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awesomesaucem · 5 months

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About-Face

Chapter three of The Wanting Comes in Waves (19,651 words)

Marianne stumbles onto more questions than answers as she unwittingly falls into a new routine. Stranger and stranger still, she pries at pieces of this puzzle she didn't want to be a part of in the first place.

Word Count for Chapter: 6,878

Woof what a break! I have returned once again with this fuckery. Also remember that post I made about having at least 10k words this chapter? Yeaaahhhh sorry. Just go ahead and redact all that.

Anyway, I did kinda rush this at the end so sorry if there's some awkward moments here or there. I currently do not have a beta reader (nudge nudge, wink wink) and chatgpt is down so I got zero feedback on this update. Hope its ok oof.

a/n for chapter: me months and months ago: hmm i think i can update on a weekly basis... me now: LMAO BITCH YOU THOUGHT Many apologies and thanks for patience with me here yall. I am alive and well for the most part. Work is painful. School is painful. You know how that goes. To make up for it, you see that handy little chapter number update? yeahhhh shits plotted OUT. So much is planned for this fic it's not even funny anyway BUCKLE UP. THE ANGST WILL BEGIN MOMENTARILLY enjoy, babies. And as always-thank you for reading :)

The clang of workers’ routine stole Marianne from a sleep she wasn’t aware of falling into in the first place. Rattling of pots and pans; scrubbing, scraping. Singing. Nothing like the morning before where there were only leering eyes and sinking feelings. Slicing open the padding beneath her, she slid her knife between the hay and silently prayed over it once again. It’s gone through quite enough with her already, but their knowledge of her treasure could very well mean death. Her breath clouded for a moment, deciding the blanket should join her for the day; not only as extra warmth but she would take all the layers of protection she could get. Still unbound and unwatched, she tried the door only to be met with the raised fist of Steph seemingly about to knock. They both stared in an abashed beat of silence.

“The Captain sent me,” she offered as explanation. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“All day?” She looked around outside at the hard working crew. “I guess I slept a little late, huh?”

Steph's gaze hardened in both confusion and concern. “You mean you’re just now waking up? We all had lunch a few hours ago. Someone brought you some, but they said you weren’t hungry,” she recalled. Her tone shifted immediately into something more urgent. “Did no one come to check on you? Who did you speak to?” Nearly each word was punctuated with a heavy step forward pushing them both into the room.

“Uh, I-” Marianne was more confused than intimidated by the rapid interrogation. “I’m not sure.” She thought briefly to her dreamless sleep, not noting any visitors of significance. If someone had spoken in her room, she wasn’t aware of it. “I don’t remember, I'm sorry.” Steph snatched her wrist in hand and led her to the bed. In the other was a bundle of jars and rags with some metal instruments thrown into the mix as well.

“Girl’s sorry,” she grumbled under her breath. “Beaten and slept for days, not eating, and she’s sorry.” Her calloused hands lightly tugged the hem of Marianne’s tunic. “Up. I need to look at you.”

Stunned, she shot a glance to the open door and back to Steph in a silent plea. Without even looking behind her, her boot clanged against the wood and shut it with a click. Her brows shot up. Better? they ask.

Her own shaking hands gripped the edge of her tunic in response and pulled upward to reveal mottled purples and yellows from the days prior. Any scrapes from Roland's boots or the dirty floor were mostly cleaned during last night's bath. Marianne knew time and rest were needed to heal the hurt beneath the surface, but Steph had to make sure. She was expecting far worse if her supplies gave indication, but Marianne meant nothing to her; this was most likely an order from the Captain. But then again, she was a prize to be hand delivered. If she was broken on arrival, someone would surely pay for it. Without a legitimate reason to argue, she allowed her wounds to be dressed.

Steph worked in trained concentration. Softly yet methodically she prodded at the watercolor of blood beneath skin searching for anything more dire. Mostly she worked in silence except for the occasional hiss from Marianne at a particularly harsh poke which was met by an apologetic hum from her surveyor. Wraps of cloth soaked in liquid smelling strongly of rum and menthol were drug across her ribs and chest, wretching a muffled cry from Marianne as it seeped into any weeping lesions it found. The harsh burn subsided into a warm sting as Steph finally deemed her attentions enough and bound her sternum in fresh cloth.

“That should be enough for now. Nothing I haven’t seen, nothing I can’t mend,” she chatted, packing up her supplies. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” she added.

“I know,” she retorted, keeping her eyes downcast at their hands.

Steph scoffed at her cockiness, nudging her knuckles lightly against her chin to tilt her gaze skyward.

“Oh, I know. Quite the tiger you are,” she laughed. “Got the Captain worked up for sure.”

That caught her attention.

“The Captain,” she began precariously. “Who is he? I mean who is he really?” The silence that followed was uneasy for the both of them. Cocking her head, she searched for any answer she could find in the stoic woman’s eyes. “You know something. Tell me.” It wasn’t a question. But if there was a time for answers, it would be now. She was tired of being left in the dark. Steph’s cordial demeanor soured immediately into forced professionalism.

“He is our Captain. What more is there?” A single heavy palm braced the mattress to steady herself as she excused herself from the bed to take her leave. For as strong as she was in a fight, she seemed to turn away from conversation. “Try not to sleep on your right side, girl. Nothing’s broken but you’ll be feelin’ it for a while.”

