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vincess-princess · 1 year

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in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 10

Word count: 3763 Warnings: violence A/N: im sorry this took me so long, life got in the way. i started taking meds for my depression and got into a new relationship, and also my thesis deadline is looming... also i had to practically rewrite this one from scratch too. idk when i'll be able to update, i have exams in a month, but i'll do my best <3

When they walked out of the bathhouse and into the pub next door, night had already descended upon the town, the full moon high up in the cloudless sky bathing dirty alleyways and shabby houses in silvery light. There they found Holmes and good two-thirds of the Shout crew, who rather predictably deemed the establishment a worthy investment of their scarce time off. Holmes seemed to be familiar with many of them, shaking their hands and conversing in that hardly legible pirate jargon Vince still struggled to understand. If it wasn’t for his suit, he’d fit right in.

“Ay, you came!” He noticed Nikki and Vince at the door and beckoned them to the table he was occupying.

“I fucking wish,” Nikki grumbled, maneuvering between the chairs. The Shout crew was far from the only clients of the pub tonight, and it was messy, busy and loud. The room was soaked through with smells of smoke, cheap beer and onions, and the walls practically rattled with every roar of laughter or cry of indignation drunk sailors emitted, which they did plenty.

Holmes must have fought a hard battle to keep the chairs at his table in their places, as the sailors at the tables nearby, many of them on shaky stools, frequently shot him resentful glances. When Nikki and Vince sat down, these glances redirected their ire at them – the bastards coming in so late yet getting the good chairs! – but no verbal complaints were made. The benefit of dining with two pirates armed to the teeth, Vince almost chuckled. Holmes wasn’t a walking armory like Nikki, but didn’t make much effort to hide a pistol on his hip and a dagger on another either.

“Why’s your hair wet? You two had waste poured on you or something?” Holmes squinted when they neared the table. “Wait, no, you’re too clean for that. Was there a sudden rain that I inexplicably missed? Did you go swimming? Or worked up some sweat unloading cargo? No, Sixx, would never carry loads himself when he’s got a slave nearby. Nay, I can’t even imagine what you two were doing. Or maybe I can, but later, when I’m in private.” He flashed them a toothy grin. Vince pretended he hadn’t heard the last part.

“Done jeering?” Nikki scowled, plopping onto the chair. Vince lowered himself carefully onto his, as if it could crumple under him any minute. “We were in the bathhouse across the street.”

“Oh, there were no rooms at the inn?”

“You rascal,” Sixx said sweetly. “We were bathing. A thing you do in bathhouses, among others.”

“Now, that’s the most improbable guess of all I’ve made,” Holmes laughed. “For all I know, you’d rather suffocate on your own stench.”

“Lies and slander,” Nikki huffed indignantly.

“It was my request,” Vince said. He knew he’d have to pay for this later, but just couldn’t help it.

“Ha! I knew it!” Holmes banged his fist on the table. “He ain’t gonna let you fool anyone, right, Sixx?”

“Yeah,” Nikki said with an unnerving smile. Vince only saw a glimpse of his hand in the air when a slap on the cheek burned his skin and sent his head swaying.

“Damn, Sixx,” he heard Holmes sighing, “keep your disciplinary process behind closed doors, won’t you?”

“Won’t work with this one. He’ll behave only if he knows he can get his ass kicked whenever and wherever.”

“From my experience, all stick and no carrot never made any slave more docile.”

“Well, then your experience is clearly limited. Now, I thought I came here to get pissed, not lectured.”

“Very well.” Holmes leaned onto the back of his chair. “Hope you’re right about this. Hey, waitress! Over here! Whatcha gonna have?”

“They got any wine?” Nikki picked up a crust of bread from a plate at the center of the table and carefully bit it. He could as well gnaw on the table itself, Vince understood from his expression.

