Parting Gestures
The gunshot was deafening.
Why the sound of it had crashed so mercilessly through the senses, shattering eardrums like a dropped lantern- no one could say. Perhaps it was because no one in their company had given up love of the cutlass, yet. Perhaps it was because there'd been no threat before the violence.
Perhaps it was because their captain was on the deck, bleeding from his chest.
It was Areshi's scream of defiance that woke the crew to reality, the boy's slim body crashing to it's knees by his side. It was difficult to see their heartless first mate already shedding tears, clawing at the cloth that seperated himself from the wound as if he were the one dying.
"No, no." he whispered, panic thick in his lips. "No, Captain. Captain." He sounded so pitiful, hands bright with blood, smeared against his cheek and into his pale hair as he checked for a heart beat, pleading in a foreign tongue. "Captain, please..."
The navymen stood silently behind, watching the display and the remaining pirates with the cold detachment of men surrounded by animals. No one on the deck moved, shrouded by the sound of the sea and Areshi's quiet weeping.
Until he screamed.
The high, hopeless wail confirmed what most of the crew had already suspected: No heart beat. The first mate shrieked in utter misery, clawing bloodied fingers through his grey hair.
"Enough of this," The officer frowned, lowering his gun to it's holster, "Such a display will gain no-uhk-"
He blinked for a moment, as if surprised to see the blade embedded in his gut. The rest of the bystanders seemed to agree.
Areshi yanked the cutlass free with a snarl, pulling the dead man's sword for his own use in the same motion. He said nothing, only rushed forward wildly, swinging and snapping like an enraged beast.
The remaining members of the boarding party scrambled, unsheathing blades and guns as quickly as possible, turning them against the crazy man in their midst. The first mate though had no time for bullets or gashes, they sliced through flesh and continued onwards, unable to slow his attack. He moved between the bodies as if he felt no pain, the curses on his tongue unintelligable with their age and pitch.
The rest of the crew stood transfixed, watching the oncoming death of their first mate. There was no way he could survive the onslaught- but they were interested to watch him try. It was no lack of loyalty, only a presence of common sense, and curiousity. He had always been almost too true to his adopted father. Perhaps the very thing that had kept him alive so long would be the death of him now. This, it would seem, would draw the line between fanatical devotion, and fanatical ass-kissery. It was hardly their fault if they wanted to know which it was.
Blood covered the grey-haired man, both his own and others'. It dripped from blade and chin, seeping into his clothes and trickling from the ruined eye the last man had aimed so cleverly for. He gave a shallow pant, turning to face his collagues with the madness still bright in his remaining eye. They seemed to move as one, shying from his insanity, from teh rage that rolled off his skin in waves.
Or perhaps from the remaining navyman- the commadore who's sword punched cleanly through the back of their first mate, exiting between his pecs on the other side.
Areshi gagged, thick, black blood bubbling from the newly punctured lung to ooze from the corners of his mouth. His eyes widened and dulled at once, body fighting to buckle, but trapped upright by the unyeilding steel.
The commadore sneered, giving the blade a slight twist to insure the pirate's death. "Should you have succeeded, did you think there no more crewmen on the ship?" he asked, sounding bemused as he yanked the sword free.
Areshi hit his knees first, dropping forward onto his face.
"This little display was useless."
The gunshot was deafening.
It wrenched the undivided attention of the stony crew, who moved as one again away from the standing figure.
Argos smiled as the corpse of the commadore toppled limply to the deck, red pooling thick where his head had been.
"Well, boys." He said blithely, holstering the gun. "Looks like the game has changed, a bit. Best if we round up the witnesses, eh?"
They nodded together, breaking formation for the first time since the scene had began, heading for the trailing vessel roped to their own.
Argos himself bent to roll his already deceased first mate onto his face. He chuckled, flicking two fingers at a passing man. "Demos," he said, gesturing to the body. "Pick him up, will you? And grab a bottle of the rum. He'll need a drink, when he comes around."