Marianne nodded, ignoring the defensive change of topic and busied her hands with whatever scraps that ended up left behind. The quick muttering and shuffling at the door caught her attention once more as the very same Captain was at the threshold exchanging knowing looks with Steph as she stepped around him. The tension, unfortunately, stayed behind with Marianne.

“So, er,” he scrambled for words at Steph’s leave. “I take it you’re faring much better, then?”

She rubbed at the phantom twinge of chains that have long since sunk into deep, murky waters and hummed low in her throat.

“I am.”

As watched as she felt, she made sure to observe in equal measure the ferine creature whose kindness shown in the decimation of men and possession of their wives.

“You gave us all quite the scare. I know this is less than ideal, but my will toward you is not unkind if you’ll believe it.”

Loitering uncomfortably, he continued.

“Roland joined us today as well. Asking for you.”

Fear and anger alike bubbled in her throat.

“What words in any of the realms would I have to exchange with that wretch -”

“None,” he yielded a hand to interrupt. “The last thing I need is two extra bodies on board who can’t control themselves. Now get dressed. You’re due to pull some weight around here unless you’d rather join him in the bilge.”

___

Before she could even think, a week went by. Then another. Day after day of choring, hearty food, and good conversation passed by in a comfortable blur. As it turns out, they were remarkably self-sustainable. Nothing was wasted aboard the ship and everything had a use. They also were thoroughly prepared from the chickens living below deck to the seemingly endless potable water that never refrained from surprising her. Scuppers were even plugged up to collect any rain water and sheep's pelts hung alongside the sails to catch morning dew each day. This plus the two months of fresh water they started with granted them surplus amounts for bathing, washing, or cooking. Much to Marianne’s satisfaction, someone let slip that the Captain was indeed from the mountains and used heavy blocks of ice to immensely extend the lives of their perishables until they melted and joined the stock as well. There are only so many uses you can get from the same water, however. If she wasn’t as exhausted and filthy as she was her first night on board, she would have realized the thin layer of cooking oil that went unnoticed among the soaps before she sunk into it. But she was clean despite any impurities of the water. And more importantly, she was grateful.

Since it was made very clear she would have a purpose on board after she was able, they wasted no time at all putting her to work. The little experience she had doing work of any kind limited her options of positions, yet they made do with her. Peeling potatoes isn’t exactly skilled labor. Mending and sewing were also available tasks and those too required the skill she was thankful to have. Those less fortunate with the knowledge muttered swears and hisses during their feeble attempts at stitching and took her back to a time when her fingers were also as bandaged up as her newfound friends’. While Brutus wouldn’t mind a needle, his hands weren’t exactly dainty nor dextrous.

As the days turned into nights, her unease gradually dissipated and without her permission she became as tamed as a mangy stray with a full belly. As her aches and pains left, so did her ferocity. One of the shiphands even taught her to play some obscure, backstreet card game where they played for extra pieces of meat and scraps of fabric. She still didn’t quite understand the rules in its entirety, but she seemed to be winning. The other players traded knowing glances which is when she realized they were letting her win, the bastards! They want to play shady? Marianne could play shady. Hamming it up, she trashed a few bluffs and discarded some wilds completely by accident, oh my! and snuck a few more winnings into her pile. This only seemed to egg them on more. If she actually paid attention to the rules, more winnings was actually not how to win, if you would believe it, and she walked away with nothing after all. Her own fault for not expecting pirates to play dirty, really. Grumbling, she pushed away from the crate-turned-table and excused herself to her quarters. One of the more skilled players snuck her a snack or two as she left as thanks for keeping them entertained for a moment or two. Nothing too indulgent. They were known for sneaking a piece of crusty bread or salted meat into their pockets now and again, but she appreciated the gesture all the same.

She supposed it was time to give these brutes their deserved grace as she’d harshly misjudged them from the start. The very same group that tore a military vessel entirely to pieces was the very same group that looked on her scars and snuck her little things to sink her teeth in. Each passing day became that much more comfortable. That much less spent anticipating the next disaster. Falling into routine proved easier than she could have predicted when she wasn’t constantly fearing for her life.

More and more was she fully content to stay in this dream and never wake. No more tutors or disapproving glances from her father. No more wondering who she’ll bribe next to let her sneak out night after night. Whether she meant to or not, she had found a funny kind of freedom here at sea. But then again there was still a warm bed at home waiting for her. It was fun to dream, but what happens when the other shoe drops? You’re still a prisoner here. Nothing has changed. Just as a stray never forgets its fight no matter the hand that feeds it, Marianne never forgot her blade still hidden and discrete.

Her trek back to her chambers was interrupted by clattering somewhere down around the bilge. She wasn’t allowed down in that part of the ship as that was where supplies and Roland of all things were kept, but she didn’t care to explore around the filth anyway. There were only so many potatoes you could look at. The clanging grew louder, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew. Suddenly everything halted as Roland himself clamored up to the main deck. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Someone who was so vain about his appearance had never looked more haggard. His clothes were shredded and filthy and plastered to his frame with far too much sweat which showed the awkward angle of his shoulders jutting out from beneath them. Arms bound behind his back, he could do not much else but stare and panic. A long dried trail of blood lined his temple and was flaked away in some places, but held clumps of hair to his face against their will. Bare feet stumbled as he turned, frantically, looking for any last minute hiding places or methods of escape. Resembling more a deranged animal than a Navy Captain, a bitter satisfaction simmered from deep within Marianne. She was a captive, but he was the real prisoner. No one even had the chance to grab him before Boggart slunk out of his quarters to see just what the excitement was all about. Roland went from deranged beast to cornered snake at the sight of the man and instantly regressed to a floundering mess.