“Wine? For you?” Holmes raised an eyebrow, but Nikki’s face remained serious, so he chose not to continue with a joke he clearly had in mind. “Sometimes, when there are shipments. You can never count on it, though. A Dutch ship docked here a couple weeks ago, so I reckon they still may’ve got some left.”

“I shall have some then. Sure hope it’s not that sparkling shit the French keep pushing. I don’t want any air in my wine.” Nikki dropped the crust back onto the plate with disgust on his face. Vince last ate in the morning, and with every passing minute the crust looked more and more alluring. He hadn’t fallen so low, though – for now.

“You’re being unfair to the French.” Holmes laughed. “They hate it as much as you do. It’s the English who you should berate. You an Englishman, Vinnie?” He suddenly turned to Vince.

“I-“ Vince began, but Nikki didn’t let him finish.

“That don’t matter, Chris. He ain’t got no home anymore besides the Shout.” Nikki appeared nonchalant, but Vince could see his body tense up like a taut string.

Holmes, smiling placidly, didn’t seem to notice anything. “That’s what I tell all my slaves too. The past is in the past. It’s the present you should think about. Ya hear me, Vinnie?”

Vince didn’t reply, his throat tightening.

“You should do that too. It’ll make life easier for both you and your master. Oh, at last! It’s only been a whole day!” He lashed at the waitress that shuffled to their table, a thin, tired woman, the silver in whose hair didn’t match the still youthful face. She withstood the attack with indifference of a rock, making Vince a little bit envious of her thick skin. That’s probably what spending one’s days and nights surrounded by crude, vulgar men could do to anyone, more so to a woman.

Nikki ordered his wine, and Holmes brandy. Vince watched them detachedly, nursing his burning cheek. He had already realised that the combination of the collar and ragged clothes on him were the reason people here pointedly ignored him, addressing only Nikki, so Vince didn’t expect the waitress to turn to him after she took the orders. She did, though.

“And you? The blond fella? Whatcha gonna have?”

It took Vince a couple of seconds to understand that she was talking to him. She was probably just too tired to figure it out, much less to notice what her question did to Vince, but if he had any money, he would tip her twice her wage.

He looked questioningly at Nikki, who after a short hesitation nodded. Vince didn’t expect this part to be over so fast, moreso with such an outcome, which was why the next one - choosing the drink – took him an embarrassingly long amount of time. One part of him wanted to get so drunk that he would pass out and lie uncaring and senseless through whatever debt Nikki would want him to return. Another still buzzed annoyingly in the back of his mind, if you want to escape you need your mind unclouded by spirits. Wouldn’t Nikki get suspicious if he refused to drink, though? Maybe he could pour the drink out while no one was looking?

“Rum,” he finally said when the pause stretched for too long. He’d never tried it, might as well get a taste of this lowly drunkard experience. He was living on a lowly drunkard ship now, after all.

“Oh, he’s really in it now!” Chris laughed, and his laughter spread like contagion to the Shout crew, shaking the walls of the small pub. Other clients didn’t seem to like that much, frowning and murmuring disapprovingly, but didn’t yet dare to protest out loud. “A bottle of rum and a mug for the pretty boy!”

“I don’t need a whole bottle-“ Vince protested, but nobody listened to him anymore – nobody except Nikki, whose sharp gaze almost clawed into him when their eyes met. Damn, he was certainly suspecting something. Now, if Vince didn’t drink the whole bottle, he’d grow wary.

The tired waitress brought them their drinks, flung the mugs and the shots on the table so forcefully Nikki’s wine and Holmes’ brandy splashed over the rim of their mugs, slapped Chris’s hand off her butt and left. The bottle in front of Vince was made of dark, foggy glass, the darker liquid inside it barely visible. The bottle was smaller than he feared, though. He always handled alcohol pretty well, and the dark glass obscured the amount of liquid inside, possible to determine only by putting it against a light. Maybe he could still pull it off?