Why the sound of it had crashed so mercilessly through the senses, shattering eardrums like a dropped lantern- no one could say. Perhaps it was because no one in their company had given up love of the cutlass, yet. Perhaps it was because there'd been no threat before the violence.
Perhaps it was because their captain was on the deck, bleeding from his chest.
It was Areshi's scream of defiance that woke the crew to reality, the boy's slim body crashing to it's knees by his side. It was difficult to see their heartless first mate already shedding tears, clawing at the cloth that seperated himself from the wound as if he were the one dying.
"No, no." he whispered, panic thick in his lips. "No, Captain. Captain." He sounded so pitiful, hands bright with blood, smeared against his cheek and into his pale hair as he checked for a heart beat, pleading in a foreign tongue. "Captain, please..."
The navymen stood silently behind, watching the display and the remaining pirates with the cold detachment of men surrounded by animals. No one on the deck moved, shrouded by the sound of the sea and Areshi's quiet weeping.
Until he screamed.
The high, hopeless wail confirmed what most of the crew had already suspected: No heart beat. The first mate shrieked in utter misery, clawing bloodied fingers through his grey hair.
"Enough of this," The officer frowned, lowering his gun to it's holster, "Such a display will gain no-uhk-"
He blinked for a moment, as if surprised to see the blade embedded in his gut. The rest of the bystanders seemed to agree.
Areshi yanked the cutlass free with a snarl, pulling the dead man's sword for his own use in the same motion. He said nothing, only rushed forward wildly, swinging and snapping like an enraged beast.
The remaining members of the boarding party scrambled, unsheathing blades and guns as quickly as possible, turning them against the crazy man in their midst. The first mate though had no time for bullets or gashes, they sliced through flesh and continued onwards, unable to slow his attack. He moved between the bodies as if he felt no pain, the curses on his tongue unintelligable with their age and pitch.
The rest of the crew stood transfixed, watching the oncoming death of their first mate. There was no way he could survive the onslaught- but they were interested to watch him try. It was no lack of loyalty, only a presence of common sense, and curiousity. He had always been almost too true to his adopted father. Perhaps the very thing that had kept him alive so long would be the death of him now. This, it would seem, would draw the line between fanatical devotion, and fanatical ass-kissery. It was hardly their fault if they wanted to know which it was.
Blood covered the grey-haired man, both his own and others'. It dripped from blade and chin, seeping into his clothes and trickling from the ruined eye the last man had aimed so cleverly for. He gave a shallow pant, turning to face his collagues with the madness still bright in his remaining eye. They seemed to move as one, shying from his insanity, from teh rage that rolled off his skin in waves.
Or perhaps from the remaining navyman- the commadore who's sword punched cleanly through the back of their first mate, exiting between his pecs on the other side.
Areshi gagged, thick, black blood bubbling from the newly punctured lung to ooze from the corners of his mouth. His eyes widened and dulled at once, body fighting to buckle, but trapped upright by the unyeilding steel.
The commadore sneered, giving the blade a slight twist to insure the pirate's death. "Should you have succeeded, did you think there no more crewmen on the ship?" he asked, sounding bemused as he yanked the sword free.
Areshi hit his knees first, dropping forward onto his face.
"This little display was useless."
The gunshot was deafening.
It wrenched the undivided attention of the stony crew, who moved as one again away from the standing figure.
Argos smiled as the corpse of the commadore toppled limply to the deck, red pooling thick where his head had been.
"Well, boys." He said blithely, holstering the gun. "Looks like the game has changed, a bit. Best if we round up the witnesses, eh?"
They nodded together, breaking formation for the first time since the scene had began, heading for the trailing vessel roped to their own.
Argos himself bent to roll his already deceased first mate onto his face. He chuckled, flicking two fingers at a passing man. "Demos," he said, gesturing to the body. "Pick him up, will you? And grab a bottle of the rum. He'll need a drink, when he comes around."