“N-n-now Crowley, please, let’s discuss this like gentlemen. I’m sure there’s been some mistake, here. I truly do admire you greatly and sir, ‘n I just don’t understand how I’ve offended you to this point-I really don’t!”

Everyone's attention turned to behind the sniveling rat as Thad, the meek quartermaster, finally caught up with hands on his knees and heaving breaths in between words of “sorry, sir” and “too fast!” Boggart surveyed the broken man and offered him a glance holding everything from anger to disappointment as he stepped forward.

“Mmh,” he grunted. “Not so lucky I found you though, Roland.” Keeping his chin tucked, he tried constraining his words to a minimum clumsily slipping into his false accent without proper warning. Marianne said nothing to indicate the switch but smiled to herself as Roland sagged to his knees in submission.

“Whatever I’ve done, I’ll right it!” He begged. “You’re reasonable, sir. Intelligent and reasonable and, and-”

A click of a pistol silenced his whining as the cold barrel was pressed to his temple.

“That’s quite enough, Captain. My business is my business and you’ll endure. Do you know why that is?”

Roland swiftly shook his head, flinging his sweat-matted hair free from his cheek.

“Because animals endure. And what do we do with a sick animal, men? ” His eyes and pistol remained on the poor bastard at his feet as he addressed his crew.

“We put ‘em down!” Many voices shouted from their various positions on deck.

“We put ‘em down.” His teeth were on full display in all their voraciousness. Roland’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“No! Sir, please!” He pleaded, openly weeping. But Marianne saw through his crocodile tears. She knew this man would only beg for his life just because it was something he could take. There was no value to it, only consequence. Boggart finally turned his cool gaze her way, nearly freezing her along with it.

“What say you, Marianne? Does he live to see another day?”

Rolland turned his wallowing to her as well along with each other pair on the ship.

“I,” she considered. On the one hand, he’ll never exist in her life again. His demanding hands will never touch another living soul; no longer grasping in the dark desperate for tithings. She, and all others, will be free of him as long as they too exist. Yet his teary, snake-like eyes bore into her anxiously awaiting the decision of the woman he owned-at least for a time. Her vows made in lace and satin and glittering things under her father’s scrutinous eye urged for her hesitation. For eternity, she promised. Forsaking all others.

“Come on, Marianne,” he whispered in one last solicitation. The air stilled.

“Girl?” Boggart whispered, urging for a decision.

She too shook her head, almost in a panic, as dread pooled any and everywhere it could worm its way into her from head to toe. The short snapping of the hammer disengaging awarded Roland his undeserved reprise as his own dreadful feelings left him in a breathy and relieved sigh.

“Oh, Marianne! How I adore you, believe me. You know I’d do anything to make this right,” he bowed his head to the dirty floor and blubbered into the planks while Boggart rolled his eyes at the display. Turning to look behind him at the girl who spared such a lowly creature his eyes were uncertain, but firm. Disapproving, yet understanding.

With his back turned, Roland seized his opportunity to lurch up and dart for anywhere other than at the feet of his subjugator. The crew shouted their alarm and scrambled to subdue the man again, but Boggart raised a halting hand in favor of words as well as his weapon.

“Roland, I give you this last chance,” he warns over the noise at the rat zig-zagging through the deck searching for sanctuary. His words go unheard, however, as he darts and weaves behind barrels and crates, trying to find somewhere, anywhere that will grant him a few extra precious seconds of life.

“Please, lad,” he whispers in one last warning, forgetting his false inflection for a breath.

Finally heeding, Roland suddenly whips his head around eyes wide in recognition and stretches his mouth wide to utter accusatory words otherwise interrupted by the unanticipated firing of a gun sending its bullet right between the poor man’s eyes.

Marianne bit her tongue at the viscera as she witnessed the death of her husband for a second time.

Pocketing his handgun, Boggart sneered at the mess while the burn of spent gunpowder dissipates.

“S-sir, he…” Thad gasped meekly from where he stood to the rails.

“I know,” he avowed.

More knowing exchanges eluded Marianne as so much secrecy was had in such an intimate crew. One moment she was jesting along with her shipmates and the next it was like a haze shrouded them, separating her entirely. It was frustrating. It was nerve wracking.

It’s annoying is what it is.

“Thad!” He barks at the still-heaving man. “Clean up this eyesore, will you?”

“Of course, sir,” he pants. “But first you need to see the bilge.”

Boggart sighs, smoothing over his beard very much irked.

“What’s wrong with the bilge, Thadius?”

He squirms under his unhappy Captain’s glare.

“Well, it’s uh,” he struggles for words until Steph wrecks an elbow into his ribs forcing them out.

“Underwater! It’s underwater, Captain,” he sputters. “Roland kicked through some loose boards as a distraction. We need to dock for repairs.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched in disdain, fighting the urge to tear into the small man.

“We had just resupplied some two weeks ago, mate. I didn’t plan for an emergency stop in our schedule.”

