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starlit-hopes-and-dreams · 8 months

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Chapter 19 ~ Hope is a dangerous thing

Hidden Depths

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Genre: Fantasy whump

CW: everyone is just *full* of self-blame, are we happy? Huh? So uh, blood, impalement–technically if you’re shot with an arrow you get impaled, right? Right. Also, *drumroll* lots of angst *gasp* and a healthy dose of denial. And I guess a tiny bit of minor whump, bc Orla, but it’s next to nothing, I swear. Unless you count the angst, cuz then we're all screwed 😂

WC: 2735

In which I really wanted some whump. I'm sorry but not really XD

AN: Ch 19 AKA the bitch chapter. I don't think I'll ever be completely happy with it so here it is. Sorry it took two months 😅

Orla

A grand adventure.

That’s how Orla had imagined the idea of leaving the city, traveling north until they found a quaint little village or maybe even a town to settle in.

She’d pictured it in her mind, aided by the sketched illustrations in some of the books she’d read in the palace’s library. A small village, each house a cozy cottage with a thatched roof, filled with kind people: families, grandparents, children, a whole community, one who would welcome them in with open arms. Resh could take up their father’s business or maybe even return to carpentry, although she wasn’t certain he’d apprenticed long enough.

A wave of longing for a life long gone washed over her, leaving behind slimy strands of loss and guilt. She pushed them away. Carr and her brother had those emotions covered in spades.

She glanced up from her book at her brother. The dark circles under his eyes were deepening, looking like bruises that worsened with each day that passed. Carr had noticed them as well and clearly had as much clue about how to deal with her brother’s sleepless nights as she did.

The guilt resurged; Carr thought she was at fault for what happened to Resh, but Orla knew better. Her brother had sold himself to the Crown for her, because she’d been ill. The words on the page before her blurred, so she looked out the carriage’s window instead, distracting herself with the view.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves adorning the great trees of the Seleni Wood, leaves that were as big as her head. She’d found one on the ground and tested that claim, then rolled it up and stuck it in her bag to study closer later, fascinated with the white veins that contrasted sharply with the dark green of the rest of the leaf. Sturdy too, that leaf. The locals used them to wrap food they intended to smoke.

Orla liked the Wood. The shade provided some relief from the oppressive warmth they’d found in the north, warmth that didn’t seem near to tapering off even though it was late summer.

She would’ve liked to live here, but none of the towns or villages west of the Wood had been suitable. The people had either been too insular or downright hostile, so they were heading back east. Weeks of travel had dampened Orla’s initial excitement as much as her brother’s declining state. Nothing was as she had imagined, and she had an active imagination.

Like now. She had to be imagining all those eyes glinting out of the undergrowth as they passed by on what felt like increasingly unstable ground. It was bad enough that she closed her book and replaced it in her bag, right in time for the carriage to lurch to the side, slamming her into the wall with a squeak of surprise.

“The fuck!” Carr shouted.

Orla was impressed at how quickly Carr roused from her nap to full awareness, anchoring herself before she could be tossed from the bench seat. The carriage picked up speed, and the wood creaked, protesting the increased pace. Resh and Carr exchanged a loaded glance.

“What is it?” Orla asked, her voice cracking as the carriage pitched again.

Resh caught her arm before she could hit the wall a second time–Orla was thankful, her shoulder already throbbing from her previous impact. He said something to her, but she wasn’t very good at lipreading, despite Carr’s efforts–something with a b, and the rest was lost; she shook her head, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirts.

He shoved himself in the corner, one arm on each wall, one foot on the ground with the other on the bench. Then he moved, pointing to her. Oh. Brace yourself, maybe? Orla followed her brother’s example, clenching her teeth to keep from biting her tongue when the carriage bounced roughly again.

Sometime during that demonstration, Carr had put her boots back on and opened the sliding door to the front.

“We bein chased?” Carr asked the driver.

