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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Don’t Shoot the Messenger: Part One

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

Fantasy, pirates, male monster x female reader, male demon, M/F, Part 1 of 9

Warnings: violence (choking), misogynistic insults

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Don’t Shoot the Messenger Chapter 1

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

It’s been years since your life shifted from the land to the sea, but how unbalanced those first few steps on land are now still always manages to surprise you. Usually, you hurry off about your business, pushing through the wobbles in your legs, but tonight isn’t so urgent so you take your time heading down the dock.

Despite this island being little known to the rest of the world, it's bustling with life and business and you feel as comfortable here as you on any of Admiral Satrasi’s ships. You easily amble along, staying out of the way and silent as a shadow more out of habit than a need for secrecy. After all, it's hard to stop a messenger you don’t know is there. And even when you were younger, it was harder for someone to object to you if they didn’t know you were there either.

Satrasi had only asked for an answer by tomorrow morning since he was occupied for this evening so you take your time to look at the wares of the stalls in the rambleshack marketplace. Captain Bartholomew Critchley, the person you are to find, is at the tavern up the road, easily the most established and structurally sound building here despite it being frequented primarily by a crowd known for their ability to get rowdy. You suppose that's a testament to both Juanita’s ability to keep people in line as it is to her knockabout wife’s ability to patch the place up.

Snacking on something fried as you glance over the flasks on display, you keep an eye out for any other bits and bobs that might draw your interest. Travel is an intrinsic part of your job as one of Satrasi’s personal messengers–nicknamed ‘Marlins’ due to the speed you pride yourselves in–so you keep your possessions on the lesser end, but you did have permanent rooms on his carrier.

The carrier was originally some government’s solution to sustaining long voyages out into the Unbroken Sea. It had its own gardens and water purification system—a magnificent beast of machine and magic that had made it worth its weight in diamond. They tried to protect it, but they should have known it was only a matter of time before someone more skilled took it out of their hands.

Once he took it over—that’s when Satrasi became known as the Admiral by everyone, not just other seafarers. Even if they liked to say “the Sea Demon Admiral” instead of just the Admiral—they could no longer deny just how much power he commanded over the seas. Between the carrier, the island waystations, and the fleet of ships under his command, Satrasi was the most feared name on this side of the Unbroken Sea.

And those who don’t try to sink him, want to join up—Captain Critchley is no different. He’s new to this more northern part of the Sea, but he’s scrounged together enough of a reputation to warrant a meeting with Admiral Satrasi to hear his petition to become one of his captains. So here you are, on your way to arrange that meeting on Satrasi’s behalf.

It’s a week into your current stay on the carrier, having returned from a much longer trip and therefore performing some light work nearby until you are sent out abroad next. As much as you like traveling, it's good to be home again, to be near Satrasi again. While you’re happy to do whatever he requires, you miss him when you’re away.

You met him shortly before he acquired the carrier, after you saved each other’s lives, and are one of the few people from back then to still be around to this day. Some might think, with your personal connection to satrasi, that this message to a small fish might be beneath you, but nothing Satrasi asked of you could not be worth your time—besides any new captain is always seen to personally by him. If it's worth his personal attention, then the message to arrange it is certainly worth the attention of one of his elite personal messengers.

You end up selecting some ribbon, a vibrant color for your hair and duller colors for hemming and trim on your clothes, and a new book before seriously eyeing the sky. Deciding it was late enough that Captain Critchley must be at the tavern by now, you head for it. Perhaps you’ll even stay for a drink or two. You didn’t drink overmuch—never comfortable with the feeling of not being in control of yourself when someone might take advantage—but you like the Saucy Siren.

It is easy enough to get a drink you trusted, tuck yourself in a corner, and people watch among folks that wouldn't try anything on you. You aren’t one for talking to people or big groups—you certainly couldn’t count off on more than one hand the people you would go out for a drink with, but you like simply existing with other people, at least occasionally. You like cities and crowds and the ability to get lost among them far more than you ever felt comfortable in the small town you came from. You feel safer here on these islands under Satrasi’s control than you do anywhere else on land—safest ever on the carrier, or wherever Satrasi himself is.

You slide in a side entrance out of habit rather than necessity, giving a nod to a cook you recognize, but moving purposely otherwise—the trick to getting everywhere you need to get is either for no one to notice you’re even there or too make sure you act like you belong, and often one lends itself to the other. The tavern is more than bustling with multiple ships in port and the carrier so nearby.