“Well, we’re going to have to. At least a quarter of the new chicks have drowned already and that’s not even counting the water we’ve taken on.”

Thinking of any second options, Boggart resolves to stamp past the crew.

“Hoist the mains, gentlemen!” He bellows, forgoing reason. “Ready to ground!”

While Thad did his best not to heave at the blood underfoot, the rest of the crew scrambled to ready the masts and gather everything they needed to ready the ship for land leaving Marianne to process. Luckily the winds were favorable and they found a quaint little alcove far away from any form of civilization in no time at all. Immediately after reaching land, the ramp was tossed.

The ramp leading to the shore was caked in sand from the years of use. Crates and barrels of dry goods and sleep mats were carried arm to arm by meandering shiphands as Marianne watched them all. The chill of early Spring was holding everyone tightly still sending a wave of ice through to her bones and shivering, she looked to the emerging stars in the twilight. Long, winding shadows were cast from the conifer border to the inland. In fact, the treeline wasn’t too far from the shore and looked thick enough to get lost in. She leaned closer over the creaking railing to judge the distance. If she managed to get past the already busy crew, she’d just need to sprint through the brush. Far enough inward and they’d have less and less of a chance to capture her twice. A hand at her shoulder startled her from her dangerous train of thought - it seems her musings caused her to roam perfectly in the way of the workings that reminded her so much of ants. Murmuring an apology, she resumed her positioning off to the side and firmly out of the way.

Each member of the crew had something different in their arms. All crates and containers of sorts but each was meticulously labeled in stark, bold lettering burned into the sides. Dried meats, flour, tools, what have you were passed down one by one. Everyone had a job to do but her. Next, a metal cage with several of the surviving chickens was pushed to the ramp inspiring her. Everyone was busy after all. All she’d need was a distraction and her knife.

___

Sand squished between her toes as her legs carried her as far and fast as they physically could while she ignored the howling behind her mixed with panicked cackling of the startled fowl. Harsh winds whipped and whirled around her, almost guiding her forward as she couldn’t get it into her lungs fast enough. Bobbing and winding through the dense wood, she didn’t dare look behind her, couldn’t afford it. If she had, she’d see the sliver of a thin hand silently halting the rest of his crew as a single man stepped into the trees.

Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she finally slowed to catch her breath in heady gulps. The pounding in her chest matched that in her head, but she was too far gone to stop now. Now was not the time for giving up. Resting against a nearby tree she thought about the stories she would tell Dawn when she finally returned home; the crying they would do. The fear they would both put into their father. She could weep at the almost taste of her mother’s recipes just out of reach. Her bed, her blades, her sister, all seemingly paces away. Did she have any sense of where to go in the heavy foliage? Absolutely not. But all she really needed was to put enough distance between her and the creatures at her back. All she needed was an unfamiliar face and the promise of reward and she’d be home.

A nearby snapping of twigs broke her from the fantasy. Catching her breath somewhere between her heart and her lungs she waited; hands clasped at her lips to not even let the fog of breath escape. Scratching bark to her back shielded her from any searching eyes as she counted the urgent beating of her heart. Rather than haunted by the ever persistent threat of Roland’s men, she was instead hunted, rather, by a fresh threat of her own creation. The wheezing of trapped breath behind her palms threatened to reveal her; remaining calm must take priority. One, two, three, four, five, six. She counted with each stampeding beat. One, two, three, four, five, six. Leaves crunch from behind the nearby brush. Onetwo, threefour, fivesix. A scurrying of something much smaller than her from ahead, frightened. Onetwothreefourfivesix. The shadow of strong shoulders and hooked nose hovered behind her sanctuary and for an instant there was nothing for her to count. Just as he rounded the edge of the trunk, she bolted once more revealing her position but willing her legs to test their limits and ignored the fire in her lungs.

The Captain hollered triumphantly and soared after her, his own legs that were much longer and stronger granted him just enough extra speed to gain on her and close the distance. With a roar that mingled alongside her yelp, his deft fingers gripped the back of her tunic and pulled sending her flying backward and landing harshly on the cold ground. Luckily she kept her breath which she used to scream every obscenity she could recall while he pinned her beneath him.

His breath was hot in her face as she bucked and struggled against his unwavering grasp. She was all nails and teeth and elbows, and she wondered exactly what the rest of the crew was thinking back at the beach. Fallen needles of pine and spruce dug into her back, threatening to pierce the flesh there and she remembered her scabbard that has survived all this time hidden at her hip. She snuck a hand downward to reach for her undetected defenses to at least even out the fight. A flash of astonishment, panic, and something else entirely washed over his face as he narrowly dodged a swipe of the blade and with gritted teeth, placed all of his weight on a knee at her stomach. She cried out once again. His long dexterous fingers held her wrist in a bruising grip only to slam the offending hand in the dirt once, twice until the hilt slipped from her grasp.

“No!” She cried. “Please!” But she was already flipped to her front, face shoved into the dirt beneath them.

“Stupid girl,” Boggart snarled, pinning her arm to her back forcing her shoulder into an arduous position. “Had that with you the whole time, did you? Incompetent Roland couldn’t be bothered to search you over?”

“Fuck you!” Marianne spit behind her only to be met with grit at her lips once more.

“Such a filthy mouth on a pretty thing like you,” he leaned down to whisper, whisker gruff prickling her neck and shoulder. “Now I see why he liked you so much.”