The rest of the conversation faded to the background as Orla caught a glimpse of a bearded man on horseback through the opposite window, holding a bow. Rangers carried bows, Orla knew. Maybe this one needed their help with something? The carriage veered sharply then, and Resh lunged across the seats to stabilize Carr.

The bearded man returned, slightly behind and to their left, but visible to Orla nonetheless. He smiled when he caught Orla’s gaze, and her eyes widened. She’d never seen a smile that looked less like one than his. A chill skittered down her spine, worsening when he pulled an arrow from what looked like out of nowhere and nocked it.

She felt frozen, her muscles locked in place. Her throat closed up, refusing to let more than the barest whisper of air through, nowhere near the scream she wanted to loose. The arrow flew through the window, embedding in the wall right next to where her brother was holding Carr steady. Orla watched as a crimson stain spread on her brother’s upper arm.

He grimaced, but the wound didn’t stop him from grabbing her and Carr and shoving them to the floor of the carriage. Orla curled into a ball, shivering. Why was this man chasing them? Was there only one, or were there others? The eyes she’d seen in the brush returned to haunt her with possibilities.

“Damnit, Resh, I can help,” Carr snarled, popping back up to rummage through the compartment under her seat.

But Resh spun, his hands going through one of the short, succinct signs Carr had taught them, one Orla recognized as ‘hold’.

The sign wasn’t really necessary, though, not with her and Carr both staring at the purple glow overtaking Resh’s brown eyes.

Orla gasped; it was the first time she’d seen him use his magic since he’d come back. She’d missed it. Missed the bond she’d shared with her brother because of it.

When she was little more than a toddler, she’d been more fascinated by the pretty purple light than the blocks Resh would float in the air for her entertainment. It was their secret, he would tell her as he built impossibly high towers for her to knock down.

It was their secret, he’d whisper, when he’d return with some fruit or bread at the end of a miserable, rainy day spent cowering under an alcove, hoping no one would kick them out for loitering.

Their secret, when he’d brush what remained of her hair out of her face, allowing just a hint of purple to shine in his eyes because he knew she loved it so.

Later, when the queen had deemed her well enough to resume her schooling, she’d learned more about magic. About how dangerous it had been to be a mage in Elysia. How it was still dangerous, the population’s opinion on magic widely divided.

This must be bad if it wasn’t their secret anymore.

“Orla.”

A hand patted her cheek with stinging force, just short of a slap. She blinked, feeling confused until the carriage tilted crazily again. Her arms shot out, bracing against the seats.

“You can’t freeze up, Orla,” Carr said, grabbing her hand and pressing a dagger into it.

The leather-wrapped handle felt foreign in her hand. It felt wrong, and she wanted to drop it. The look Carr leveled at her changed her mind, her fingers tightening around the hilt almost on their own.

“If anyone comes near you, stick that in them, hard, as hard as you can, you hear? Then you run. Run as if your life depends on it.”

“Who…” Orla’s mouth was far too dry. She watched, wide-eyed, as Carr pulled dagger after dagger out of the compartment, strapping them on. She always had the ones in her thigh sheaths, but now there were two hidden beneath her boots, two strapped to her wrists, one–Orla blinked. Where had that one gone? Or that other…

“Why do you have so many knives?” she asked, feeling her eyes getting wider and wider with each weapon Carr withdrew.

Orla glanced around, wondering if her brother knew about all this, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there he wasn’t there! Her breathing sped up, wondering if he’d been shot again, but then her eyes snagged on the opening to the front of the carriage. Had he climbed through that? It didn’t look nearly big enough…

“It’s gonna be alright,” Carr said, strapping something around Orla’s waist before taking the dagger she’d given her back.

An ominous creak sounded as the carriage bounced extra hard–followed by a nasty-sounding crack. The carriage listed heavily to the side, and Orla bit back a scream, held by the steadiness in Carr’s eyes even though her heart pounded. Her hand felt empty, and she suddenly wished to have the dagger back, craved its security even though she had no idea how to use it.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Carr said again, sliding the blade into the sheath at Orla’s hip.

