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itsthemoofacewriting · 1 year

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A bag of coffee

So, this was actually started before Amongst the trees but got pushed to the backburner. It was also where I realised there’s a damn pantry as I was looking at the blueprints for Sunny. As you can tell, I’m now making full use of this new discovery for my fics.

You know that part in the relationship, where it’s just been established but it’s all so new and you’ve known this person in a certain way for so long that you overthink everything? No? Just me projecting? Well, I think poor little Snooj would be the same.

Summary: Inventory counting was not meant to send his heart racing. Part two of the Potato Peeling series Rating: T+ You can also find this on FFN and AO3.

Enjoy!

Six bags of rice… two bags of flour…

Sanji’s pen scratched quickly across his pad as he made notes, eyes methodically scanning over bags, tins, barrels and the odd loose item. Occasionally, his pen would flick up, pointing at the item to help him count if there were a few before going back to the pad.

Once a week he would do this; come into the pantry and take an inventory of what stock he had left. It helped him plan for the week and made sure no ingredients would be wasted. It also kept him on top of what was used more often and how much he should buy the next time they arrived to stock up at an island.

A bag of coffee…

His pen halted its movement

A singular bag of coffee.

He frowned. That was a little too low considering how often Robin drank it… actually, that was way too low considering he made sure to get more of it once Nami had started drinking it more often too. He flicked back to last week’s notes and saw he had three bags of it then. Where the hell had two bags gone? Mentally, he started to make a list of what he’d been doing within the span of a week and came up blank.

Naturally his first suspect was Luffy because he was a menace. His name was mentally scrubbed out when he gave it more thought. Luffy was really only interested in the fridge, everything in here was dried that he was convinced Luffy had simply forgotten the room existed.

The next thought sent a shiver down his spine. What if Nami or Robin were making their own drinks? He didn’t think they would, he almost had a sixth sense for when they needed drinks, although he would keep an eye on that now.

Still though, that theory didn’t explain two whole bags of coffee disappearing. They drank coffee but not that much.

But when he roll called everyone in the crew, he thought about how he had caught Franky stealing his cooking oil a little while ago, using it as lubricant for one of his contraptions when he’d run out of oil and it’d earned him a swift kick out of his kitchen. The insult. As much as the idea of using cooking ingredients for things like that offended him, he was sure coffee couldn’t be used in the same way. Although he did use cola as fuel…

Hm. He’d keep an eye on it and consider getting the mouse trap out again.

Maybe he should just lock the kitchen and be done with it. That way everything would be safe from the vultures.

It would certainly be nice for when he spent time with Nami. To have her all to himself with no distractions.

Not that they didn’t spend a lot of time together. Even before they officially got together two weeks ago, they’d spent a considerable amount of time together but now it had increased and the memory from two weeks ago played in a loop in his head. A silly smile spread across his face. That was a top five moment for him and right now, it sat comfortably in the top spot. Just the two of them cooking together, being close and sharing a kiss that still made him sigh dreamily.

“Sanji-kun?”

Speaking of the angel…

“In the pantry, Nami-san!” He called, already walking to the door to meet her there.

His smile broadened when she came into view, she’d always been beautiful but it was different now he knew she felt the same way. He could gawk at her as much as he wanted, he could hold her hand, hug her, taste her lips. And as much as he wanted to, thinking about something and doing it were two different things, especially when he’d spent so long holding himself back. It almost felt wrong to act on his urges.

Right now though, he wanted to sweep the hair obstructing her face, cup her cheek because he could do that now but uncharacteristically, he held back. Maybe later, when he’d built up the nerve. It didn’t stop him from eyeing the piece and longing, instead.

“Are you okay?” Nami asked, head cocked and belatedly, he realised he’d been distracted for a bit too long.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I’m fine. I’m almost done here and then I’ll be outside.”

“I can help, we’ll be done quicker this way,” she said, breezing past him.

He perked up at the idea, more than happy to spend some quality time together.

“As always, I’ll be your lowly assistant,” he said, handing her the pen and notebook before pulling over the stool for her to sit on. She took his hand when he offered it to help her sit and his heart jumped despite the innocent gesture.

“Who knows, maybe if you do a good job, I can promote you,” she replied coyly.

And, slightly sweatier than before with her teasing, they picked up where he left off. He continued to move methodically through the racking, calling what it was and how many they had.

“Three bags of potatoes, Nami-san.”

“Three bags of potatoes,” she parroted back, pen diligently writing down what he called out, pen quickly scratching across the page. Her writing was much nicer than his and he’d always admired the way her letters looped gracefully.

Since she’d been helping him, they were actually working through it quicker. They were already done with one of the racks, there was only two left until-

“You missed one,” Nami called, breaking him from his trance.

“Huh?”

“You missed one,” she repeated, pen pointing at the line of spices he’d just counted from the racking.

Frowning, he counted the line again and got the same number. “Five?”

Shaking her head, she got up, putting the pen behind her ear and knelt down next to him at the bottom shelf of the racking. Leaning down, she pushed the five small containers aside to reach for another one right at the back, hidden behind another spice in a different row.

“And that makes six,” she corrected, holding the cinnamon.

“This is why you’re head chef!” Although he certainly hadn’t moved it. It only roused his suspicion further about someone coming in here when he wasn’t around.

“Come on, give me a page and I can do some counting as well. The head chef has to muck in too. I can help more if we split what’s left and do our own count.”

“Nami-san, you can leave, it’s really okay!” It was only natural, it was a beautiful day outside, who would want to do an inventory count? Which is why he assured, “I’m almost done here; I’ll meet you on the deck.”

“It’s fine, I like spending time with you,” she dismissed, steamrolling over his excuses for her. “Do you mind if I rip a page out? I can do my own count this way.”

“Not at all.” It was only his inventory book; he didn’t mind at all.

He watched her rip the next page out but instead of taking the book, he took the piece of paper, leaving her with the pad.

“Always the gentleman,” she teased. “I’ll take this rack and you take that rack.”

He nodded and they got to work.

They worked back-to-back, Sanji continuing on his racking and Nami behind him working of her own rack. The pantry wasn’t huge to begin with and not always knowing how long it was until the next island meant the room was filled and space was vital. Their backs brushed most of the time with how tight it was and whilst they had separate papers, they didn’t have two pens, so they ended up going back and forth with the pen. It probably wasn’t the most productive way to work but sharing a pen came with its perks. Instead of working in silence, there was the murmured question for the pen filling the gaps and it meant touching. Lots of touching. Hands brushing, shoulders bumping and his cheeks were constantly tinted pink.

Since getting together, they hadn’t done very much and it wasn’t from a lack of want. There were plenty of opportunities, plenty of openings but he fumbled every time. It was similar to that night in the kitchen where she’d adjusted his tie, he just panicked and it was only after the moment had passed that he kicked himself.

But it was hard. He’d spent so long imagining and being her friend and as much as he liked to think he was smooth; he maybe, perhaps, wasn’t so much when the moment was presented to him. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. So, since getting together, it’d been very modest pecks, kisses to the cheek and, to his delight, the occasional hand hold. He wasn’t complaining though, it was more than he could have ever imagined and he’d counted his lucky stars ever since.

But now with just the two of them in here, the atmosphere was stifling in the best way possible and he was sure Nami was on to him. She hadn’t said anything but he was sure she was touching him more than needed and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest with the anticipation.

At first, she’d tapped his shoulder to get his attention and when their fingers brushed, his heart had jumped and he felt light headed. She’d smiled before turning around to double check her count and write down the number. When she’d returned the pen, her hand had lingered and he’d swallowed at her half-lidded look.

He’d tried to return the gesture as much as he could and he’d felt particularly daring when his fingers had grazed hers on purpose for no reason when they were working back-to-back.

After that, she was gradually becoming bolder and, he realised, she was definitely teasing him.

He had zero complaints.

The innocent touches and lingering moments came to an end when he’d been crouching down to count something and he felt her breath on his ear asking for the pen. A shiver slivered down his spine before he’d snapped up to his feet and fought down the urge to stutter.

She’d giggled, before pretending nothing had happened, like she hadn’t just sent his head spinning.

Whatever game they were playing, it was truly afoot. She’d made their previous interactions look like child play.

She was everywhere.

A hand on his back.

Breath hot on his neck.

Body leaning over his shoulder.

He’d had to recount the sugar twice already and he still had no idea what the final number was. His brain had melted out of his ears long ago and all that was left in its place was Nami.

“I think you missed one, Sanji-kun,” she said, voice light and playful that he knew she was joking. Her voice was closer than he’d expected, despite the little game they’d been playing.

He turned, still crouched down and he’d expected her to be in a similar position until he came face to face with her thighs. He imagined he looked like a gaping fish but his brain was elsewhere as his eyes slowly travelled up her body. From the full of her hips to the swoop of her waist and he settled longer on her bikini clad breasts. She had a new one on, a pale blue that matched her jeans. She looked phenomenal in it and he had to tear his eyes away far sooner than he wanted to.

When he reached her eyes, she was already looking at him, eyebrow quirked and amusement over her features. She was clearly more than aware of his ogling and he took it as a positive sign that she didn’t leave.