He palms the blade, and with one hand binding both wrists forcefully tugs her to her feet. On clumsy footing, she stumbled to escape his grasp but he whistled low in warning.

“Be good,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t want to spill your own blood on that knife, would you?”

Exhausted from the chase, she hung her head low and trudged onward. She would either be killed here or back at the ship-at least this way she could see one last sunset.

She hadn’t recalled how far from the shore she had taken them as the walk back was much longer than anticipated. His hold on her never faltered nor were words exchanged. Just the Captain’s thickly accented mutterings in an unfamiliar language filled the silence their sand dampened steps wished for. Once they reached the shore, the crew’s work became more leisure than anything to sneak a nosy glimpse or two at the both of them as Marianne was shoved up the ramp. There she resumed her struggles of hurling swears hoping at least to hurt him with words rather than blades. Long, spindly fingers gripped her wrist much too tightly while her legs frantically rushed to catch up to his long strides as he drug her through the cavity of the ship. Once they reached her chambers, she was roughly hurled across the threshold, scraping her knees against the wooden floor. Clutching her wrist to her chest didn’t soothe the ache nor the fingertip shaped bruises forming there. In their first meeting, Marianne was spiteful. She wasn’t afraid of death then; she wasn’t afraid of pain. Now with tear-stained cheeks she watched the dreaded creature staring predatory in the doorway and understood they were one and the same.

“Now you’ll be a good little butterfly and think before you try flying away from me again," he scoffed, boxing her in.

“You can’t just keep me here!” She shouted from when she lay crumpled on the floor. “You aren’t taking me to Jones and you’re not keeping me for yourself!”

Boggart turned to meet her scowl, puzzled.

“I’m not your crew. I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m not going to be your prisoner anymore,” she sobbed. Watching her tremble from the watery words and Boggart softened his gaze in something that could’ve resembled guilt. “And don’t you dare touch me again or I’ll-”

He barks out a laugh.

“You’ll do what, girl? Kill me? With this?” He admires her prized dagger in the moonlight, catching the beautiful glint reflecting off the metal and curbing the reignited, unfettered rage in his eyes.

“Not anymore.”

He hums in thought.

“It's a pretty thing, really,” he growls watching the light refract through a quartz embedded in the hilt. Marianne helped Dagda pick out the stone when her cheeks were rose-tinted and her father was her world. “I’d like to think I should keep this; add it to my collection. Much too pretty to be wasted on silly noble girls.” The thought of losing the best treasure sent Marianne spiraling. She scrambled on her hands and knees to try and reclaim it, to try anything, but the blade was instead spun around to press its tip firmly at her throat. The Captain’s hand was steady. No sign of hesitancy shown in his eyes while she wept.

“None of that again. Escaping to the trees with stolen weaponry is so unbecoming of a lady,” he spat. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure because it was the last free breath you’ll ever draw again.” He withdrew the blade and puffed out an amused laugh to himself. “You know,” he whispered to her crumpled body on the ground and lifted her gaze by the hair, just as Roland had done once before. “You’re a pretty thing too. Maybe I'll keep you as well.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her anguished expression as he closed and locked the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once again.

___

It must’ve been hours. They were still docked, but the laughter and crackling of campfire separated her from the crew she’d grown to care for from where they ate together on the beach. The crew that saw her as an equal. Stupid, she thought. He’d made no move to hurt her until now. None of them did. And now, thanks to her impulse, she was right back where she started. Trapped. Alone. And now she’s lost her only piece of home to her captor. Her skinned knees had long since crusted over, but she was still so incredibly sore from running as she never had to do in life. While impulsive, it was her only chance at freedom after she had already been given so much. Who knows if she’ll ever be allowed to see the sun again? The setting of heavy boots and the unbolting of a lock held the answer for her. Uncharacteristically timid, Boggart crowded the doorway and she couldn’t help but flinch.

“I..erm,” he began awkwardly.

Marianne just stared.

“Brutus found some wild greens and uh, made a stew. Everyone seems to like it.” His words apparently have found him.

Blinking up at him, she held enough quiet for the both of them.

“It’s getting late and you still need to eat, so,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’m asking you to eat. With everyone.”

His hollow laugh that bounced off the trees echoes through her mind as she narrows her gaze.

“You want me to eat with you?”

“With everyone, yes.”

“I thought I was never to draw a free breath again,” she challenged, articulating each and every sound.

Pursing his lips, frustrated, he leaves her a sliver of space at his side to follow him out into the ship.

“And I thought you were able to be trusted to stay manageable in these past few weeks. Especially since you’ve been armed all this time, I half expected you to be as senseless and shortsighted much sooner.” Dramatically, he flourishes his hand to beckon her. “Now would you like to eat or not?”

Against every voice in her mind screaming in opposition, she stands to her feet.

The walk to the beach wasn’t as awkward as she expected. The silence was appreciated by both of them as he guided her to the fire using his own sheer size to lead her without any argument. A few questioning eyes looked up from their drinks, but lingered reticently. Those who chose not to acknowledge them, kept to their comradery and focused on whatever tall tale was being shared around this time. Soup was slurped and ale was spilled just like all other nights back on the ship, omitting the sand beneath their feet. A bowl was nudged into her lap along with her share of ale.