You survey the scene before you from the largest center bar, managing to get a spiked twilsey from the barmaid into your mug as you do so. You head up to the next level to get a better view and try to spot the captain you’re here to see, as well as pick a spot to claim after you get his reply.

Luckily, it's early enough in the night that the majority of the patrons aren’t too drunk and various groups seem to be sticking with who they came with. Since each ship’s crew is loosely still together, you’re able to go through the rooms, dismissing whole sections when you recognize someone there.

The Deliverance crew on the first floor, you mentally cross them out first, having had to push through a number of them to get the bar. You spot the Lioness’ Capitan easily by her bright red hair and her unusually well armored crew, some with plate armor even at the tavern. It takes some minutes of study to recognize the Grey Mary’s crew, but you are able to spot Grey Mary herself after her new first mate, some sort of very tall demon with even taller horns who’s even greyer than she is, moved and stopped blocking her from your sight.

You’re able to follow Peggy, known for her missing leg and other proclivities, to the rest of Captain Red’s New Moon crew. You’re glad it's early enough into the night, and the lunar cycle, that none of them is any hairier than usual yet. They are starting to mingle with the crew of the Brazen Flame—although you can't tell who their current captain is, the tiara of rubies they pass around to denote the position is nowhere to be seen amongst their colorful skin the identifies them as fire demons, an unusual type of demon to be pirates. You follow one of the whip thin lads with yellow skin up to the second floor, where he joins some of those you know the best—all full time veterans of the carrier.

Unfortunately, that means you’ve looked over the majority of the first and second floor without spotting the crew of the Lux Lady, let alone the Captain himself. That means they must be in one of the add-ons. As the Admiral’s fleet grew, so did those stopping off at the island wanting a drink and additions had been made to the original building. Some of these were sturdy and well-built—others were not. Besides, you might be comfortable enough in the open drinking areas of the bars, but you hate gambling dens—too full of the drunk, delusional, and desperate than you can stand—and never go near games unless you have to.

“Looking for someone, Marlin?” One of the barmaids, Rea, asks as she clears off the table you’re near. She’s been here over a year, sister of someone from the carrier and has sharper eyes than most. She’s struck you as a kindred spirit of sorts because she’s always watching just like you used to have to do. Takes more than a year here to lose that instinct—not that you’re sure how long it does take because you haven’t managed to turn it off anywhere besides in Satrasi’s holdings and even that’s only some of the time.

You nod, finishing off the last of your drink and hanging the mug back on your belt. “New captain who wants to join. Captain Critchley of the Lux Lady.”

Rea straightens a bit at that, and really, in retrospect, you should have taken that as the sign it is. “There’s some new folks around back—near the tables. Cel’brating some big score, or so they think—” she rolls her eyes, “not that it's encouraged them to share the wealth.”

You frown, but you’re not surprised. Pirates are either the tightest fisted misers you’ve ever seen or they like to make it rain coin—never much in between. It’s why half the Admiral’s edicts are on how to split bounties. “Something must have convinced Captain Jack to vouch for them—big score might do it for him, he’s all about coin.”

“Aye,” Rea agrees. “They’re making friends with the Hungry Serpent crew that are ashore, so like calls to like.”

That was an odd crew, but their flag of a two headed serpent fit them a T—half of them loved nothing more than booze and fighting and the other half never drank and sent all their coin home to family. However they all managed to stay on together for years was a mystery.

“Looking for a refill?” Rea asks, interrupting your thoughts. You notice she’s done wiping down the tables near you and is probably itchin’ to get back to work.

You shake your head and slip her a bronze coin for the tip. You know she wasn’t looking for one for such a simple scrap of information, but what was the point of having money these days if you didn’t spend it?

She accepts it before she even fully realizes what you gave and flashes you a smile before heading back to the bar. You make your way around the center bar and duck into the largest of the game halls. Cards and dice are played down below, but every game that needs a table is up top where it’s harder to make off with it. The Saucy Siren is respected, but it's a pirate tavern—no sense in dangling fresh meat in front of a bear by making theft easier than it needs to be. Besides, everything that can be bolted down is—and probably even some things that shouldn’t be. Honestly Juanita lucked out when she hired that demon with the tail that can climb because half of what’s worth any value is up in the rafters.

Still, the billiard tables up here aren’t too bad, more for casual fun and less for betting. The room isn’t nearly as filled with smoke and half of it is at least sweet smelling from the hookahs rather than pipe smoke that tends to come with dice. As the doorway opens on to a platform by some stairs down into the room, you can get a good view before you get down to the main floor, which allows you to spot the Lux Lady’s group almost immediately.