He cleared his throat, trying to dispel any tension and stood. Whilst there wasn’t a lot of space to move around, she was a step closer than she had to be and he fought the urge to fidget.

“I’m done, how are you getting on?” She asked, nonplussed by his silence or proximity.

And whilst he’d heard her, his brain wasn’t functioning properly, if at all, and she was so pretty. Really pretty. And that hair that he wanted to move was still there.

Unable to form a decently structured sentence, he wordlessly showed her his paper but she wasn’t angry with his half-completed rack.

She looked up from the piece of paper and he wasn’t sure what he expected but it wasn’t silence. Nor the way she eyed him. From his chest, they slowly swept upwards, lingering on his shoulders and lips until she as looking into his eyes. He hadn’t seen that look in her eye before and it made his palms moisten and his breath shorten. The way she looked at him made him feel naked, like she was looking through him. He wondered if that was how he’d just looked at her.

There was a tense moment and his brain was running to fill the silence, until she relieved him. “Do I make you nervous?” She was fighting down a smile and he suspected it was because she already knew the answer.

“Ah, no.” That was a lie. “… well,” he tacked on, not knowing how to explain. He didn’t want to offend her.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem in the kitchen two weeks ago.”

It was a statement but he still answered it like a question.

“You know, heat of the moment.”

With the little distance between them, she managed to take a step forward and there was nowhere for him to go but lean heavily against the racking. Internally, he was grateful for it being bolted down.

She leaned forward, closing what little space there was and he could feel her chest press into his. With a hand on his lapel, she lowly asked, “Do I need to get you back in the moment, little eggplant?”

His eyes bulged and he wheezed, her offer taking his mind straight to the gutter, despite the childish name that sounded sinful coming from her mouth. He felt like he was going to faint with her just this close and at most, he thought he’d be able to cope with kissing but more than that? It made his pulse quicken.

Her hand burned on his chest and his eyes darted around her face, trying to figure out if she was joking. It’d be fine if she was, but he’d rather know before he made more of a fool out of himself.

“You’ve been very respectful these past two weeks,” she noted observationally, disregarding his silence, and then her eyes lidded, “you can touch me you know.”

He nodded, because that was all he could whilst he tried not to hyperventilate, and although he understood, his arms stayed locked at his sides. Now would’ve been the perfect time to have a cigarette, he needed something for his hands to do. It took her chuckling and moving his arm for him to actually touch her. He instantly missed her palm on his chest but it was short-lived when she moved his hands to sit low on her waist and his fingers twitched on reflex. Her skin was warm and soft and he already wanted to spend his time mapping the flare of her hips.

His attention was caught again when not one but both hands returned to his chest. She leaned in, so close he could count the individual lashes on her eyes and feel her breath warm against his lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” She all but whispered yet the words echoed in his brain like she’d shouted.

When he met her gaze, all traces of teasing were gone and in its place was something else. It was open and raw and it took him a second to realise it was vulnerability. It was enough to knock the dumbfoundery out of him.

He nodded.

“Yes.”

Even to his own ears he sounded winded.

Her eyes warmed at his response and it might be his new favourite thing to watch.

Their noses brushed, sliding as their heads tilted and he kept his eyes open for a moment longer to watch hers close.

When their lips touched, it felt like time had suspended, the seconds turning into minutes and he was a fool for not using every opportunity up until now to do this. Her lips were soft and he was delicate, savouring the drawn-out kiss to ingrain the moment in his brain.

His lips moved and time restarted as he let a shaky breath through his nostrils. Her hands slid from his chest up to his shoulders and into his hair. He tightened his hold around her, moving from her waist to her back to draw her in and she reciprocated in kind.

They exchanged a series of kisses, from lingering and long to small and sweet. They were finding their tempo and he never wanted to stop.

She tried to pull away and a desperate sound bubbled from his throat as he chased her lips, successfully drawing her into another kiss.

It was short lived when she pulled away properly but he couldn’t be disappointed when their foreheads rested against each other’s and he was treated to the view of a thoroughly kiss Nami. Her lips were slightly swollen and he had to resist the urge go back in.

Instead, he did the next best thing by grazing their noses, rubbing them together and in that moment, he realised it might just be as good as kissing her. Her cheeks flushed prettily and her eyes crinkled and he returned her smile, feeling breathless. She was ethereal.

“I couldn’t figure you out,” she started, fingers curling in his hair at the nape of his neck and his thumb brushed across the dimple on her lower back in encouragement, “I didn’t know if you wanted to take things slow, which is fine, or if you were nervous.”

He was right, she had been testing the waters, trying to figure him out. And when she had, she’d tried to tease him into action.

His eyes flicked back down to her lips when they curled into a smile.

“But then you kept staring and you’re not subtle at all.”

He laughed lightly, looking back at her eyes and apart from amusement, there was a curiosity there.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed out, like that explained everything and for him, it did. But he continued. “And I’ve wanted this for so long, that I can’t quite believe that I can do this now and I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’re not going to mess this up. I fell for you how you are and I knew what I was signing up for.” She smiled, genuine and happy.

His nerves had still been there but they were replaced by giddiness at her words.

Feeding from his new found confidence, he brushed the hair from her face like he’d wanted to this whole time, tucking it behind her ear to then cup her jaw. She tilted her head, leaning into his touch and his thumb mapped her cheekbone in a slow caress.

Using his hand, he drew her into a slow kiss and he relished the easy way she responded.

“Besides, now you get act on your thoughts,” she told him, breaking their kiss to give him the news.

Her eyes darkened and before he could respond, she was tugging on his tie to pull him back in. There had been nowhere else for her to move, she was already pressed up against him until he parted his legs and she wasted no time filling the small gap. His thighs bracketed her hips and it was more intimate, it changed the mood between them.

Gone were their sweet kisses and instead, their lips slid together firmly as they found their feet.

So far, their kisses had been closed mouth but when her tongue came out to tease at his lips, he couldn’t hold back the moan from the back of his throat. He’d tasted her oranges before but it didn’t compare to when he tasted it on her.

With one hand on her cheek, the other was at her waist, carefully touching the exposed skin there, already feeling far too risky. Well, until her hand detached from his shoulder to push at the hand on her waist until it sat dangerously as the edge of her bikini.

He was glad for the racking that he could lean on behind him because his legs felt like they’d turned into jelly.

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

He nodded dumbly, brain only producing white noise as his finger flexed across her sensitive skin and she shivered. He felt a shot of adrenaline, he’d caused that reaction - it was almost heady.

“Don’t overthink it, I’ll say if I don’t like something.” And then she was kissing him again.

It was like the gun at the starting line had gone off because there were hands everywhere. His hand was not moving from her breast, not when he’d been given an enthusiastic shove and he’d spent his time cupping her, fingers playing around the sensitives skin and fabric. He drunk down her breathy moans enough times now to know his touch was very welcome.

Her hands were at his shoulders, pushing his jacket out of the way to sit at his elbows and then they were running down his sides, over his shirt to map out his abs. This was not how he’d expected his day to go but he was thrilled at the turn.

It was so hot in the pantry but he couldn’t get enough as they kissed frantically and their hands didn’t know where to go next. He realised belatedly that this was a make out session and kicked himself that they could have been doing this much, much sooner.

As much as he didn’t want to part from her lips, the desire to kiss down her neck was stronger and he was glad he did because her arms tightened around him, trying to merge them into one. He helped when the hand at her jaw skimmed down until it clutched at her rear and he couldn’t imagine anything better than this moment.

Her neck was sensitive going by the sounds she produced and he made it a personal challenge to find a spot better than the last until-

“Little eggplant,” she moaned but then a second later, “Too much?”

“Not from you,” he murmured against the delicate skin of her neck and it was true. He’d settled into that far quicker than he’d expected and honestly, he’d be into any nickname she gave him.

She laughed breathily as it turned into a moan. “We could’ve been doing this for a lot longer,” she panted.

“I’ll make up for lost time, I promise.” And now they were on the same page, he would. He wasn’t missing out on any more of this.

“I’m sure you will.” Her hand was back in his hair, soothingly playing with the strands. “Although I’m not sure how accurate your count was, so maybe we should start again.”

“I’d stopped counting ages ago,” he admitted, pulling away from her neck to look at her.

“Was it around the sugar? That’s when you started getting jumpy.” She kissed him afterwards, short and sweet to let him know she was teasing.

“We can use inventory counting as code for this instead,” he said enthusiastically, wiggling his eyebrows at her as his hand slipped into the back pocket of her jeans. He still felt the thrill when she let him.

“I’m pretty sure half the crew already think that when we’re in the kitchen together. Why do you think we get left alone so much?”

Huh. He hadn’t thought about that. “No complaints here, it means I get you all to myself.”

They were winding down which was probably a good idea considering they’d been in here for quite a while and whilst the crew may give them a wide birth, nothing would stop a rampaging Luffy. Even that threat didn’t stop him from pulling her into one last slow kiss.

She righted his jacket afterwards, smoothing along his shoulders to get rid of any wrinkles and when her hands travelled down his arms, he caught them to hold her hands.