Orla sucked in a breath, feeling a little better with the weight at her side. She stared at Carr, repeating her words in her head, over and over. It’s gonna be alright It’s gonna be alright It’s gonna–

The glow of Resh’s magic grew brighter, stronger, illuminating the entire cabin in lavender. Thank gods, he really was still there. It’s gonna be alright. Her brother would protect them. Whatever was happening, if the carriage crashed, his power would keep them safe. It’s gonna be alright.

Carr turned to look at him, and Orla found herself mimicking her motions, relieved to see Resh’s face peering into the cabin. It’s gonna…

Someone screamed as an arrowhead broke through Resh’s shoulder, jutting out from under his collarbone in a flash of crimson and silver.

No! Nononono… a high-pitched whine filled the cabin as her brother’s body sagged against the opening, blood staining his torn tunic. It was supposed to be alright! It still could be, right? Right?

But the purple light flickered, and the carriage lurched again, the motion flinging Orla back against the wall. It kept tilting until it seemed she was weightless, the world beyond the window a smear of green and brown. Carr reached for her, her body floating within the remnants of Resh’s fading magic.

This is not alright, Orla wailed in her mind as she careened past Carr but somehow stopped short of the opposite wall. Fingers grasped Orla’s flailing hands when she flew back in the other direction–Carr, dragging her closer, her mouth moving. She was trying to speak, but Orla couldn’t hear her through the terrible noises the carriage was making. Through the terrible noises she was making.

Carr’s arms curled around her shoulders, hugging her tight right before…

Purple light shattered.

Wood shattered.