“Well, for the meeting!” Chris toasted, clinking his mug against Nikki’s. Then both looked at Vince expectingly. Vince hurried to pour some rum into his mug (only hoping its taste would mask whatever was in there before) and clinked it against theirs awkwardly, acutely sensing that they only permitted him to do so as long as this fickle illusion of their equality amused them. Then Holmes sucked in nearly half of his brandy at once, and Nikki took a few gulps of his wine – such a sophisticated drink wasted in such an inelegant manner, Vince shuddered. Not wanting to attract even more of captain’s suspicion, he followed suit and took a big sip of his rum.

Oh, that was a mistake. The liquid, somehow both sickly sweet and bitter, burned its way down his mouth and throat, making him grimace and cough. The room again roared with laughter.

“Our princess isn’t used to strong spirits!” someone shouted. Vince’s cheeks began to burn. God, why was he always so easy to turn red?

Embarrassment and alcohol got to his head then, he later figured, shame and anger muddling his rationality. For a moment, the hurt and humiliation of the insults overpowered his desire for freedom, and he upended the mug into his mouth and swallowed the rum in two forceful gulps.

His mouth burned, but there was no water in sight to wash down the disgusting taste. As the rum dissolved the remains of Vince’s dignity, the lonely crust of bread finally served its purpose, like an old, wrinkly hooker finding a client desperate enough. It tasted just as stale as it looked.

“Wow, look at that,” Nikki grinned. “How ya feeling?”

“Very well,” Vince exhaled, trying not to break a tooth on the crust. “Don’t feel anything.”

“For now,” Nikki nodded condescendingly. “Just you try to go take a piss.”

“And what’s gonna ha- oh, shit.” Vince clutched the table to stay up after he so recklessly sprang onto his feet. His mind was still clear, but his legs liberated themselves from his tyranny and now were doing their own thing, which didn’t coincide with Vince’s intentions. “It all went into my legs.”

“First time’s always like this.”

“I have drunk before.”

“Well, that’s no wine or sherry or whatever you used to drink in your villa. Its purpose is to knock you off your feet as quick as possible. Because you don’t wanna drink more of this shit than necessary.”

“It does taste like shit,” Vince nodded, his mouth still burning, and dropped back onto the chair. Time seemed to slip between his fingers, and he could only watch it run out. Maybe the spirit would clear out just as fast as it hit?

“More?” Chris pointed at the bottle, still perceptibly half-full. “Or maybe you’d like something lighter, like we unassuming folk here?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Being the most sober person in the room is no fun, you know.”

“I’ll manage.”

“He’s a delight to have in the crew, I see.” Chris told Nikki, smiling sarcastically.

“Absolutely. You haven’t heard his best yet – not in his element today, it seems. He’s usually much bolder. I would have taught him how to talk to his seniors if I didn’t enjoy it so much. He’s like a small dog barking at dogs ten times its size.”

“Small dogs also bite.”

“Yeah, he tried.” Nikki rolled up his sleeve and showed Holmes the cut Vince dealt him in the first fight. It had already closed, though the edges were still red and inflamed. Hoping that Nikki would die of infection was too unrealistic even for Vince, though. “I was impressed, really – that was a close hit, almost cut open my axillary. Too bad it got me angry.”

Rage sparked inside Vince’s chest. They talked about him like he wasn’t there – no, worse, like he was an animal or an object, and to them, he probably was. He wanted to bang on the table and scream, I’m still here, bastards, but they would laugh at him at best and grow angry at worst.

“I won’t listen to this anymore,” he said through gritted teeth and rose from the table. Not quickly enough, unfortunately - Nikki caught him by the sleeve and pulled him back onto the chair.

“Nobody’s asking your opinion, slave,” he grinned unpleasantly. “You stay here as long as I do.”

Vince bit his lip, a bitter retort lingering on his tongue. His snarky comebacks were the only revenge he still could enact, but if Nikki enjoyed them, he wouldn’t give him that pleasure. The problem was, his tongue was often quicker than his thought.

Nikki and Holmes, meanwhile, had finished their drinks and craved more.