“Would you like to help me with dinner?” He brought one of her hands up to place lingering kiss to the back of it.

She hummed at the move; eyes warm again. “Sure and we can finish the count later.” It sounded like an innocent suggestion but her tone was mischievous.

He couldn’t wait.

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

Could you tell I didn’t want this to end?

I love teasing Sanji; he makes it so easy and it’s so fun!

Please excuse any errors.

Thanks for reading.

#sanami #sannami #SaNa #SN #SanjixNami #opwriting #opfanfic #Nami #Sanji

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wellhellotragic · 5 years

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Dead in the Water (1/2)

You guys!!! It’s here! It’s our @csrolereversal drop date and I’m so excited for you all to see the amazing art @clockadile created for this event. Everyone, please go to her page, check out this amazeball painting, and send her all of the love that she deserves because this fic would never have existed without her! She is just such a wonderful person and I feel so honored that I got to make words in an effort to bring her art to life in a different way. I hope that I’ve done it, and her, justice and that you guys enjoy this. Shout out to @darkcolinodonorgasm for pulling this event together and to everyone in the rolereversal discord chat. It truly has been such a wonderful event and everyone has been so amazingly supportive of one another, so thank you all for being so awesome! Also tagging @cshalloweek even though my theme doesn’t completely match the day.

Summary:

Killian Jones may have just had the worst year of his life. The loss of his hand, of his career, and of his pride were almost more than he could take. In a bid to reclaim his life, Killian decided it was time to face his fears, and get back on the metaphorical horse, or in his case, back on the water. Only, the purchase of a haunted second-hand boat may just come at the cost of his sanity.

“The sea is like a cruel mistress. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can never trust her.” - author unknown

Rating: M (foul language sprinkled in and some adult themes)

Also on AO3

“Mayday! Mayday!”

Nothing.

“Please, is anyone out there?” The faint words were met with radio silence. The only noise a high pitched whining from what was likely a busted eardrum. Weak and dizzy, blood continued to drip into the water filling the cabin. The once brown floor now covered in pink.

Searing pain, a sinking boat, and all hope lost. There was little to do but wait. Wait for the inevitable. There was nowhere to go, no reason to have hope. Climbing to higher ground had been a struggle, and pointless as the vessel continued to dip lower and lower into the icy water.

That night, prayers went unanswered. The heavens laughed as they flashed their pearly white teeth and the crackle of a thousand laughs filled the air. The rain continued to fall all around.

There was nothing to do but wait until the water finally claimed her prize. Until the sea took it’s claim. Until the world went black.

***

It was unseasonably hot in Boston. Granted, summertime was hardly a perfect oasis in the northeast on a usual year, but that July had seen it’s hottest temperatures in over sixty years, and the city had been a sweltering mess. The usually pristine buildings along Freedom Trail were littered with blinding metal as each window had suddenly become occupied with ac units overnight. There had even been rolling blackouts as the power company struggled to keep up with the city’s demands.

Why Ariel’s Antiquities had insisted on holding their event outdoors was a mystery to Killian. Women and men dressed in their best, hoping that fancy clothes would somehow insinuate that they had money and could easily out bid their competitors. Unfortunately for them, their power suits became far less intimidating by the minute as sweat lines began to appear sometime just before ten. As the hours drifted on, people became puddles, their shoes sticking to the sidewalks.

Killian found himself near constantly tugging on the collar of his shirt, peeling it away from his sticky skin. Unlike him, his brother had refused to undo the top two buttons on his shirt and seemed even more miserable, if that were somehow possible.

The two men had been sniping at each other for the better part of the morning, and now with the sun at full intensity above them, they’d resorted to silence as they milled their way through lot after lot. The auction advertisement Killian had seen online seemed to have mostly a mishmash of memorabilia and collectables, with a few actual antiquities mixed in.

But unlike the other bidders, the two men weren’t there for random knick knacks. There was one specific item that had caught his eye on the online inventory. A tiny thumbnail the only indication of its existence and he could only hope that it hadn’t been from a previous auction.

For over an hour, Killian traipsed through the old fair grounds, Liam in tow behind him, searching with no luck.

“Killian, I hate to be the one to say this, but it’s not here. We’ve been to every lot and it’s just garbage.” He turned to see his brother giving him a look of pity, infuriating his very being. “Perhaps this is a sign.”

“A sign of what? False advertising?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I just-” Liam took a deep breath, pushing the air out on an audible huff. “I just worry about you.”

With that, all of the anger and frustration from the day left Killian’s body. He couldn’t be mad at Liam any more, not when he knew it was true. When he still had memories of waking in the hospital, of seeing Liam’s eyes red and puffy from tears. It was the first time he’d seen his brother cry since their mother had passed years before.

“Liam, this is something I need to do. I need to prove to myself that I can get back out there. I can’t let this cripple me for the rest of my life.”

His choice of words hadn’t meant to convey the irony, but as his brother glanced down at the metal and leather covering his wrist, Killian couldn’t help but notice the cruelty of the universe. That even the most benign of words could cause such pain, even a year later. How even thinking about that day caused his missing hand to throb in pain.

“Killian, you are one of the strongest people I know. You don’t have anything to prove. Not to me or anyone else.”

Gone were the days where Liam teased him and called him little brother. Now, he was lucky if Liam said anything cheeky around him at all. And while he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone else, the truth was that he needed to show his brother that he wasn’t broken. Not anymore. That he didn’t need to be coddled like a wounded duck.

Before he could respond though, a glimmer caught his eye from a passing bidder’s reflective earrings, causing him to whip his head to the left. And there, tucked behind an old telephone booth, 2 huge entertainment centers, and a large canopy bed, there it was. There she was.

He didn’t wait for his brother, his jogging nearly breaking into a full stride. She was hard to see, tucked away behind items too heavy to move, but even in his limited view he could see that she was battered and bruised. Still, Killian knew that with a little sweat equity, she could be a marvel. He let his hand run down the fiberglass, feeling the strength of the hull, despite the hole in her port side. A gaping wound about the size of a bowling ball.

She was damaged, just as he was, but together they’d mend each other. He was sure of it.

“That’s it? That’s the boat you brought us all the way out here for?” Killian could only smile to himself. “Brother, she’s a mess. Where’s the mainmast? And did you see that hole? There’s no telling what kind of dry rot is on the inside.”

“Yes. I know she’s not much to look at right now, but-”

“No. You can’t be serious. She’s better off torn apart for scraps.”

Killian couldn’t explain to his brother the draw that he felt. He’d been searching auction houses for months. All of the boats he’d seen were either grossly overpriced, or faced the Goldilocks conundrum. Too small. Too big. But this one, it was just right. From the instant he’d seen that tiny thumbnail picture on his laptop screen, he’d felt it deep within his gut. He was meant for that boat, just as she was meant for him.

“And what kind of name is Jewel of the Real?”

“Realm.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Jewel of the Realm.”

Killian’s hand brushed over the faded wood, tracing the faintest outline of where an ‘M’ used to reside.

The rest of their time there was a bit of a blur for Killian. Liam trying his best to talk him out of buying The Jewel as people threw their paddles up in the air, capturing the trinkets on the stage. Killian fighting with a man two rows ahead of him for the winning bid, going over the maximum price he’d set in his head. Giving the auction house the delivery address, ignoring the way his brother huffed as Killian wrote them a check.

But none of that mattered, because in the end, she was his. The auction house delivered her a few days after his check cleared. The address he’d given them was for a warehouse another expat had told him about. Cheap monthly rates and all of that. What Will Scarlet had neglected to mention was that the warehouse was actually an abandoned building in a rather questionable part of town. Killian never should have trusted the man with a deposit sight unseen. The building lacked windows or doors, and Killian immediately knew he’d been had by the huxter.

He’d scrambled to find another place to fix up the Jewel. The drydocks at the marina were expensive and lacked space for him to spread out with tools, not to mention the absence of privacy while he worked. It was bad enough that people stared at his hook while he was picking up food from the local pub or out with Liam and his wife. He’d be damned if he was going to have people watch him work on a boat one handed. He even considered trying to work out of his friend, Robin’s, garage but the thirty two foot boat simply wouldn’t fit. No matter how imaginative he got with his sketches.

In the end, it was the most unlikely of allies that came to his rescue. The last man he ever expected to aid him with the Jewel. Liam owned a shipping company, specializing in European imports, with English ales and German lagers making up the bulk of his business. The main office was based in downtown Boston, but there was also a small warehouse down by the port where items were stored as they awaited inspection. His brother, still not happy with his decision made him an offer anyway. Come to work at Jones Shipping Monday through Friday, and he’d have the warehouse all to himself in the evenings and on weekends to work on the “abomination.”

Killian accepted begrudgingly. He wasn’t necessarily in need of a salary. He had the monthly stipends from the Navy to live on, the only benefit of losing his left hand, and the idea of becoming a corporate stooge maddened him to no end. He’d already sold his soul once, and they spit him back out once they deemed him of no further use. He wasn’t quite ready to lose the rest of himself to a full time day job pushing paperwork, schmoozing potential clients, and taking orders from Liam. But the perk of Liam’s harbor warehouse was too great to pass up.