Orla’s world shattered.

~~~

Carr

Carr stifled her groan as she came to, unsure of her surroundings or why her body ached so bad.

The floor felt soft beneath her, the scent of crushed grass and moist earth filling her nostrils.

Not the floor then. The ground. She was outside?

Her eyes snapped open. Outside. Bandits, chasing them. She raised a hand to her head, met a sticky patch of half-dried blood above her eyebrow. Well, that explained why that part of her hurt.

Wherever she was, it was dark. She listened, but aside from the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, everything was quiet. Unnaturally so. The bandits–ah, right. The carriage–it had crashed, flinging her and Orla around like ragdolls.

Flashes of memory assailed her. Resh’s magic, surrounding them, cushioning them from the worst of the damage. The cabin splintering apart, Resh’s magic fracturing, Carr’s arms surrounding the small, frail form of Resh’s sister.

Desperate to shield her when they were flung from the cabin, Carr had called earth, and it had answered. The impact had still been enough to knock her out, though. She hoped Orla had survived.

And Resh–his face as that arrow went through his shoulder. How had he managed the strength to shield them after that? Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She would make no assumptions. Having been through this once already, Carr told herself she could do it again. She’d find him alive again. She would.

Clenching her jaw, Carr dug her fingers into the ground and stared up at the weave of greenery above her that she could just make out. Vines. She’d cocooned herself in vines.

She waited a few minutes, listening. Were the bandits still around? But she heard nothing except the sound of the wildlife slowly picking up its natural rhythm again. Good enough. The light still streaming through the forest’s canopy stabbed into her eyes as she pulled the vines back.

Her head throbbed, but the ache wasn’t too bad. She lay still for a few moments anyway, letting her eyes adjust. The light was weak and patchy but not too much different from before, which meant she hadn’t been out for long. Hopefully.

Okay, enough with the waiting. Carr pushed herself up to find she was laying in a small patch of undergrowth, and… oh, thank fuck. Orla was splayed out next to her; if Carr had reached out inside her cocoon, she probably could’ve touched her.

The girl looked pale, too pale. Carr held her breath, waiting… there! Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Thank the gods.

“Orla?” she whispered, reaching out to touch the girl’s cheek.

Her eyes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t wake. Fuck. Carr supposed she could leave the girl here; she’d be safe within the vines, provided she didn’t make too much noise, but what if Orla woke and was scared?

Carr didn’t have an answer for that, so she spent a few more minutes trying to rouse her. Just as she was about to give up, Orla whimpered.

“Orla?” Carr said, feeling a little desperate at this point. “C’mon, kid, I need you to wake up.”

“Lemme sleep,” Orla mumbled, swatting her away.

“No can do. We gotta move. Can you sit up for me? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t… think so? But my brain feels scrambled,” Orla complained, finally cracking open her eyes. “What… where? Ugh, we crashed?” The girl winced as she sat up, her breath coming too fast. “Resh!”

Carr peered at her pupils, relieved to find them an equal size. “Yeah, we crashed. Can you walk? We need to find him.”

Now that Resh’s sister was awake, Carr burned with the need to find him, make sure he was still alive and stayed that way. Hopefully, the bandits had raided the remains of their carriage and left him lying in a ditch somewhere. Hopefully, one of the horses could be found. Hopefully, the sun wouldn’t set for a few hours yet.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

Orla was a little unsteady but able to walk. Thank fuck. Carr guided her, sticking to the underbrush for cover as she searched for the crash site. It didn’t take long to find; she followed a trail of splintered wood until she found the twisted, shattered mess of wood and metal at the bottom of a hill.

She stopped, looking up at the bank, then over her shoulder where she and Orla had been thrown. Without Resh, without her using earth at the last moment, they would have died, Carr had no doubt. A sudden stab of fear pierced her chest; had Resh saved any of his magic for himself?

“Oh gods,” Orla whispered behind her.

Resh had shown Carr, over and over, that he didn’t give a shit about himself as long she was safe. Add his sister into the equation…

“We need t’ find Resh. Now,” Carr said, her voice harsh.

Orla started crying. “How could he survive that?”

“He’s alive,” Carr said. “Has t’ be.”

She sent Orla to search the immediate area around the carriage, then started climbing the hill, which was steep enough that she was forced to use elemental earth to aid her. Maybe he’d jumped before the carriage tumbled down. Maybe that’s why his magic had broken. He’d be up there, hurt, sure, but alive, waiting for help to come.