It was a rich looking broth smelling earthy and fulfilling. Having spent all her energy scurrying and weeping, her stomach gurgled urging her to drink. She of course indulged, all but groaning in satisfaction the second the spiced broth hit her tongue. The fats of chicken and walnut melded beautifully with the hearty greens and wild spices that accompanied the charred smoke of the roaring fire they all huddled around. The thick glue of a porridge that Roland fed her was lifetimes away from her now as she guzzled down the stew. Brutus smirked in that pompous way only an artist could while she damn near licked the bowl clean.

The crew continued on with their storytelling's and singings, with the occasional shanty Marianne hummed along to having spent her nights evading palace guards and slumming with her most favorite peasant friends in backwater pubs. Vaguely impressed, Boggart snuck glances at her pretending not to know the words. Eventually, a voice piped up insisting on the Captain’s turn with a song. Boos and cheers rang around the blaze.

“You know he don’t sing,” gruffed one of the men.

“He’s too stubborn,” Steph griped, elbowing Thad sitting to her right. Light jeering erupts, settling at the Captain clearing his throat.

Marianne almost mourned the boisterousness from moments before as a tension settled heavy as a fog over the camp while he sang. Eyes lidded and shoulders stiff, their Captain recited what must have been some ancient lullaby from a time before life made him so cruel as he sang as if each word were a prayer. The melody flowed from his lips like rich wine and enthralled, she managed to only capture the last few lines:

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips.

Solome here, here ’s were called and in the silence that followed his melody, the last of the stragglers retired for the evening bidding goodnight’s and farewell’s leaving just the Captain and his ward.

“Who was she?” She whispered, aching to fill the quiet. “The woman who made you feel this way.”

“Hmm? Oh,” he blushed. “No one.” Dowcast, he tossed a twig into the flames and watched it burn.

“You cannot be serious.” She tried not to smile. “You’re just always this morose?”

“Easy,” he teases. “Yes, I’m serious.” He retrieves a pipe from his breast pocket and lights it with a smoldering piece of kindling, taking a long drag as if the bitter herb could conjure the words for him. “It’s the only memory I have left of my mother before she passed. Sang it to me every night, nearly.”

“Oh,” she somberly replied, not used to being on the other side of this conversation. “It was beautiful, your singing.”

He huffs out smoke.

“Thank you. The crew always wants me to join in on their amusement, but I never oblige. This was my way of telling them all to fuck off.”

Marianne snorts into her tankard.

“Besides, that was a love that was never meant for me,” he continued. “She would dance with my Father in the candlelight after tucking me in. I used to sneak out and watch them every night. Always thought that was the closest thing we had to magic.”

Forcing the change in subject, he reached a hand into his coat to retrieve a wrapped bundle to pass into her lap unceremoniously. Wordless, she unwraps the fabric to reveal her blade back in her possession. Her eyes question him where her voice can’t find the strength to.

“You could’ve had me earlier, you know. Back in the forest?” He coughs, continuing. “If I was just a tad slower you’d have had it buried in my neck quicker ‘n you should’ve,” he laughed. “Quite embarrassing. Glad I had the rest wait for us back at the beach; no doubt you’d be long gone by now.” Not able to bring his own eyes to meet hers, he settles for mouthing at the wooden lip.

“I don’t…” Marianne shook her head at both his admission and gesture as neither made any remote sense to her.

“You’re quite confident with it; from what I’ve seen anyway.” He takes the blade from where it lay untouched in her lap to manipulate the hilt in his hands. “It’s tarnished, but sharp. It’s taken care of, clearly.”

She nods an affirmative. Her swordsmith back home got fed up with her asking to have it sharpened so often that he finally just taught her how to do it herself. She couldn’t ask anyone else for help anyway. Sharpening her dagger became a meditation, but it was also a matter of pride.

“Listen, girl,” his voice came once again much more stern. “There was no sign of you being on that ship with him. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.”

“How were they supposed to happen then?”

“That’s complicated.”

Marianne scoffs. “That’s a word that keeps getting tossed around and I’m sick of hearing it. Everyone around here seems to know something I don’t.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Well I’m tired of it,” her voice wavers, frustration evident. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to for hell, however long I’ve been here. I’ve washed your damned laundry, scrubbed your damned deck. I think I finally deserve an answer.”

Boggart sighs in indignation. “Aye. ‘Suppose you do.”

He takes a long drag of his pipe, stalling.

“There’s something much bigger than your little honeymoon going on here. It’s been in the works for some time now and,” he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in it all.”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

“I can’t. Wish I could.”

“Why not?”

“‘Fraid I can’t say.” His smile never reaches his eyes.

Marianne thinks for a beat.

“Then why did you kill Roland but not me? If I’ve already stumbled into too much, then why keep another mouth to feed on board?”

Boggart chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“Because he’s wronged me and you haven’t.”

“Wronged you how?”

Another drag.

“Let’s just say I’ve been trespassed and invaded. And I’m not amused.”

Marianne grins, taking her blade back from him.

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior then.”

“I don’t know if the chickens’ll believe you, but,” Boggart sucks his teeth. “About that. Don’t run again.”

She peers up, puzzled.

“You know too much already whether you believe it or not. And whether you like it or not, you must stay until everything is finished. There’s far too much I’ve gambled to let you ruin it.”

“And why should I trust you? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“Stubborn just like her father,” he spits under his breath.