“Hey! Waitress!” Nikki waved his hand in the air, but the waitress, who shortly before went into the back room, didn’t answer his call. “Where’s this bitch? Were she my employee, I’d already had her flogged. Vinnie, go fetch her.”

“You sure would,” Vince murmured under his breath.

“What did you just say?” Nikki inquired sharply.

“I said,” Vince raised his voice, rum stirring boldness inside him he’s been suppressing the whole day, “my legs won’t let me, remember?

“That’s definitely not what you said.”

“Maybe you misheard.” Vince smiled into Nikki’s frowning face. Holmes stifled a laugh.

Nikki narrowed his eyes, eyeing Vince for a while, counting pros and cons of lashing out. The cons seemed to have won, because he exhaled and leaned back onto his chair.

“Maybe I did,” he said with a one-sided smile. “Anyway, you heard me. Go fetch the waitress. And don’t you veer off somewhere I can’t see you.”

“If I fall down halfway, I deflect all the blame,” Vince dropped, rising from his chair. He didn’t catch Nikki’s reply – maybe he didn’t reply at all. This would have alarmed him were it not for the rum.

Vince staggered between the tables, leaning on chairs and sometimes on someone’s shoulders, eliciting angry cries from their owners, though the offence wasn’t considered serious enough to warrant use of force. He peered into the back room and found the waitress there, leaning onto the counter, staring at the wall with empty eyes. For some reason, a shiver went down his spine.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said into her back, “my… companions there would like a refill.”

She turned to him quickly, startled, and eyed him warily from head to toes. Then recognition appeared in her eyes.

“Of course,” she said, making an effort to smile. “What did they have?”

“Brandy and wine.”

“Very well. And you?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“All right. Tell your companions I’ll be back in a moment.”

She disappeared behind a small door in the other corner of the room, probably leading to the cellar. Vince backed away a bit – look at me, Nikki, I’m behaving, I’m keeping in your sight – and leaned onto the counter. Being away from crude jokes and sleazy glances of the pirates felt nice-

A slap so strong landed on his ass that it rang throughout the entire pub. God, why couldn’t Nikki leave him alone just for a second…

“What’s a pretty lass like you doing in the place like this?“ leered some sailor, long-bearded, bald and reeking of cheap beer. When Vince turned to him, sporting his two-day stubble, his mouth fell open.

“You’re- you’re-“ the man didn’t get to finish, because Vince punched him right in the face. It was a vile thing to do – the fella just made a mistake, after all – but Vince was so wrought up from the constant mocking and taunting that this was the last straw.

Rum led his fist astray, the punch landing on the cheekbone instead of swiftly breaking the nose like it did in his good days. The sailor wavered on wobbly legs but kept his balance. His face flushed red with anger.

“You fucker!” he grunted, throwing a punch at Vince. Vince leapt back to dodge the hit, but his legs betrayed him at the worst moment possible – he’ll never drink this foul substance again, god damn it - and he had to clutch onto the counter to stay upright. The man used this moment of weakness to grab him by the collar of his shirt. The sound of fabric tearing reached Vince’s ears, although the collar held on so far. Mick would hardly lend him another shirt, a thought flashed through his mind.

Vince pulled the sailor’s beard as hard as he could. The man yelped in pain and planted a punch under his eye. Vince couldn’t dodge, his collar in an iron-like grip, and white exploded in front of his left eye, pain shooting through his skull. His head fell back, and the guy kicked him in the stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs.

His grip suddenly weakened, then released Vince entirely. He staggered back and would have fallen down if not for someone’s arms propping him up in the back. A mop of black hair flashed past his seeing eye, and then he heard the sailor’s nose crack.