So he took the job. He started on a Monday and the boat was delivered on the following Tuesday. Liam had neglected to mention his need for a key, so after driving across town, Killian ended up having to turn around without seeing her. The next day he’d nearly ripped into Liam when he saw him, but seeing three other men in suits sitting in front of Liam’s desk made him rethink his anger. Or at least rethink giving his brother a piece of his mind at work in front of people he’d only ever met at staff parties. He’d already had to deal with stares and questions from a rather bold intern. The stress from his own self-consciousness only amplified his frustration with Liam.

He finally got the key from Liam later that afternoon, along with another gift that he wasn’t particularly fond off. One that actually left him offended. One that he threw back in his brother’s face as he stormed out of his office, not caring one bit what anyone thought of him. Not when his brother obviously thought so little.

He was too upset to even go check on The Jewel at that point, choosing to head to a pub near the harbor instead. The Rusty Anchor was a fan favorite for expats. It’s where he’d met Scarlet, which unfortunately didn’t actually say much about the place. He’d met a few good blokes there as well though, like the bartender Robin. They’d become friends in a grief counseling group. It was mandated for Killian, but optional for the other man who was grieving his wife. Listening to Robin talk at their monthly meetings had helped put Killian’s loss into perspective. Suddenly his missing hand didn’t seem so catastrophic.

Robin had invited him to the pub knowing Killian was new in town with few friends, and the two men had formed a bond in the months since. In a way, he felt closer to the man than he did to Liam. Like he could tell him anything without the brotherly judgment that always radiated from the elder Jones.

After a few pints and a good talk with Robin, Killian had calmed. Liam was still a moron, but that wasn’t on him. And as Robin said, he just had to continue to remind himself that the only reason he was even working for his brother was so that he could fix up the Jewel. As soon as she was sea worthy, he could leave his job without breaking his word to Liam.

In a slightly better mood, he headed a few streets over to the warehouse, ready to take a full inventory of all of the repairs she’d need. The hole in the hull was obvious, as well as new paint all over, and she needed a new mast and sails, but there was always the concern of dry rot. That was the biggest worry. Having to replace every plank of wood and all of the fiberglass on the boat would defeat the entire purpose of restoring her.

Not to mention the difficulties he’d face using his hook. He was more than proficient with it for everyday use after eight months of practice, but some things still tested his limits. As he walked up to the warehouse, thinking about how he’d hoist the sails on without tearing them, he was completely lost in thought, oblivious to the man standing next to his boat. He was more than a little embarrassed by the shriek that escaped from his lips, but upon realizing that it was Liam there waiting for him, his distress turned to anger again. Especially when he saw the box from earlier on a nearby table.

“Killian, before you say anything, it’s not what you think. I never meant to imply-”

“What? That I’m a freak. That I’ll scare away all of the clients?”

“Actually, it was quite the opposite. I got it for you.” Killian looked down, unable to meet his brother’s gaze. “What? You don’t think I see you? The way you shrink in on yourself when you’re out with Elsa and me?”

Liam had him there.

“Look, Killian. I just thought that maybe it would help you to feel more comfortable. I never meant to insinuate anything by it.”

Perhaps he had overreacted. In his mind’s eye, it was just the cherry on top of a horrible year. The whole world judged him. Wasn’t it only a matter of time before his brother saw him as a disfigured beast as well? Except, that wasn’t what happened. He’d made a snap judgement, and thought the worst of Liam in the process.

“You’re right. I... it’s harder than I expected it to be sometimes. I thought,” he had to fight to keep his emotions in check as he remembered those first few weeks in the hospital. How he’d lost more than just his hand. “I thought it would be easier than this.”

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t handle it in a more sensitive way. I think I was just so excited to show it to you that I assumed you’d be just as enthusiastic. Obviously, it’s not all that functional, but it’s remarkably realistic and Elsa and I just thought it would make you more comfortable dealing with clients.”

Killian laughed to himself. A sad little thing. It was very realistic in a way that nauseated him when he first opened the box. Even now, as he walked over to it and lifted the top, he couldn’t help the catch in his throat. The prosthetic hand looked incredibly realistic, right down to the synthetic hair on the back of the silicone. There was a metal clip that popped into place in his arm sleeve and a metal wire that hooked into his shoulder strap, just like with his hook that allowed some slight mobility in the hand. It opened and closed, allowing him to grab objects if he needed to, but it wasn’t nearly as advanced as the mechanical hands he’d seen in the clinic. Although this one probably didn’t cost the same as Liam’s house either like the mechanical ones, which was a plus.

He lifted it from the box, testing the weight of it. It was slightly heavier than his hook, something that would take some getting used to. It was also probably going to end up being longer when all was said and done. Wearing suits might be a problem. He’d have to wait until he got home to check.

Liam, for his part, didn’t seem to want to make it any bigger of a deal than he already had. Instead, he changed the subject back towards The Jewel.

“Do you want the good news or the bad first?”

He’d already had a hard enough day. He didn’t need the bad news at all, much less first.

“The good.”

“Well, she’s not a total loss. I’ve been checking her over, and the bulk of the damage seems to be located here, in the hull where this hole is. The fiberglass is badly splintered around it. I’ve been trying to work out what exactly could have caused it, but aside from an act of Poseidon himself, it makes no sense. Whatever made the hole, it came from the inside of the boat. The furniture inside the cabin is also ruined. Smashed to pieces or rotted away. But the rudder and keel are still in perfect shape.”

Killian leaned in closer, allowing his hand to move along the edges of the hole. Liam was right. The edges was splintered towards the outside of the boat, and the fiberglass around it was all badly cracked. The auction house had sent him home with documents explaining that the ship had been docked at the marina and it had been hit by some object during a storm. They’d clearly been mistaken.

“And the rest of her? What shape does she seem to be in?”

“Well, the wood planks on the deck could use a good sanding, but if you’re just talking about integrity, I think she’ll hold up just fine.” Killian and Liam both climbed the ladder Liam had set up, allowing him his first good look at her. “You know about the mast and roping already. A full redo on both of those. But come look at this!”

Killian followed, letting his hand glide upon the metal railing. For the first time, it felt real. Look at this! It’s the original certificate showing the builder. You realize what this means don’t you?”

“That you’re excited she’s older than you are?”

“No! She’s vintage Killian! Once we fix her up, you can sell her for twice what you paid for her! Well done little brother.”

Killian took a deep breath, already out of patience with his brother for the day.

“Liam, I see three things wrong with what you’ve just said. First, it’s younger brother. Second, when exactly did this become a joint endeavor? Just a week ago you thought the very idea of my purchasing her was the single greatest mistake of my life. Thirdly, and listen closely Liam because I’m not going to say this again, I am not selling this boat.”

“Well you are my little brother. And I’m just trying to protect you. Why do you think I worry and watch after you so much?”

“You don’t need to worry about me!”

“Well apparently I do!” There was something about the way Liam’s voice, the way it broke as he screamed the words that tugged at Killian’s heart. “You almost died! I waited and waited while they searched for your body, sure that there was no way you’d survived that storm. And then I waited and waited again at your bedside in the hospital, praying to God that he didn’t take you away from me like he had mother. So don’t you dare tell me that I can’t or shouldn’t worry about you!”

Killian had to will back the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He knew that Liam had been at his bedside in the hospital, but he had never thought of what it must have been like for him getting the call that his brother was lost at sea in a storm. He spent a great deal of time clinging to some wreckage, just trying to stay afloat as the waves crashed over his head, and his body plummeted over and over for what felt like years. Once the storm had passed, he found a piece of the destroyed ship large enough for him to crawl on top of and he let the exhaustion take over. When he woke again it was to intense agony in the hospital ICU.

“Liam, I’m not out there anymore. I’m not adrift at sea anymore. I’m here, and I’m fine.”

“But you aren’t. You aren’t here. You say you are, but I think a part of you died out there that day, and I-” Liam gave up all pretense of hiding, letting the tears flow free, “I think part of you wants to get lost again. Why else are you so intent of fixing up this boat?”

“That’s what you think? That I want to put in all of this work just to go out and vanish into the ocean? Liam, I’m doing this to prove to myself that I can. Because the idea of going back out there sends a bolt of terror through my spine right to my very core. I need to show myself that it was just a freak accident. To get back up on that proverbial horse.”

Liam said nothing, just walked back down to the stern of the boat and down the ladder, walking straight out of the warehouse, leaving Killian alone with the guilt of everything he’d put his brother through. Even as children he was always managing to get into trouble, and poor Liam had always been the one to pick up after him. As he heard Liam’s car start up from the open warehouse door, he couldn’t help but wonder how much more Liam had left in him.

If it weren’t for the fact that he had work at eight in the morning, he very likely would have found himself back at Robin’s, downing a full bottle of rum all on his own. As it stood, he had a debt to Liam, far more than for the agreement he’d made for the warehouse space. He owed his brother everything, and though he couldn’t give Liam the one thing he wanted most, he could give him everything else. He could be the prodigal son in a way. Arrive to work everyday in nice clothes, rubbing elbows with Boston’s elite.