Now, spotting the gorgon with them from the Hungry Serpent is a bit of tell, but whatever gets the job done. As you head down the stairs, you automatically adjust your navy overcoat, using part of your sleeve to polish one of its silver buttons, which help mark you as one of the Admiral’s messengers. Pirates are, on a whole, opposed to uniforms, but there are only so many ways to clothe oneself out on the sea’s that's practical and affordable.

All the messengers are given the navy overcoat with the Admiral’s flag insignia on the breast when they start—it’s up to you how you make sure the right people see it and the wrong don’t. Silver buttons are earned after significant jobs are completed—you have the most of any other, but many are hidden on the inside of the coat, rather than the outside. Wearing that much silver is just asking for trouble the rest of the time, but you couldn’t bring yourself not to sew them into the coat—some of the others kept them in boxes or fashioned them onto other garments. You hold too much pride in them for that. They’re symbolic of the life you now have, of how much you have gained and stand to lose.

You unbutton and rebutton the sturdy navy woolen panel to the side that usually keeps the insignia out of sight. Truthfully you can have it showing anywhere around here—anywhere in the Admiral’s territory—but you find it confuses people and makes you more noticeable. Folks tend to think you’re there for a reason with it out, even if they wear theirs plainly. You don’t mind overmuch having to cover it—it's good practice so you don’t forget when you leave the territory where one slip-up could mean arrest and the noose.

You identify Critchley once you closer—newer captain’s are always the ones with their hat still on and shiny new jewelry. He’s got a gold bauble on one ear with a large pearl and the other ear has a dull gray bar through it. There’s a heavy golden compass around his neck that looks too bright to be anything except new. There’s also the way his crew is arranged around him, how a few glance his way when he raises his voice.

He’s also well on his way to properly plastered, so it's a good thing you found him before he can’t even remember enough to give you a real answer.

While you prefer not to be noticed, you are a personal messenger for Admiral Satrasi, demon commander of the largest pirate fleet in a thousand years and for a thousand miles. You let that knowledge seep into you, remember the faith he has in you, and pull that confidence into your bones. The sound of your boots on the wooden floorboards isn’t loud, but it is audible in a way it hadn’t been before. You’re no taller, but your spine is straighter. Your facial expression hasn’t gone from a smile to a frown or vice versa, but it's harder, sharper.

Subconscious or not, everyone gets out of your way the last few yards to the table. “Captain Critchley?” you ask clearly, enunciating so your voice filters through the noise easily enough.

He turns lazily at the sound of your voice, a looseness to his bones that can only come from strong drink. He looks up the short distance from his seated position to your standing one. “Mayhap. Who wants to know?”

“Messenger from Admiral Satrasi,” you say by way of introducing yourself—your name isn’t what he wants to know. It's not what matters, so you don’t give it.

His eyes brighten at that and he sits up straighter. Despite having to look up at you, he still tries to angle himself so he’s looking down his nose at you instead. It doesn’t really work, but you’re used to how people try to puff, as if they want to show they’re important enough for Satrasi’s attention. “About time,” he says with a smirk. “I was beginning to wonder if coming here was a waste of my time.”

You resist the urge to raise an eyebrow at that and don't bother to say anything yet—he won’t need your input to continue. “We docked yesterday,” he tells you, as if that means something. “Jackie-boy said the Admiral would talk to us once we got to this little island hideaway—not that we haven’t appreciated the time to enjoy ourselves.” His smirk widens as he nudges the man to his left and a number of the other crew members who are paying attention to your conversation laugh.

“The Admiral received Captain Jack’s letter vouching for you as well as your own petition and would like to arrange a meeting in the next few days,” you say formally when he seems to have said his piece. You don’t like the narrowing of his eyes at your words, but you continue on regardless, “He has a certain amount of availability, although he knows you might also be occupied with repairs, appraisal, and supply matters. Do you have any particular time in mind? Or I could tell you when the Admiral is available over the next few days and you could say which time and day you’d prefer? Up to you.”

“Is it now?” he sneers a little, leaning over to murmur into another man’s ear who snickers. “Very well, important men have important things to see to—of course I am the picture of understanding,” he gives a little mock bow from his seat, accentuating the move with a flourish that made his crew break out into guffaws. “When’s the earliest his majesty can see us?”

