is a very unique man. He demands a lot of his crew, especially those who serve him directly. As his Chief of Staff, it is my responsibility to ensure you’re able to meet those demands. Your failure would reflect very poorly on me.”
“I won’t fail,” you told him sincerely, if a little defensively. “I promise. I-I know what a cabin boy does. I’ve sailed before, sir.”
Cabaji leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes narrowing at you like you were stupid. “Were you listening to what he said? Captain Buggy didn’t hire you to be his gopher or attendant. He gave you an official job to acknowledge you as a member of the crew so the others don’t mess with you, that’s it.”
“Oh, um,” you said slowly, frowning, “maybe I misunderstood. I’m sorry, sir.”
“We all know why you’re actually here,” Cabaji told you. “I’ll teach you how to perform basic duties, but your only concern is serving Captain Buggy. You will provide him with whatever he wants—will do anything he asks of you. You do not tell him no, or question his judgment.”
There was an implication bubbling beneath his directions that made you skin crawl, thinking again of what Crina said before, but you forced yourself to ignore it. Cabaji said earlier that it wasn’t his business, and it wasn’t.
“I understand, sir,” you told him instead. “I really do.”
Cabaji’s demeanor softened slightly, his head tilting to the side. “No, you don’t. I’ve known people like you. Children who grew up on the streets, or malnourished ship slaves. Small. Frail. Weak.” He spoke bluntly, though without malice. “Add in your lack of skill and experience, and you’ve got no idea what you’re in for.” He sighed, leaning back. “I’ll do what I can to help you. As I said, your failure would inevitably become mine as well.”
“I won’t fail,” you muttered softly, staring at your knees, your headache hammering at the back of your skull, down your spine.
He shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”
When you thought about being on a ship, it was with the experience you had on Marine vessels. Strict order, stricter schedules, and militant discipline. What you didn’t think about was exiting the hatch from the lower deck to see a circle of pirates loosely gathered around a nearly empty spot in the middle of the deck. Nearly empty, except for a lone man beneath a makeshift spotlight. Music crackled out of a speaker, providing him a beat to follow for his routine. It looked like a dance, although not one you had ever seen.
“What’s going on?” you asked Cabaji as he came up behind you.
“Crew inspection,” he told you. “These are the new recruits.”
You watched the man for a moment before your eyes strayed past the spotlight. Captain Buggy wasn’t hard to find. He leaned against the railing with crossed arms, his dark silhouette cutting through the sunset. Although his scowl was only barely visible, tense displeasure underscored every aspect of his posture.
Following the flourishing swell in the music, the pirate ran from one corner of the emptied area, using his momentum to do a flip. To you, it was one of the most impressive things you had ever seen, but he landed wrong. A sharp intake of breath rippled over the gathered crew as he stumbled, unable to save it and falling down onto one knee.
“Stop,” Buggy said, pushing away from the railing, waving his hand to stop the music. “Just stop. I’ve seen more than enough.”
The pirate got to his feet, his head bowed in deference as Buggy approached him.
“Was that a joke?” Buggy asked. The man didn’t respond. Without the music, a very loud hush had settled over the entire deck, even the flapping sails and creaking wood quieting down in the face of Buggy’s temper. “You’re all in on it, right? Because if you performed like this in front of an audience, the only thing they would do is laugh.”
The pirate muttered something you couldn’t hear. Buggy leaned in with wide eyes to listen.
“You’re hungry?” he repeated. The man spoke again and Buggy nodded sympathetically, his anger suddenly gone. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you were hungry.” He grabbed the man by the shoulder, smiling. “You shoulda said something sooner.”
Without any warning, he struck the man in the stomach, using the grip on his shoulder to push him to the side.
“How about some food for thought,” Buggy said, raising his voice as he strolled into the center of the impromptu stage. “I hired you, all of you, because I need talent worthy of my show. That’s what you signed up for. So where is that talent? All I’ve seen today is shit so bad it’s stinking up the deck. I oughta let every single one of you good for nothing nobodies starve until you can give me something—anything—that I can work with.”
Everybody in the circle shuffled uncomfortably, most of them bowing their heads rather than meet Buggy’s eyes as he looked at each one in turn.
“We’re done here, go get some grub,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll try this again after you’ve had time to reflect on your failure.” With that, Buggy stalked out of the circle towards the quarter deck.
“Go get the captain’s supper,” Cabaji told you. “Bring it to his office.”
“Oh, um. Yes, sir,” you said, nodding.
Cabaji left to follow the captain, and you joined the flow of people going down. It was a solemn group, full of stormy expressions and whispered dissent. You felt a bit of that yourself. Captain Buggy seemed amused by your lack of talent last night, but would that hold? You didn’t have any unique skills, and especially not anything even approaching as impressive as the acrobat from earlier. The only answer that came to mind was Crina and Cabaji’s sickening assumptions. But if that was true, Buggy would have said something.
It had to be more simple than any of that. He wanted somebody who would be loyal, obedient, and could perform the boring quality of life tasks that captains were too busy for. You just had to prove that you really were the best person for that role.
Food was already being served to crew members who were not among the new recruits, taken from the kitchen to the mess by other younger pirates. Nobody paid you any mind while you nervously hovered, unsure if you were meant to wait in line or not. You didn’t want to keep Buggy waiting, but you didn’t want to cut in front of anybody and draw attention to yourself. Your indecision was ended by the ruddy-faced cook recognizing you from earlier, giving you the captain’s tray without any further comment. Your skin crawled with the weight of the eyes that tracked you, watching you quickly take the tray and hurry out of the kitchen.
Working against the flow of people was more difficult than following it, and you had to stop twice to catch your breath, the dizziness from earlier returning.