So instead of heading back to Robin’s he went down into the ship’s cabin. The space was small, not that he expected much. The boat was only thirty two feet long, and not that tall. There was enough space for a small kitchenette with a tiny sink and grill top. Across from that stood what should have been a small dinette area. Where a table and bench seat should have been was nothing but wood scraps and moldy torn fabric.

He nearly gagged when he opened the door to the tiny lavatory. The toilet was covered in black mold, or what he hoped was mold as nothing else seemed like an attractive option. And then he went to the bedroom area up at the front of the boat. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, knowing that the hole was in that area. What he found was nothing though. The bed and mattress had been removed, as well as the padding in the seat next to it. The wood forming the cabinets and closet had been torn out as well, leaving behind only the impressions of where they once fit in.

It was evident that the Jewel needed work when he bought her. And he knew that had he known at the time just how much work she needed at the auction house, he likely still would have bought her. But as he stood there, in the torn apart interior, he couldn’t help but feel scammed by Ariel’s Antiquities. They’d purposefully positioned her in a way that no one could see just what shape she was truly in.

Repairing her would take longer than anticipated, which only meant more time working for Liam. Exhausted, Killia headed back to his one bedroom apartment, crashing nearly the moment his head hit the pillow. The next morning, he rose well before the sun, even without the use of an alarm. Apparently you could take the man out of the navy, but not the navy out of the man.

After a nice run, Killian readied himself for the day by showering. Once dry, Killian placed his sleeve over his stump, followed by the hook he’d become so used to. He then picked out one of his better suits, not that he had all that many to choose from, dressed, combed his hair, and stepped back to take stock of himself in the mirror. It wasn’t a look he was used to. In fact, the last time he’d been dressed in such a way had been his mother’s funeral. He was still a teenager, Liam barely an adult himself, wearing suits they hadn’t yet grown in to.

Not wishing to dwell on that thought any longer, he headed for the door, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the side table.

And that’s when he saw it. The gift that Liam had given him the day before. His brother had left it in the warehouse in his haste to escape, and Killian had grabbed it on his way out, still not sure how he felt about it. He’d never really intended to wear it, not for everyday office use at least, but as he stood there in his suit, feeling completely uncomfortable and out of place, he decided to, just for once, do something for Liam.

It took him a few minutes to undress, removing his suit jacket and dress shirt so that he could disconnect his hook from the shoulder strap. The hand felt clunky on his arm, and it was difficult to get it through his sleeves, but in time he managed.

The drive to Liam’s, and now his office, wasn’t a long one, but at seven in the morning, it may as well have been a full county away. The traffic was horrible, not something he’d become accustomed to driving in. He’d always avoided rush hour like the plague, and now it would be a part of his daily routine. He also found that the hand was difficult to use. Because of his sitting position, it wouldn’t quite clamp shut around the steering wheel the way his hook would have.

By the time he arrived, he was over ten minutes late, and the morning staff meeting had already started. He did his best to sneak in, sitting at the back of the room, hoping to go unnoticed by Liam, but because the world was already against him that day, he failed.

Liam called him up to the front of the room, officially introducing him to everyone as the new head of client relations. Killian gave an awkward wave and that was it. He’d been inducted into the company, and day after day, week after week, he sat at a desk, working up contracts, researching possible leads. His nights were often spent at dinners, flirting with wives and schmoozing husbands into signing with Liam’s company. He hated it, and more still, he hated how little time he had for repairs on the Jewel.

Repairing the hull had been easy. He sent off for a patch kit, a misleading name considering the size of the hole to be touched up. After carefully cutting away the excess damaged fiberglass and setting the patch in place, he waited for the epoxy to harden, sanding down the excess so it was smooth. Aside from the lack of paint, she looked good as new. The hardest part had been placing everything where it needed to go with just one hand.

He soon realized just how difficult repairing the rest of the boat would be. The entryway to the Jewel was narrow, hardly wide enough for one person to enter at a time. He’d never be able to get fully assembled furniture and cabinets in. So slowly, he brought in all of the material, piece by piece. It took time, considering he’d had to carry all of the materials from the parking lot down the dock, and onto the ship. It was exhausting work, and there was still the matter of assembly. It took him weeks to get everything cut just to size, and assembly space had become a real issue after the new bench and table had been installed. Finding a place to store the cabinetry wood had almost broken him. The boat had almost broken him.

But he persevered. Slowly the cabinets came together. The bedroom in the bow of the boat found itself with a bed and a small closet, and the bathroom got a shiny new toilet. After two months, he’d finally finished the interior of the boat. All that stood in his way from land and sea was a new mast, the part Killian had been dreading most.

It was the very first thing Killian had ordered after he’d purchased The Jewel, but as with any special order, it had taken over a month to arrive, and then when it did, it wasn’t even the right size. He and Robin had spent the better part of a day trying to make it work, to somehow force the new mast into place, huffing and puffing at the weight. Hours later, Killian finally admitted defeat, and with shaky arms sent the company a firmly worded email chastising them for their incompetence.

Two full months and one paint job later, a new one arrived. Robin was unable to help him again though. Setting his pride aside, Killian was forced to ask for help. He and his brother’s relationship had soured. It wasn’t that there was ill will between the brothers, but there was a small bit of resentment on Killian’s part. Sometimes it seemed as if Liam was giving him extra work and setting extra meetings for the sole purpose of stalling his repairs. Some of the clients that Liam set him up with were too small to even have shipping needs.

We just want to make sure that they keep us in mind incase the expand Killian. You have to always be selling Killian. It’s called networking Killian.

He’d had enough. Eventually he’d declined enough of Liam’s offers to spend time together on the weekends that Liam had stopped inviting him over. The brothers discussed business needs, but outside of the office, they may aswell have not even have been related. Killian did feel bad. His brother was the only family he had left after all, but there was just the matter of his pride. He’d had so many arguments with Liam in his mind that he couldn’t remember which conversations were real, and which were made up. He just knew that he was right in all of them.

Which is why it was so hard for him to turn to Liam for his help. Unfortunately, the mast weighed a few hundred pounds and while the dock, where the boat finally resided, had a crane to help them move it in place, someone still needed to help him slide it into place and hold it steady as he secured it to the boat. The dock had a firm policy on not helping with certain repairs. They didn’t want to be held liable for any damages or injuries that occurred as a result of human error.

Asking Liam for help had been hard. It took him full two days of building up the courage. He’d nearly walked into Liam’s office three times before turning around at the last minute. Finally, he just had to man up. To his surprise, Liam agreed without much opinion on the matter, and that weekend the two brothers finally made up as they struggled together to install the mast. They tried seating it in place, but despite their best efforts, it was slightly off, leaning just a degree or two. While most people might have shrugged it off, both of the Jones boys were determined to get it in straight.

To the chagrin of the crane worker, they demanded he raise it back up so they could check to make sure the surface was level. Nothing seemed off to the naked eye, but again, the mast wouldn’t sit straight. After one final raising, Killian stuck his hand in the seat, trying to feel if there was bubbling or warping in the wood, and to his surprise, he felt something cold and smoothe, not at all like the wood plank he’d expected. After some fiddling, he was able to loosen the object enough to pull it from its hiding place. It was small, so small he wasn’t surprised that anyone at the auction house had missed it.

Liam, for his part hadn’t said much, but Killian could tell by the way Liam was breathing that his brother was annoyed, not with him but with the delay, and ready to finish working. Killian threw the gold piece in his pocket and together, he and Liam finished installing the mast and all of the rigging lines. Afterwards they went for drinks at Robin’s bar, a place Liam had never been before. They shared a few beers, caught up on all of the things they’d missed in the past few months, and each departed like it was no big deal, both ready for a good night’s sleep.

Killian had hoped to crawl into bed and fall straight asleep, but for some reason, as he laid there, his brain seemed to kick into overdrive. It started with thoughts of how he’d have to map out the currents and winds in the boston area before he could ship out. Before long though, all he could think about was work. He’d planned on leaving Liam’s company as soon as he was done, and while he hated some aspects of the job, he did like the structure it provided him with. It forced him to get back into the world again, something he hadn’t realized that he needed to do until Liam tricked him into it.

Unable to sleep, Killian got up to clean, something that usually relaxed him. He started with the dishes, washing and drying them all by hand before moving on to tend to his laundry. Most of his suit items were dry clean only, but his weekend clothes were soaked with sweat and best washed sooner rather than later. Checking all of the pockets and making sure everything was right-side out, he threw items in the washer one by one until he got to the jeans he’d been wearing that day. He’d managed to completely forget about the trinket he’d found on the boat, until just then.

He finished sorting his clothes and started the machine up before heading back into his bedroom, turning on the nightstand table lamp as he crawled back under the sheets. He let the metal turn in his fingers, inspecting the perfectly polished gold. It was a small locket with a bird etched onto one side. There wasn’t an engraving to go with it and told him nothing about the person who’d lost it. The chain that it was attached to was short and the links where tiny, meaning it likely belonged to a woman, but that was all he was able to gather. He continued to turn the locket, just feeling the weight of it in his hand, the surprising warmth of it, when his finger caught on a hidden clasp and the locket snapped open.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. Most women’s lockets contained tiny photographs, but the inside of this one held a small compass. The opposite side featured an engraving, but it didn’t have any names. It simple read: So you always find your way.