You frown at that. He can fool all he wants, but you’ll take no disrespect to the Admiral, even if he is gin-soaked. “The Admiral can see you in three days time, at high noon, at the earliest. He has two other times free that day and then two the next day.”

Captain Critchley’s whole demeanor darkens at your words, offense and wounded pride come to sit heavy on his face. “Pardon me, girlie, but did you say in three days time? I must have misheard you. We’re not waiting days for some attention. You say he'd gotten our missives, ‘e knows we’re here—now what? He’s resting on his laurels? Tryin’ to waste our time, like it don’t mean as much as his?”

You know saying that Admiral Satrasi’s time is in fact more valuable than this green captain’s won’t get you anywhere. “I only know that he said he couldn’t meet with you until noon in three days time at the earliest. Is that acceptable to you?”

“No,” he scoffs and his men murmur disgruntedly around him, a chorus of drunk seagulls he clearly keeps around to flatter his own importance. “It’s not acceptable. I’ll meet with him tomorrow at noon, thank ya kindly. How do we get up on that massive raft he’s got?”

You hate when people refuse to listen to the message you’re communicating. Not that it will stop you from saying it. “Can’t get on the carrier until three days at noon at the earliest,” you say, as if he’s hard of hearing and not hard in the head. Sometimes if you push past complaints they manage to realize what they need to do. “When you tell me which time the Admiral is available, I shall tell him in the morrow and he’ll arrange to have a boat come to bring you to him.”

“You know what? I don’t think I like your attitude, you uppity doxy.” You finally do raise a brow at him calling you a prostitute, if only because its such a reach. Even men drunk under tables don't normally assume such given your manner of dress and knowing you come from the Admiral, even if they think they might convince you in bed what they can’t with their words. “Since you can’t seem to understand what I’m sayin’, why don’t you fetch a different messenger with an actual brain rattlin’ about in his noggin?”

You’ve tried to give him a chance to pull himself together, but you’re done holding his hand. “No, you’re the one who ain’t listenin’. Admiral said three days at noon. Or two after or three after that. He was quite clear and it’s on his word I’m here, so that’s who I’ll be listenin’ to. And it's who you’ll be listening to if you wanna meet with him. So are you tellin’ me one of those times in three days or do you want to hear about the fourth?”

Captain Critchley leans off the back of the bench for the first time and points his bottle at you with a glare that might have scared you when you was ten. “And I’m tellin’ you I’ll meet with him tonight.”

“That ain’t possible,” you reply bluntly, already done with this conversation and not caring that he’d had the audacity to move the timeline up even further–not that it’d be any sort of coherent conversation tonight given how sloshed he is. You don’t know who this rat thinks he is, but you have the Admiral’s ear and he doesn’t. Everyone else knew to be polite to the ones carrying their words to the Admiral. If he hadn’t the sense to work that out, you aren’t gonna help him.

You’ll be sure to tell Satrasi how he acted when you give him the meeting time and you might just pen a letter to Jack yourself for sending along a captain with his head so far up his own ass. “The Admiral is not to be disturbed tonight—he made that very clear. I’m not even to bring him your reply until the morning.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not gonna happen, wench,” he says through gritted teeth. He leans forward on the table, setting his bottle down heavily and bracing himself with one large splayed out hand. “You’re gonna take me to the self-important pirate now. He’s not any better than the rest of us just because he nabbed a daft oddity you can’t even raid from. I’m no third rate cabin boy to be brought to heel by skinny bitches who don’t know when to listen instead of yap.”

“No,” you snap, the last of your patience gone at the insult to Satrasi. “You’re a natterin’ child, here on the Admiral’s generosity asking for his favor but refusing to listen and wait your turn.”

Before your eyes can track it, he’s on his feet and a large hand is closing around your throat in an iron grip. You’re so shocked that’s he’s dared to strike you here, that you don’t even react, letting him lift you to the tips of your toes. His hot, alcoholic breath reeks as he breathes it into your face saying, “If anyone here is a child, it’s you—playing above your pay amongst those stronger and more important than you. I don’t know who lets you get away with that lip, but I’ll not stand for it.”

Your left hand closes around the fingers he has at your neck, trying to pull them from where they’re digging into your skin, cutting off your air when he gives a harsh squeeze to emphasize his point. Your mind needs another second to come to terms with the reality of the impossible. Once you verify this lowlife piece of shit dare assault you while on official business from the Admiral in his territory, you only have one thought.

He’s gonna regret this.

[Part Two]

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