She wouldn’t accept any other possibility, not until she was presented with his cold, lifeless body, and maybe not even then.

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[ID: The banner is a blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths are written in white above the eyes. Any other images are purely decorative lines. end ID]

#hidden depths #whump #whump writing #original writing #original characters #fantasy whump #warnings above the cut #impalement tw #kind of #angst #minor whump #also kind of

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liloinkoink · 1 year

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cherri got an ask abt the martyn ghost ship au, so i agreed to post a bit of it. here's smth vaguely before the plot, abt... hm, would it be cliche to say an anglerfish?

They hear his voice long before they see him.

“Please help me! Somebody, please! I-I need help, please, I need help!” His voice sounds ragged, like he’s been calling for hours, and he’s running out of time to keep begging.

The man stands on the bow of a ship speared through on a tall rock, waving a piece of a torn sail. His movements aren’t particularly quick or large, like he’s running out of energy, though they pick up as he notices the Ochanoma approach. He jumps halfway onto the railing, waving his flag and screaming, “Help me! Please help me!”

They stop. Of course they stop! The man on deck nearly weeps with relief as the Ochanoma pulls up beside his ship, dropping his sail and running to the bannister.

“Oh, thank the gods, I-I thought I was going to die out here!” he says, “Please, my ship ran aground in a storm, I-I-I lost all of my crew, th-there’s nothing, I don’t have any food left, I-I can't sail, my-my ship, it's ripped open, I’m going to die out here!”

“You’re not going to die here,” Rosa says, raising her hands, placating the hysterical stranger as best she can, “You’ll be fine, you can come with us. Can you make your way onto this ship?”

“Thank you, thank you so much, I’m starving,” the man says. He climbs onto the Ochanoma with no issue, pulling himself up and over the taller ship's railing. He stumbles over to Rosa, grabbing onto her arms with both hands, pushing into her space. His eyes are wide and wild, and his palms are freezing cold. “I- We weren’t without money. If you want something to— I can repay you. Below— below deck, there’s a— anything you find down there, you can have, just please get me out of here.”

“I— thank you,” Rosa says. She looks over her shoulder, stepping back and away from the man’s grip. He lets her go, though he sways slightly on his feet, just a little unstable.

“No, thank you. You’ve really saved me. I thought I was going to starve,” he says. There’s something strange in his voice, some sharp edge to the words, to the relieved smile that he’s trying to give her. There’s an air to him Rosa finds horribly unsettling, but she doesn’t know how to place it.

It must be trauma, she thinks. He’s just shaken. With some food and some rest, he’ll be fine.

Still, Rosa’s hand hovers at her waist, above the hilt of her sword.

“Ricky, take a crew and check out his ship,” Rosa orders, taking another step back toward her first mate, “See what you can find that’s valuable and take it. Especially if there’s food.”

“On it!” Ricky says. He waves about half of their crew over, and one by one, they board the rotten ship of the strange man.

Something makes Rosa keep watching as they begin to disappear below deck of the other ship, though her eyes drift from Ricky to the man.

He’s covering the bottom half of his face with his hands, though Rosa isn’t sure why.

Shock, she reminds herself. It must be shock. She doesn't know what else it could be.

“Daisy, take… take him below deck,” Rosa says. Something about him seems… dangerous, not right. She wants him out of the way, behind a door they can lock. “Find him somewhere to rest. Tell the cook we need a quick meal for him.”

“On it!” she says. She walks up to the man’s side, offering an arm for him to lean on. When he pulls his hands away from his face to take it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

Somewhere in the heart of the sinking ship, someone screams.

“Thank you,” the man says, grabbing Daisy’s arm. His fingers are white against her skin, and he leans down, smiling into her ear. “I’ve been so hungry.”

Daisy rips her arm away, jerking back, but the man doesn’t need her support. He reaches for his waistband at the same time Rosa’s hand closes around her sword, but the thing he pulls out isn’t a weapon; The man brandishes a stick.

It’s… a board, maybe. Probably a railing. The end he holds it at is jagged, and the end he holds out has been sharpened to a point. He thrusts it at Daisy, grinning somehow wider.