He should have wanted to search for the owner, to return what was probably a meaningful gift. There were plenty of news stories all the time about people helping to reunite lost items and owners. The soldier who had his purple heart stolen. The bride that lost her wedding ring on a beach vacation. They were always happy endings, and he knew that the locket didn’t belong to him, but for some reason, he just felt a call to it. Like he also needed it to help him find his way. So he kept it, slipping it on over his own head, having to pull it past his ears. He fell fast asleep soon after.

The next week at work had been grueling. Liam had lined up three dinners for him, one of them with a very sexually aggressive woman that ran a dog breeding company. Apparently there was a high demand for designer dogs and people were willing to pay high prices to have them shipped over the water during the summer and winter seasons when airlines restricted their pet travel policies. He’d had to pry her off of him at the end of the evening, promising he’d call her soon. A complete lie.

The whole encounter had left him feeling dirty. He hadn’t even so much as looked at a woman since his accident, not really, and he just wasn’t ready to move forward in a romantic capacity, even just a physical one. Not after having his heart shattered before. The woman in question wasn’t even interested in him. Not as anything more than a gigalo.

The weekend couldn’t have arrived fast enough. He just needed to get out of town. To get away from everyone, from his responsibilities. He was ready to hit the water and shed the ghosts he carried around with him. He’d planned meticulously. There were charts filling half of his closet and he’d popped by the Tuesday before to fill the kitchenette with snacks for his inaugural trip. He didn’t have a refrigerator yet so he’d done his best to stick with ready to assemble meals. Nothing big, just some bread and jams. A few tea bags and bottled water in case it got cold out on the water.

The plan had been to set sail just as the sun was rising that Saturday. To greet the new day on the water, but for some reason his alarm hadn’t sounded that morning, and for the first time since he’d joined the navy, he overslept. By the time he made it down to the docks it was just after ten, and the area was filled with people. Families going out on day trips. Tour groups trying to enjoy the last few weeks before the winter season. Before everyone would have to winterize their boats and leave them stored away until spring.

He was lost in his thoughts as he walked along the wood planks at the docks, past other ships, nearly tripping on a rope that someone has carelessly left out. Cursing under his breath, collecting himself from the slight embarrassment of it all, he glanced back at The Jewel. It was hard to see with the sun reflecting back on the water, but for just a few seconds, he could have sworn that he saw a shadow moving along her port side. There was a person on his boat.

It wasn’t unheard of, finding a vagrant living on an unused boat, or some random person lost and on the wrong ship. The Jewel had a very specific and unique paint job though. Mistaking her for any other vessel on the harbor would have been impossible. And he’d been there only a few nights before. He would have seen signs of a stowaway using her for shelter.

That could only mean that whoever was aboard his boat was looking for trouble, and after the morning he’d had, he was more than willing to give it to them. Swearing to himself, he picked up his pace, ready to give the trespasser a piece of his mind, but when he finally made it to The Jewel, she was empty. Thinking perhaps they’d gone below deck, he crept down the narrow stairs, doing his best to avoid making noise. There was no one though. She was empty. Just a trick of the mind.

Feeling foolish, Killian reemerged, on the deck, ready to give all of the lines one final check before setting sail when he heard a noise, a creaky wooden plank from down below. This time he ran, not giving a damn if the person knew he was coming or not. He was ready to find whoever was hiding.

Once again though, he came up empty. Even after searching in all of the cupboards and storage spaces under the kitchen bench and his bed. He checked all of the closets, but there was no one. He was all alone.

It was just in his head. Not surprising considering what a huge step he was about to take. The idea of going back on the water leaving him with an uneasy queasy feeling in his gut. Which was also the exact reason that he needed to do it. Why he’d tried to stress to Liam the importance of buying The Jewel.

He needed to conquer his fear. Even if his brain tried to scare him out of it. Because that’s all it was. A shadow from a person on a boat near his. An old creaky boat groaning from the change in humidity. It was all in his head, and it needed to stay there.

More determined than ever, Killian went back upstairs, ready to set sail, distraction free, but when he emerged from the cabin, he was met once again with an odd sensation. A feeling of being watched.

“Permission to come aboard?”

“Bloody hell, Liam? How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”

And there it was. His older brother, his protector, playing games with his head to place doubt. Liam had done more than his fair share of things to delay the boat becoming ready, but to actually try to scare him away was just too much.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Come again now?”

“I’m talking about you playing games with my head, trying to frighten me away from taking my boat out. You’ve made it very clear that this wasn’t something you wanted me to do, but this is a new form of low, Laim.”

He was furious.

“Killian, I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve only just arrived.”

He watched the elder Jones, the way his brow furrowed. Liam may have been a great many things to Killian, but he’d never known his brother as a liar.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’ve actually come bearing a gift.”

It was only then that Killian noticed the neatly wrapped bundle in Liam’s left hand. Liam didn’t ask permission again, choosing to come aboard The Jewel to hand the gift to Killian. He felt more than a little guilty for accepting it, especially after having just yelled at his brother, but Liam was insistent.

Carefully he peeled back the wrapping paper, careful not to tear it, lest he find paper scraps for weeks to come blown into every nook and cranky. Inside, he found a book, an old one by the look of it.

“It’s a first edition. Took some time to track down or I would have had it to you sooner.”

The significance of Liam’s thoughtfulness was evident. It was a first edition of Peter Pan. The book their mother used to read to them nightly. Each time she finished, Killian would beg her to start again from the beginning. It was the thing that first ignited his love for the sea.

“Thank you, Liam. This means more than you know.”

Liam just gave him a nod, understanding the emotional weight they both held in that moment.

“I, uh, guess you haven’t checked the stern of the boat just yet?”

It was on his list. First the ropes, then a walk around above deck to ensure everything was properly secured, before walking around the dock to check that everything was good on the exterior.

Intrigued, Killian climbed down from the boat and walked around to the back side of The Jewel. But what he found was that she’d been renamed.

“The Jolly Roger?”

“I very specifically remember you telling mum and me that when you grew up, you were going to own a huge ship, and you were going to name her The Jolly Roger-”

“Just like Captain Hook.”

He’d completely forgotten. As a small eight year old, he was determined that one day he’d own a pirate ship. That he’d sail the seven seas taking whatever he wanted from whoever he wanted. Probably in part because he was sick of getting Liam’s hand me downs.

“I hope you don’t mind. I know she’s not exactly what child Killian had in mind, but you’ve done exactly what you said you were going to do. And I know I’ve been a prick about this entire thing, so I wanted to do something to make up for it. To show you that I really am in your corner.”

Killian was touched. It was possibly the first time his brother had apologized to him since before their mother died. Even then, it was probably the first time he’d ever done it without being scolded into it.

“Thank you, brother.”

There’s one final thing. Last night, Robin and I came out here and installed a motor on the back.” Killian was about to say something, but Liam barreled on. “I know. But I just want to keep you safe. If you should find yourself without wind, you’ll still have a way to get back to shore.”

“Marvelous.” His annoyance only slightly tempered by Liam’s attempt at a kind gesture.

From his inside coat pocket, Liam produced a manual for the motor. ‘A guide to your new Stern Mounted Electronic Engine.’ He had to give it to Liam. He’d thought of everything. Even a Mr. SMEE.

Together, he and Liam set about getting The Jolly ready. After checking everything over twice, they finally set out, both men trying not to hold their breath as the docks become smaller and smaller. After about thirty minutes, they were able to relax, realizing that the ship hadn’t yet sunk, and likely wouldn’t anytime soon.

The trip was relaxing for the most part. The brothers argued still, as Killian realized that Liam had completely rearranged all of the food in the kitchenette. It wasn’t surprising and he’d seen Liam do it at his house, whenever Elsa would just quickly throw things back in the pantry. But what did shock him was how Liam adamantly denied it, even though Killian knew he’d left the tea bags in the cupboard above the tiny stove top, not under the sink. And the chips had been moved as well as other items. Still though, Liam swore he hadn’t touched them.

Killian eventually let it go, finding it not worth bickering over anymore than they already had. The real fist-to-cuffs came at the end of the day, as the two men had already redocked and were setting the boat back to rights. Liam had grabbed the trash and told Killian that he was going to take it all to the dumpster in the parking lot while Killian secured all of the sails.

Liam couldn’t have been gone for more than a minute when Killian stood to turn and move on to the other sail when he slipped and fell flat on his back. It hurt more than he wanted to admit, and in his haste to stop himself from falling, he’d somehow managed to catch his hook in the jib sail, tearing it as he fell.

Killian took a moment to compose himself, waiting for the sting of hitting his back on the rail to subside. He must have taken longer than he realized, because by the time he sat back up he heard Liam call his name and scramble across the boat to check on him.

Killian assured him that he was fine, or that he would be as Liam helped him back up. Careful of his steps, he turned to see just what exactly he’d slipped on when he caught sight of small water puddles in the shape of shoe prints. Absolutely sure that Liam had made them somehow, the two brothers had it out, causing Liam to storm away in a huff once more.