“Hey, you all right?” he heard a familiar voice. It took him a few seconds to recognize that it was Holmes holding him by the shoulders. He didn’t answer - he was listening to the sailor’s pained cries as Nikki rammed his fists into his face until he was gurgling on his blood and spitting out his teeth. And when Nikki let go of the guy, letting him slide down the counter lifelessly onto the floor, and turned to Vince and Chris, his face was so distorted by rage Vince shuddered. The next second it smoothened out, but the vision stayed in front of Vince’s eyes for the rest of the night.

He grinned – no, bared his teeth, so much like a panther Vince almost expected him to growl – and, not sparing Vince another look, headed back to their table. From there they then heard a cry of a poor bastard that wanted to steal their chairs. The crew cheered and raised their mugs for a toast.

The bald sailor lay on the floor bloodied and beaten, his face a single enormous bruise, his chest rising and falling heavily. The bartender looked him over with a frown, then called his errand boys (probably his sons – same heavy jaw, same droopy eyes) and they promptly grabbed a leg each and dragged the sailor out.

On wobbly legs Vince returned to their table and sank onto the chair, avoiding looking at Nikki. The captain sat there sipping wine – the waitress must have brought it during the fight - with an indifferent expression, but Vince could see he was pleased as a cat that snatched a fish off a table.

“He almost knocked you out,” he taunted. “D’ya ever think before fighting a fella twice your weight?”

“I could handle him just fine,” Vince murmured and pressed the cold rum bottle to his throbbing eye. The pain lessened somewhat. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“Because he would have kicked your ass,” Nikki dismissed him confidently. “And I ain’t gonna drag your body to the ship on my back. I saved your ass, and this is what I get! And then you act all offended that I’m so harsh with you. Your manners leave a lot to be desired.”

“Vinnie, it’s clear he’s expecting a thank you kiss,” Holmes laughed. “Or maybe something more upon your return. Look at that face - not a single pristine thought behind these eyes.”

Nikki snickered shamelessly. Vince felt sick to the stomach.

“I have to visit the latrine,” he murmured, dropped the bottle onto the table, got up and stumbled to the door, holding onto the tables on his way. His mind was crystal clear, but his body was still under the influence of the spirit, although less so after the beating- fight, he meant fight. He expected Nikki to follow him, but he only followed him with his eyes – Vince could feel it burn holes in his back.

There was a barrel with water outside, next to the door. Vince drank from it hungrily, then washed his face. The water dripping back into the barrel was pink. Vince carefully examined the damage with the tips of his fingers. His nose wasn’t broken, and his eye could still see, although it was hard to open because the skin around it began to swell. There’ll be an ugly bruise for a while, but no permanent damage, hopefully.

He looked around, but people in this part of the street were few and far between – everybody who wanted to go to the pub already got there. The latrine – a wooden outhouse with a smell so malodorous Vince had to convince himself to breathe around it – looked exceptionally uninviting. Vince decided he would rather take a leak onto the bar wall in front of the whole street, which he promptly did. Judging by the typical stains on the walls, he was far from being the only one to resolve so. Unexpectedly, he remembered his governess, a woman of great knowledge and manners and little to no sense of humor. She probably would faint were she to see him right now: dressed in a torn shirt with bloodstains on it and dirty breeches, barefoot and collared, hair loose and disheveled, face cut and bruised, pissing on a wall outside a port bar. Here, though, nobody spared him more than a passing glance: he matched the surroundings really well.

And if he just walked away, nobody would spare him a second thought as well.

Vince pulled his breeches up, buttoned them with trembling fingers, washed his hands in the barrel, wiped them on his shirt, looked around sneakily and darted into a dark alley behind the bar.

#nikki sixx #vince neil #vinikki #motley crue #pirate au #motley crue fanfiction #yknow i. really feel better now. with the meds and all.#i have more energy and spring is coming which means the seasonal part of my depression is off for now #but idk how it will affect this fic. i used to write it to express my anguish through it. now i have little to no of it left #i still have like 16k of unedited writing in my document so maybe that will tide you over until next fall #but i also itch to write something original. so maybe i'll be doing that #in darkness shall you be reborn

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