“What are you?!” Daisy yells, “What did you do to them?!”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” he says. His stance is stable, now. His shoulders are relaxed, all the fear and mania melting away into nothing. His knees, though, are bent, ready to lunge. “I’m just the lure.”

Rosa doesn’t wait. She yanks her weapon free, charging the man at full speed. He laughs as she approaches, and the sound is surprisingly free of cruelty.

“Ohh, you’re fast!” He says. He takes a few steps back as she swings, beating her blade aside with the railing.

“What did you do to my crew?!” she demands, “Give them back!”

“You’re not a good listener, though,” he says, “I just said—”

“I don’t care whether it was you or something else,” Rosa snarls, “Give them back.”

“I didn’t take them,” he says, “But I don’t think you’ll want to see them like this.”

“What. Did. You. Do?!” Rosa screams. Her next swing is harder, wider, and the man steps out of it easily, leaving Rosa stumbling. He steps into her space before she can recover, grabbing her wrist and shoving it down, bringing her blade to brush the board below.

“If you insist on asking, why don’t you go get them?” he smiles, “After all, you can’t stay here. Your ship isn’t very safe.”

“What?” Rosa asks. The man smiles, then jams the railing into the deck.

Like ice on a frozen pond, the Ochanoma shatters.

“I wouldn’t want to be here if I were you, Captain,” he says, voice pleasant, “It’s not safe. But lucky for you, my ship is right here.”

“I’ll kill you,” Rosa snaps. The grip on her arm suddenly turns bruising, harsh fingers closing on the bones of her wrist and forcing her hand open. Rosa’s sword clatters against the deck.

“Will you?” he asks, and as Rosa stares into his endlessly cheerful smile, she realizes for the first time she can see his ship through his teeth.

“What are you,” Rosa says.

“You asked me that already,” he replies, “A lure. Can’t you tell by my dashing good looks?”

“Rosa! Duck!” comes Daisy’s voice behind her. Rosa doesn’t think twice, and over Rosa’s head sails the tip of Rosa’s own dropped sword, passing through the neck of the strange man.

It does nothing. His neck flickers, wisps of him swirling away like smoke. He blinks, looking down at the metal, only a little bored.

“Ohoho, man,” he laughs, almost impressed, “When did you pick that up?”

The lure turns around, the spiraling strands of his translucent neck slipping back into place. He raises the railing, walking over to Daisy with the point aimed between her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, and he lunges, driving the point at her face. Her eyes widen, but Daisy was never much of a fighter—she doesn’t think to dodge.

The point hits Daisy in the neck, driving through her throat. It doesn’t stay, though—or, no. The point stays exactly where it is, newly-red and dripping with blood. It’s Daisy that moves, her body flying backward far beyond where she should go. Daisy slams into the bow of the ship with a loud crack, then drops into the water.

“Oops, missed the deck,” the lure says, slinging the railing over his shoulder. Blood drips from the point and through his arm, though he doesn’t seem to notice it splattering on the deck at his feet.

“You fucking killed her!” Rosa screams.

“And the other guys, too, yeah,” he agrees idly, “I don’t get a lot to eat, man, I’ve got to take what I can get.”

“I’ll kill you. I don’t fucking care what you are, I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll tear you apart!” Rose screams. She grabs her sword off the ground, and the lure makes no move to stop her. His disinterest offends her more than anything else, the blasé way he moves across her deck. She’ll tear that bored look off his face with her fucking teeth if she has to, but killing her crew will be the last thing the piece of shit ever does.

“C’mon, you have to know that won’t work,” he says. Rather than respond, Rosa screams, charging him again with another large slash. The lure takes a few steps back, defending himself only with distance, the railing still over his shoulder.

“I don’t think all of them are dead, if you’d like to check,” he says, “Not yet, anyway. You’ve still got, hm, four? Ah. No, three, sorry.”

“Fuck you!” Rosa yells.

“Not without at least taking me to dinner,” the lure says. He takes the railing off his shoulder, sidestepping another hit, and slams it against his own palm, as if something brilliant has just occurred to him. He grins, again without malice. “Actually, I guess you have.”

Rosa doesn’t respond, swinging her blade at the lure’s smiling face. He ducks, the railing coming loose from his palm and pointing vaguely in her direction. He’s still not really aiming, though. Not taking her seriously.

“Fucking fight me, you asshole!” Rosa yells. The lure takes another few steps back, but as Rosa follows him, her foot slams through a break in the deck. The lure watches as the wood shreds her leg, tilting his head as she shrieks in pain.

“Ouch,” he says, “Not really safe here, huh? What are you going to do about the rest of your crew?”