Killian stayed long enough to dry all of the water and to watch the sunset over the horizon before heading back to his place to grab a much needed ice pack. His back was still sore two hours later, so he opted for a shower instead hoping that the warm water might help soothe the muscles.

Slowly he undressed, trying not to twist or bend too much. Catching just a glimpse of himself in the mirror are he removed the small gold locket he’d found, he caught sight of his red cheeks, realising that even in October, he’d still managed to get a bit too much sun.

Getting to sleep had been tough. It was only after a glass or two, or three of rum that he was able to find a comfortable position. He drifted off, dreaming of being a child again. Of Neverland and Captain Hook.

The next morning he was still quite sore, so he’d opted not to take a second trip out on the water. Instead, he’d spend the day shopping for groceries and flicking through television programs until he settled on Wicked Tuna. Before he knew it, it was time to ready himself for bed and another dreaded week at work.

It ended up not being as bad of a week as he expected it to be. Liam hadn’t scheduled any meetings for him outside of normal office hours, and the clients that came into the office to settle contracts all seemed relatively normal for once. The brothers had quazied made up, but both felt it was best if Liam didn’t go out with Killian again for a while.

By the time the next weekend came, Killian was eager to set sail again, alone. No distractions. No mind games. Just him and The Jolly. Unable to hide the gold chain under his work shirt, Killian had chosen to leave the compass at home all week, but slid it back over his head before getting in his car to drive down to the water.

For a few moments he worried that his plans would be dashed as his car had refused to turn on. The starter trying to turn over and failing. Finally though, he got her started and headed straight for the docks.

He went through his usual routine, checking everything over, checking the weather once more. It was a little windier than he would have preferred, but the local station said that the wind would die down a bit by mid day. With everything ready, he set out, heading up the coast line just a bit.

The wind stayed stead for nearly four hours, despite the weather stations promise, and at one point, his life preserver ring had managed to come loose and blow straight off the ship. Not wanting to waste sixty dollars on a new one, he turned into the wind, stalling the boat, and dove dove in after it. A foolish endeavour on his part, considering he was alone if anything had gone wrong, but he figured if he could just get to the ring, he’d be fine.

The water was colder than he’d expected. In the navy he’d done cold water drills, letting his body adapt to it. But it had been a year, and his body simply wasn’t used to it yet. The moment he hit the water, his leg cramped up, and for just a second, he sunk under the surface of the water as he grabbed at his leg. When he resurfaced, it was with a mouth full of salt water. His nose burned and his eyes stung.

Once he managed to make it to the preserver, he tried wiping his eyes, but it only made things worse. Looking around to see just how far he was from The Jolly, his eyes had difficulty focusing. Everything became blurry as it felt like he’d had sandpaper rubbed against his cornea. At one point, it looked as if there was a figure standing at the bow of the boat. An impossibility given how far out he was and the lack of other boats.

He closed his eyes, giving them a few minutes to calm down, and when he reopened them, the figure was gone, and The Jolly was more in focus. Killian managed to swim back to the boat, a freezing mess in his wet clothes. He hadn’t actually thought about bringing a change of clothes with him for such a short journey. He stood there on the deck a shivering mess, ready to give up on the day.

As he tried to turn the wheel he began to feel slightly warmer. The wind had finally died down just as local weather woman Alfina Merryweather had promised, except that Merriweather had neglected to mention that her version of a slight breeze was actually a dead stop.

There was nothing, not even the slightest hint of movement. He waited and waited, at one point removing his clothes and doing his best to squeeze as much water out as he could. He thought of Liam, of how his brother would probably be worried if he didn’t hear from him soon. Thoughts that eventually reminded him of the motor his brother had installed for just such an occasion. The motor that Killian never wanted, and certainly wasn’t going to admit to using.

It took him forty two minutes to read the manuel enough to understand what he was doing, the whole thing one long novel of gibberish. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, and how many times he went through the manuel again, twenty minutes later he was just as stuck as before.

After another thirty minutes of attempting to start it and pretending that hyperthermia wasn’t a real threat, he finally caved, ready to call for help over the radio to a towing company. But the radio was just as dead as SMEE, and all of his calls for help were met with static. He began to worry, checking his phone to see the time only to realize that his phone was dead as well. He continued to plea for assistance, the static only becoming louder, eventually there was a spark as he felt a strange nasty shock from the microphone

He jumped back, yelling every curse word he could think of until he was nearly hoarse. Just as he’d quieted, shaking out his hand, he’d heard it. A creaky noise coming from above deck, The same sound he’d heard on his first day out. The sound of boards buckling under the weight of a person. He was sure of it this time, unless the jolt had managed to shock his brain too.

Slowly he crept back up the stairs, feeling every hair raise along his arm as he went. Something felt off. Something just felt very very wrong. But he persisted still, opening the door as quietly as possible. He crept along the deck, treading lightly as not to make any noise. As he moved high enough to see the front of the boat, he noticed a figure. An eerie ethereal blur of a woman.

But before he could say anything she turned and looked right at him. He watched her for a moment, as she seemed to float above the bow of the boat, somehow both there and not quite real. And then her mouth opened, and with the anguished scream of a hundred voices at once, she yelled at him to get out.

He nearly fell as he scrambled backwards, feeling his heart in his throat, trying to leap clear from his body. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. He was paralyzed in fear, completely unable to move when he heard the boat’s engine spring to life, snapping him out of his trance.

#csrolereveral #clockadile is just the best #show her all the love #cs fanfiction #csff

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Game 335: Prophecy of the Shadow (1992)

Prophecy of the Shadow

United States

Strategic Simulations, Inc. (developer and publisher)

Released in 1992 for DOS

Date Started: 24 June 2019 SSI began as a wargame company, and their best games–principally the Gold Box series and the Wizard’s Crown series–have always reflected those roots. Nonetheless, by 1992, the company seemed to be on a mission to dominate, or at least compete in, every RPG sub-genre. Eye of the Beholder and its sequel were their answers to the first-person, real-time category, while Shadow Sorcerer took inspiration from British axonometric titles. Neverwinter Nights had virtually no competition online, and they were entering the console realm with Dungeons & Dragons: Warriors of the Eternal Sun. The company’s streak of 22 published RPGs between 1991 and 1994 has never been broken on the personal computer.

Prophecy of the Shadow is so blatantly the company’s answer to the Ultima VI that it’s a wonder they didn’t license the “look and feel” from Lord British the way they did for Questron. It’s got the same mostly-top-down-but-slightly-oblique perspective, the same row of icons with keyboard backups (even most of the icon symbols are the same), the same targeting of enemies and objects with a cursor, the same keyword-based NPC dialogue, and the same continuous scrolling movement through a landscape that desperately wants you to think it’s not just tiles but really is.

Character creation even has some Ultima IV-style questions.

But just like Ultima clones from independent developers with a lot fewer resources, Prophecy of the Shadow lacks a lot of Ultima’s complexity. To start, you control only one character. The box puts an exclamation point after the game’s single-character nature, as if that by itself is a good thing, as if other developers were sitting around thinking, “Gee, it never occurred to us to allow the player to control just one guy.” It also greatly simplifies the inventory–the protagonist can wield one object at a time and can wear nothing at all–and it runs dialogue by feeding the keywords to you. (In many ways, it’s more like Origin’s Times of Lore, which used an early version of the U6 interface, than Ultima VI.) Whether by intention or limitation, it’s clearly geared towards the RPG novice.

The game map shows a small world. I already explored the northwest island.

None of this means that it’s a bad game. There’s always a place for an easy, familiar title telling a new story. Here, the story is probably the game’s best feature. It calls upon familiar tropes without being overly cliched or obviously based on a single source. Told mostly in the form of the naive protagonist’s journals, the backstory casts the character as an apprentice mage in a world where magic is outlawed. In infancy, he washed ashore on the island of Bannerwick, which I gather is part of the larger kingdom of Ylowinn. This is a world in decline. Every season, the crops get smaller and plants go extinct. Mines are exhausted of ore. Civilization itself seems to be coming apart at the seams; when the local ferry to the mainland breaks down, no one bothers to repair it. A princess named Elspeth was supposed to take charge on her 18th birthday, but she mysteriously disappeared, leaving the land in the hands of the regent Cam Tethe, who blames a conspiracy of mages for the disappearance and spends more time hunting them than searching for Elspeth.

An NPC delivers part of the backstory.

The townsfolk distrusted a baby who managed to survive the sea unscathed, so it was left to the local healer, Larkin–himself regarded with suspicion–to raise and tutor the child. The child of course becomes you. You’ve had so little contact with the outside world all your life that when you head into town at the beginning of the game, no one knows who you are.

“Yeah! I hope you find . . . him!”

In the game’s opening moments–so sudden as to be comical, particularly with the accompanying scream–Larkin is assassinated by a thrown dagger, leaving the protagonist to bury him in the back yard. With his dying breath, Larkin tells his ward to “get the text of the prophecy from Berrin,” as “it must go to the council in Silverdale,” which is on the mainland.

The main character’s master dies in the opening scenes.