“You don’t know my father, you filthy-”

“Watch yourself,” he warns. “And do not mistake this kindness for weakness, I knew your father very well,” He sighs. “A little too well.”

“My father is a worm, but he’d never stoop to associate with pirates.”

“Give me some credit please, I wasn’t as cruel then.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“‘M afraid that’s a tale for another time.”

He glances at her finally, grateful for her milding temper.

“Look,” he sighs. “I have no reason to bring any harm to you. But if you run like that again, you’ll be forcing my hand, do you understand?”

Fully heeding this warning, she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I won’t run again.”

He nods in kind, accepting her answer and tosses another log on the fire.

“Good.”

The flames crackle in her brief flash of consideration.

“Will I ever see my family again?” She questions, hoping.

Miraculously, he nods.

“You have my word. I’ll take you to them myself.”

“Good,” she echoes.

Together they finish the night in silence watching the flames lick at sandy logs and flitting smoke dance up, up, up into the sky until it cannot be witnessed by any living thing any longer.

Much later into the night, so much so that it could be considered morning, Lord Dagda is awoken to urgent pounding on his chamber door and only then did he notice the frantic shouting in the harbor below. They all seemed to be swarming, pointing at something in the water. Squinting in the dim light, Dagda could make out the form of long extinguished remains of a ship washing aground in these dark hours. Remains that should not have lasted this long without sinking into the depths. This was something that had seen utter horror and left only tattered flags and charred masts as a cautionary tale. He stumbled out of bed to hurriedly shrug on his robe and join the clamoring as they all gawked and rushed toward what was left of a familiar Naval ship teetering into the harbor.

a/n lol how'd you like that little shit tossed in at the end >:) also the poem featured in this chapter (because I was too lazy to write one myself) is Ode on Melancholy by John Keats stay tuned for me to put these semi-beloved children's movie characters through the absolute RINGER maybe they'll kiss who knows??

as always: thank you for reading, cuties.

#sauces' pirate au #the wanting comes in waves #butterfly bog #marianne x bog #strange magic (2015)#bog x marianne

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kidcataldo · 13 days

Text

Strange Magic sequel idea/concept that will never happen (bc the original movie didn’t do so hot and also i do not work in hollywood)

small warning, this is like the entire summary written out

The Bog King and Marianne marry and combine their two kingdoms. Goblins and Fairies now live together, but there’s still a lot of tension between them. The only thing preventing them from clashing is their loyalty to their respected ruler.

This conflict mostly gets resolved with the birth of Bog and Marianne’s first child. Lets call the kid, Onyx (bc he needs a name). Onyx is beloved by both goblins and fairies alike, who see him as their true uniter and a bridge between their two very different worlds. He helps them to see themselves as equals and learn to coexist as one kingdom.

Meanwhile, Roland looks into a mirror and is freed from the love potion spell (his one true love is himself). After coming out of the daze and learning what’s become of the fairy kingdom, he quickly devises a plan to break up the now combined kingdoms.

This, of course, involves kidnapping the beloved prince who unites them. He plans it at the little prince’s first birthday party. Chaos ensues. Something goes awry and the “failed” kidnap results in the kingdom all thinking the prince is now dead. This assumption is amplified with the small wings of the prince being found at the scene of the crime (a protagonist with some type of disability is interesting imo, plus it’s important to the plot). The thought is that some larger creature ate him (and maybe that is how both he and Roland get their injuries).

Roland doesn’t get caught and isn’t the presumed kidnapper. In fact, he’s hurt badly in the confrontation, leading him to flee now heavily scarred, turned “ugly,” not knowing and not caring about what happened to the prince.

The kingdom turns on each other: the goblins think the fairies did it, claiming they can’t stand having a half-goblin heir; the fairies say the goblins did it, thinking they might have gone back to their “savage” ways.

Soon after, it is shown that their son is not in fact dead but rather “lost.”

His disappearance is easily explained with him falling through the cracks between the two kingdoms, literally. Somewhere along the border there is a deep crack that is off limits/folklore to goblins and fairies. This is where the gnome creatures live.

Neither of the kingdoms know this, because the creatures remain hidden, anonymous. Like with the goblins and fairies, everything beyond the darkness is off limits/folklore to them. But they provide “offerings” to goblins and fairies, which is something like coal for fuel and diamond for currency (things that affect their livelihood/economy, but the gnomes do it as a way to appease the “gods” who are really just goblins and fairies). They view Onyx’s abrupt arrival as a task from the gods to raise him as one of their own and learn the ways of the gnome people.

Flash forward to present day:

The kingdoms are more divided than ever. Marianne closes off on everyone and everything, leaving an equally grief-stricken Bog to rule basically both kingdoms alone (with the fairy kingdom not really liking him/disobeying his orders because, in their eyes, he’s not their leader).

Roland remains hidden in the shadows, too fearful of the way he looks to enjoy the kingdoms being divided again. His self-hatred turns to hatred toward others and he vows revenge, but doesn’t know where to start.

Meanwhile,

Onyx is a rambunctious kid with a skill for climbing steep things, such as the walls leading up to the outside world. He works with the gnomes to help mine coal and things, but is often bored of the work mentality. The constant “go! go! go!” is too much and goblins and fairies unintentionally pressure them to keep moving (again, without them knowing the gnomes are down there).