Rosa looks out, to the dozen or so crew members left. They’re non-combatants, mostly, the cook and the navigator and the doctor. They glance between her half-fallen form and the lure above her, uncertain and shaken.

“Why are you all standing there?!” Rosa yells, “Find a lifeboat!”

“But you’re—”

“Fine.” Rosa grits out, “Get to a lifeboat. Now. That is an order.”

The lure watches with a mild, polite interest as the crew clamors to the Ochanoma’s lifeboat, his hands folded as he leans against his railing, point driven down into the deck.

“Wow, they all fit on one little boat?” he asks, “Hm, are they gonna be able to get out? That boat’s on the side with my ship.”

“They’re probably getting Daisy,” Rosa says, teeth gritted. She shifts, starting the process of removing her bloody leg from the deck. The lure hums.

“She isn’t in the water anymore,” the lure says. The lifeboat splashes as it drops the last few feet into the water, and Rosa’s eyes narrow.

“What does that mean?” Rosa asks.

“Means you sent your crew to die, Captain.”

The wood of the rotten ship creaks, planks and nails screaming with sudden strain. The bow splits down the side, dozens of boards splintering apart in rows of jagged edges. They sort of follow the lines of the planks, but only as much as suits them—plenty more simply shatter, scraps of serrated edges sticking out into the sea. Most of the planks keep their nails, bent and rusted, sticking out in whatever direction their surely-drunk shipwrights thought was straight.

Rope and seaweed swing out from the inside, as if buffeted by an intense wind. The anchor rockets out and whams into the Ochanoma’s side, shattering another part of the deck and raining splinters down on the lifeboat below.

“Hey, it’s not all bad. You should be proud of yourselves! Not many crews require us to pull out all the stops.”

“No!” Rosa screams. She yanks her leg out of the deck at once, skin coming off her thigh in ribbons. A cavity opens in the side of the rotten ship, sucking in water that rushes to fill the void. Rosa doesn’t see the lifeboat as it's ripped inside, but she hears it—a dozen of her friends, screaming in fear, until the blackness of the ship’s maw swallows them whole.

“Mm,” the lure sighs, barely audible over the creaking of the ship. The wood stitches itself back together like nothing, the ropes falling flat against the ship’s side. “None of your original guys are alive. Thought you’d want to know. All the new ones are still— Ah, no, one’s just gone. Died of fright, I think? No, I lied, he fainted and fell, hit his head on an exposed nail. It’s an old ship, y’know—pretty dangerous down there.”

“I’ll kill you,” Rosa says again, absolutely seething. She turns toward the lure on a bleeding, shaking leg, eyes molten steel. “I’ll fucking destroy you for this.”

“Captain,” the lure says, “You can’t kill me.”

“Yes, I can.” she stalks forward. Her steps are slow, unstable, and she stumbles as she walks. The lure doesn’t move back, though he does raise the railing, pointing it between her eyes.

“No, you can’t,” the lure says, “I can’t die.”

“Everything can die,” she says. Her leg radiates pain, but she can barely feel it. She doesn’t feel anything at all, really, nothing except burning, fiery grief, “You will die.”

“No, you’re not getting it,” he says. Rosa is just a pace and a half in front of him now, raising her sword high above her head. Her eyes burn, red-rimmed, absolutely furious.

“Fuck you.” Rose lunges, slamming her weapon down, but it’s not enough. Her movement is too unsteady, too easily telegraphed. All the lure has to do is extend his arm, driving the point of the railing through Rosa’s chest, staking her heart.

She doesn’t feel it. She stares him down, furious still, but the fires are dimming.

Rosa’s weapon sails through the lure’s head. The center of his face curls like fog, and he sighs, pieces of his mouth twirling away with the motion.

“You’re not getting it,” he repeats, exasperated. Rosa coughs, bloody and wet. “I’ve already died.”

The lure yanks the railing from Rosa’s chest. Her eyes well with tears, though they don’t have time to flow before her knees hit the wood.

“Hah, jeez,” he sighs, scratching the back of his head, forcing it to reform under his fingers. Rosa collapses onto the deck, soaking the wood red. “You fought well, Captain.”

He slams the railing into the deck again, shattering the ship down the hull.

“Too bad it wasn’t a fair fight to start.”

#laughing a bit cherri posted two big fish rens and i posted the one thing from that au that doesn’t actually have ren in it. only ghost ship #if anyone recognizes the movie i stole the names from. lol. lmao even.#lew writes #what do you tag this as for a warning. we have several murders both on and off screen #but none of like. real characters. theyve just got names so i dont overuse pronouns #tw getting impaled. i guess?#anyway. shoutout to fencing. rlly did make my ability to write fights better. but only point weapons

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