The main deck had returned to something like normalcy when you returned. The spotlight had been exchanged for lanterns and crew members had returned to their duties. By now the sun had fallen very low, casting the ship in a smoky haze of near dark. You crossed the deck with your head down, watching your feet to make sure you didn’t trip on anything.
There were no lights in the map room, just an illuminated line between the doors into Buggy’s office. As you got closer, you could hear Cabaji’s low, calm voice. You had taken too long, and you were a little winded, and Buggy was already unhappy, and part of you wanted to stay in the dark until you could calm your breathing and think of a good reason for making him wait. Instead, you knocked.
“Come in,” Buggy called, and you opened the door, blinking as you entered his well-lit office. “Took you long enough.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, hurrying to his desk to set down the tray.
You half expected him to berate you, but he only rolled his eyes, looking back to Cabaji. “You were saying?”
“Once we seize another ship, we can remain in that area. Those waters are thick with smaller supply vessels and that-”
“Boring,” Buggy said, cutting him off with a loud enough voice to make you wince as you pulled the lid off the tray. “All of this. It’s all completely uninspired. I’m not gonna drum up any buzz by doing the same tired act as everybody else. People don’t give a shit about small fry supply vessels and shithole villages in the middle of nowhere. You know what makes people pay attention? Giving them something they’ve never seen before. Artistic vision—does anybody else on the ship understand that?”
Cabaji didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You knew the flint-like look in Buggy’s eyes, in the tone of his raised voice. Any response could be the steel to start a fire. You didn’t dare draw any attention to yourself, trying to remain as small as possible in the tense silence. A silence that was broken by the door opening loudly. Mohji walked in without knocking, a leatherbound book under his arm. He seemed to realize that he was interrupting something too late, nervously looking from Cabaji to Buggy.
“I’m sorry to-”
“Did you get what I asked?” Buggy cut in brusquely, his mood shifting yet again to business.
“Of course, Captain Buggy,” Mohji said. You took that as your cue to leave, passing Mohji with your head down to catch the door from fully closing.
When you raised your eye to watch where you were going in the dark map room, a pair of eyes reflected back at you. It took a second for your brain to process that what you were seeing was real, but then you yelped in fear, stumbling back into the office and landing hard on your butt.
“What was that?” Buggy asked from the other side of the room, amused.
“There’s… something in there,” you said, scrambling to get to your feet. “An animal.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Buggy said, nonplussed. “Why’d you let him in there? Everything’s gonna smell like wet dog.”
“Richie doesn’t stink,” Mohji said. Realizing how his clipped tone might come across, he lowered his head respectfully. “Captain.”
“That was a dog?” you asked.
“A lion,” Mohji corrected.
“A lion?” you repeated, your voice thin.
“He won’t hurt you,” Mohji said dismissively.
You nodded as though you understood. Even Cabaji looked more exasperated than concerned. They made it seem like it was no big deal, like lions weren’t terrifying wild animals that you would never want to meet without a set of bars between you. Even if circuses generally had animal acts, allowing one of them to wander around freely couldn’t have been safe.
“Don’t look so scared,” Buggy said. “Not even Richie would bother trying to eat you. Not nearly enough meat.”
That was obviously your prompt to leave. Between the embarrassment of staying out of fear and getting eaten by a lion, you decided that the second was at least more dignified. Still, you could feel the cold sweat on the back of your neck when you slipped out of his office and into the dark room. Hidden in shadow, the only thing you could really make out about the creature was its size. How could it even live on the ship?
Slowly, you circled the table opposite where Richie laid, keeping your eye on him to ensure he didn’t move. You were nearly to the door when you heard the lion growl. Jumping in fear, you stumbled the last few steps to wrench the door open with shaking hands, practically slamming it shut out of terror that the beast would follow.
Several seconds of silence from within convinced you that you were safe, scurrying away with only a few backwards glances to ensure you weren’t being followed.
When you reached the bottom of the steps on the main deck, you stopped to breathe. Maybe from wearing yourself out physically, and definitely from being afraid, your head ached with an agonizing pulse, as if the pain were generating a heartbeat of its own. All at once, an overwhelming sense of alienation froze you inside. You were surrounded by strangers, stuck on an unfamiliar ship, there was a lion on the loose, and your only tether to a life you weren’t physically cut out for was a man you barely knew. And the day wasn’t even over.
The wave of exhaustion that rolled over you at the thought of all you had left to do was almost enough to knock you over.
Squeezing your eye shut and rubbing your temple, you forced all of those thoughts away. It didn’t matter if nothing made sense, or if you were making a mistake, or that you were afraid, or that you were in pain. Those things never mattered, not when you had things to do. During all those dark months after the accident, that’s what dad said. Submitting yourself to service was the best way to deal with unwanted feelings, to express your grief in a way that could benefit others, and therefore be a salve to your wounded heart.
All that mattered now was proving your own worth to Captain Buggy through service. You could do that.
#opla buggy#opla buggy x reader#opla x reader#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#my writing#flashbang
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playing around with my dash settings, having fun
oh hey, this button looks fun. i wonder what-
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST
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are we having a fine day today my good chaps? no? here's a future is so bright I gotta wear shades mlynar to brighten your day
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ohoho this things looks interesting i will go and have a look!
*sniffsniffsniff*
#ohoho#interesting#look#sniff#flashbang#flashbanged#meme#memes#shitpost#shitposts#shitposting#voiceover#voice actor#voice acting
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she/her, blackrock, ranged
#flashbang#flashbang phighting#phighting#phighting!#phighting oc#oc#slayer of doom art#slayer of doom doodles#slayer of doom srs art
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