But he’s seen as the gnomes’ protector. And when one gnome nearly falls to his death after lurking too close to the edge, it’s Onyx who takes the lead and rallies all of the other gnomes to work together and save him.

He’s not allowed to climb too far up the wall (both because of the risk of falling and because the outside people are presumed dangerous), but his curiosity gets the better of him one day and he climbs to the very top, only to witness creatures who look just like him. He sees creatures flying and understands the scars on his back were once wings.

Curiosity gets the better of him and he wanders into a nearby village where he sees the things the gnomes work hard to mine being used for their pleasure. A rage fuels him at the very sight. It is in every way an injustice.

Roland spots the lost prince during his trip to the village and plans out his revenge on him, coming to the conclusion everything bad that’s happened to him started with his unsuccessful plot to kidnap him. He follows him. (He’s a drastically different, more evil guy than he was in the original movie here: the point of no return kind of different.)

Onyx returns to the gnome creatures quickly to express his anger: how it’s all a lie and how the creatures above live leisurely while they’re stuck down under working for them in the mines.

The gnomes begin an uprise with the encouragement from the lost prince. They take control of the elf village he visited simply by luck (catching everyone off guard at a party), but understand anything beyond that they will be easily defeated. Onyx, a warrior at heart but with little battle experience, is still encouraging them to try.

The Bog King hears word of this mysterious uprising and quickly flies out there to handle it. A fight ensues with Bog (and his army) easily outnumbering the gnomes. But he freezes at the sight of the one gnome out of place—his son, instantly recognizing the face. Onyx, recognizing Bog only as the leader of the tyrants enslaving the gnomes, throws a sharp object at his wings while he’s halted. And Bog comes tumbling down, his wings severely damaged. The gnomes capture him and drag him down into the crack to hold him hostage.

While down there, Bog is shown the hardships that the gnome people face and agrees something must be done about it.

Later, he and Onyx have a moment where he reveals that he is his father (after he’s absolutely certain this boy is in fact his lost, presumed dead son). His son is resistant to accept the news, and even more resistant of the fact that Bog wants to now take him away from the gnomes and live with the creatures above. He pulls away from his father’s touch, claiming he belongs down here with the gnomes.

Marianne, after learning of her husband’s capture, awakens from her fog and flies up with a fury to rescue him.

By then, Bog is no longer a prisoner and climbing (due to his wings being damaged) with some gnomes up the wall to return to the outside and settle this dispute once and for all. Onyx, despite Bog’s encouragement, does not go up with him.

Later, Onyx has a change of heart (probably after a gnome elder talks with him about it) and he begins his climb to catch up with them. But Roland gets to him first and kidnaps him (again).

Bog hears his panicked call and quickly moves into action to rescue him. Marianne, who hears it too in the middle of kicking gnome butt in the village, moves toward the chaos. They all find themselves near the edge of the crack with Roland threatening to drop the wingless prince. Finally, it’s revealed he is the one who did it all those years ago.

And Roland gives some long speech about never meaning any true harm, that it just all got out of hand, and that he just wanted true love but can’t now because of the way he looks. He holds Onyx’s arm as he speaks, his grip slowly loosening with the threat of dropping him in. Bog, in a panic, is trying to convince him to move away from the edge, that Onyx is innocent in all this. But Roland refuses to listen.

Marianne, witnessing all of this somewhere nearby, moves into action. She hits Roland, who loses his grip on Onyx. Bog flies with damaged wings to catch him before he falls into the darkness.

A fight ensues between Roland and the king and queen. Fairies and goblins alike witness this, their leaders’ first fight together in years. Somehow Roland’s wings get damaged, leading him to hang off the edge with no way of getting himself up. His hands are slipping and he’s pleading for the king and queen to show him mercy. Both Bog and Marianne are unwilling to help, wanting him to fall to his death; he was the cause of all their pain, after all.

Onyx quickly moves into action, rallying the gnomes to work together and save him (just like at the start), much to everyone’s surprise. They’re able to lift him to safety. Roland is crying out his gratitude as Stuff and Thang apprehend him with some fairytale version of handcuffs. Everyone looks to Bog for his sentencing, thinking execution is what he’ll go for. He approaches the fairy with gritted teeth. He wants to attack him, but holds back: “My son deems ya worthy of livin’, so you’ll rot in my dungeon fer the rest of yer days.” Or something like that, idk.

The story concludes at yet another birthday party where the gnomes coexist now with the fairies and goblins, learning how to stop worshipping them as these otherworldly beings. Maybe Griselda takes advantage of their innocence and puts them to work, making them be her chair and hold her drink for her while she sips it. And Dawn has to interfere by scolding her, releasing the gnomes from duty. Bog and Marianne have a heartfelt moment alone and then with their son. And also maybe it’s shown that in the dungeon Roland finds love/friendship somehow with the imp (who, of course, is in prison too), again idk.

The kingdom is once again at peace. The story ends.

—

Anyway, that’s my idea. It’s very different from the enemies to lovers plot in the first movie, but i still think it’s a cool/interesting idea to explore. Too busy with real life to write this fanfic out fully, so you get this instead.

#strange magic #butterfly bog #Marianne #the bog king #marianne x bog #story concept #fanfiction #sometimes i like to come up with sequels to things #sorry I’m neurodivergent and this is how i ‘like’ media

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