In these opening moments and almost all the NPC dialogues that follow, we see that Prophecy of the Shadow was on the cutting edge of what would become the early- and mid-1990’s worst trend: the use of full-motion video (FMV) instead of computer animation (or just static graphics). Naturally, the subjects of these animations were whoever was sitting around the developers’ offices and not actual actors. Blessedly, it only seems to have been about five years before developers realized this was not the wave of the future, and I don’t remember seeing FMV after about 1998, though of course there are a lot of titles I haven’t played.

A little FMV upon entering the inn.

Character creation is a simple process of giving your name and sex. A few role-playing questions set your initial values for health, magic, and agility. Health and magic are both attributes and pools of points, and the maximum goes up with successful actions (swinging weapons and casting spells), which is a bit different than the Ultima titles. These attributes automatically regenerate, albeit slowly, as long as you have food. If you run out of magic points, you can still cast spells, but they draw directly from your health.

A row of icons–all, blessedly, with keyboard equivalents–defines how you interact with the world: look, attack, cast a spell, enter, drop, search, use, give, and rest. “Search” on Larkin’s door mat revealed an iron key to his house, but all I can do there is spend the night.

Using the L)ook command–and learning a new piece of vocabulary.

As I began the game, the passages through the forest around Larkin’s house naturally guided me to his neighbor, Berrin, who related that rumors have already spread that I killed Larkin. He gave me the key to Larkin’s workshop but otherwise wouldn’t help me (including giving me the prophecy) until I could prove my innocence. Behind Berrin’s house, incidentally, are two gravestones–his wife and son–both “killed by guardsmen.” I wonder if that bit of backstory will later come out.

Larkin’s workshop was accessed through an underground hatch near the house. There, I found a book of spells and a “lead catalyst.” You have to be holding a catalyst in your hands to cast a spell, and I guess lead is the lowest-level catalyst. The book had four spells: “Incendiere” is a basic fire blast that strikes one target; “Curare” is a healing spell; and “Memoria” and “Repetere” are a pair of mark/recall spells that let you designate a point and later warp back to it.

Using the game map as a guide, I eventually made my way to town, where I found about half a dozen NPCs, including some generic “peasants.” You converse by selecting keywords on the left side of the screen. As the NPCs respond, more keywords appear. Today, the local news was that the sheriff had caught Robin One-Eye, a famed bandit whose gang lives in the woods north of town. I was able to visit Robin One-Eye in jail but he just taunted me.

Getting lore from a local. Where did a bunch of programmers get access to so many actors who look like unwashed peasants with bad facial hair?

I also heard some talk of Larf the Terrible, a gnome wizard who lives in a tower to the east. There was a note in Larkin’s workshop that a circle of mages expelled Larf for necromancy. I suspect that either Robin or Larf is responsible for Larkin’s death, and I’ll somehow need to prove it to get off the island.

The local shop had some weapons and other items that were outside my price range, although the innkeeper was willing to pay me 10 silver for odd jobs. I repeated this option about 8 times before he finally said he had nothing more for me to do. I bought a sling and a torch but spent most of my money on food.

Outside of town, I started encountering bandits. Attacking is a matter of hitting “A” (or the attack button) and then moving the cursor to your foe. If you have a melee weapon equipped, you can only target the 8 squares around you. (Well, technically you can target your own square, but the game just admonishes you not to attack yourself.) If you have a missile weapon, you can aim anywhere in the visible window. Missile weapons are tricky because enemies will typically move out of the square before the missile reaches them, meaning that you really want to attack the square in the direction they’re going. It strikes me that missile weapons are going to be mostly useless in this game. There simply isn’t enough distance in the view window, and enemies close the gap too fast.

You can cast a spell instead of attacking by using the spell catalyst–or, if it’s already equipped, hitting the M)agic button. At the outset, I only had “Incendiere,” which kills most enemies in a couple of castings, but two castings cost 20 magic points out of the 45 I started with.

If you choose to fight with a weapon, your health occasionally goes up a point. If you cast spells, your magic pool occasionally goes up a point. This is the game’s approach to “character development.”

My health increases as I kill a bandit.

Slowly, I explored the rest of the island. It turned out there were two major indoor areas to explore: the bandit camp and Larf’s tower. You need a rope from the former to access the latter. I needed a password to enter the bandit camp, which required me to trudge back to town and buy Robin One-Eye a bottle of white zinfandel before he would tell it to me: ZINFANDEL.

Why does zinfandel have such a bad reputation? I rather like it.

The bandit camp was one small level and one large level. I had to kill a bunch of bandits. I rather like the game’s search function. If you wander over to a chest, a dead body, or just an interesting area, you hit S)earch, and the game tells you what you find. It’s rather tolerant in its distance allowance, so you don’t have to hit the command every step. A lot of what you find are notes, journals, and other writings that flesh out the game’s lore.

The bandit camp held a few healing potions, a rope, a rapier (better than the starting dirk), a magic potion, and several black potions. The black potions are acid that damage you when you drink them, so I’m not sure what good they do. Late in the dungeon, I fought and killed a “mage killer,” who was carrying a “death warrant” for Larkin.

The “T,” of course, probably stands for “Tethe.”

A book called The Joy of Pies held a treasure map that directed me to a specific square from one of the stone heads on the island. There, I found a chest with several pieces of jewelry.

By now, I was running up against the inventory limit, which dogged me the rest of the session. It became clear that you want to drop most items as soon as their utility is done, including keys and notes. Actually, a better idea is probably selling them to the general store, because the store keeps sold items in their inventory and will re-sell them to you in case you made a mistake. The problem is that you constantly have to leave locations and trudge back to the general store. I ended up selling most of the black potions because I couldn’t find any use for them and they were preventing me from picking up other things. I also sold all the jewelry I found, assuming it was for that purpose.

A few too many things in my backpack.

Showing the death warrant to the sheriff cleared my name, and showing it to Berrin prompted him to give me the prophecy on a vellum scroll. I read the prophecy. Larkin’s notes indicted that “most of it has already come to pass.”

And it shall come to pass that in the day, the end of all days, a Shadow will come forth from the wilderness. The Lord of the Shadows, the Bringer of Darkness, the Master of Death. At his hand, Evil will arise anew. Green fields will wither, and a plague will smite the land. Cry mothers for your children, for when you see these things, know ye that the fate of the world hangs in the Balance.

It’s probably going to turn out that Cam Tethe is the Lord of the Shadows, but it would be nice if the game had some kind of twist on the standard template, like maybe it’s me (I did kind-of come out of the wilderness). Either way, I had to get off the island. Since the ferry was broken, I turned to the only place I hadn’t explored: Larf’s tower. It sits in a ruined heap on the coast, near a graveyard where a ghost wanders. I tried talking to him, but it didn’t work.

Maybe later, I’ll find a “Seance” spell.

A rope gets you into the basement of the tower, which turned out to consist of five levels. Every one is dark, so you need a light source. The game keeps track of torches as a statistic, along with food and silver, rather than as inventory items, but you need a flint and steel in your inventory to light them. An alternative is to purchase a lamp and lamp oil, the latter of which is also tracked as a statistic. It would be a waste of inventory space, I gather, to have both a lamp and flint and steel.

Arriving in the dungeon.

The levels of Larf’s tower were full of evidence of Larf’s macabre experiments, including zombies that I had to kill. His notes indicated that he was more than a necromancer: he was a serial killer, having captured living subjects for many of his rituals. These notes also said that he eventually created an undead butler to serve him, but the creature went insane, stole something called a “translocation rod,” and hid it in a lower level of the tower. Larf was apparently making plans to destroy the creature when it attacked him in his bed at night, killing him and leaving his severed head behind.

Later, I killed the butler, Jeffers, with fireballs.

This scene is graphically illustrated, and it’s worth making a note that the graphics are detailed enough that they can show rather than just tell evocative stories like this. This hasn’t been true of many games up until now, but it’s good to see it becoming more common. We’ll of course see another murder scene with the same level of gruesome detail in the upcoming Ultima VII.

The gruesome scene.

I eventually killed the butler–the hardest creature in the game so far–with a few “Incendiere” spells. I recovered the rod, which allows transportation to the mainland when used between a couple of stones northwest of the tower. I also had the option to take Larf’s head. I have it for now, but I ‘m not sure if there’s any long-term use for it. Other treasure included a better catalyst (platinum), a magic weapon called a “Dirk of Sharpness,” and a scroll that gave me the “Inlustare” (light) spell.

Now I guess I can eschew both lamps and torches.

I used the rod in the right location and found myself transported to the mainland. I explored a while before concluding that I was in the northern part of the map, near the town of Glade. Larkin insisted that the prophecy had to get to Silverdale, to my southeast, but I’m tempted to go to the northern tip to the town of Malice and work my way systematically down to Silverdale.

So far, it’s been an inoffensive little game, but I wonder if there was really much of a market for a “lite” RPG. Were there legions of gamers in 1992 thinking, “I’d really like to play role-playing games, but they’re just too complicated“? I guess we’ll see when we check the reviews. I can’t imagine this one will take more than three entries, but perhaps it has some tricks up its sleeve.

Time so far: 4 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-335-prophecy-of-the-shadow-1992/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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