Hetalia Fic: The Sea Cook (10/?)
Title: The Sea Cook; or Hetalia's Treasure Island (9/?)
Author/Artist: geministar01
Characters: All nations, focus on America, Canada and England
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence, a bit of blood, and sailors cursing the way they do.
Summary: AU. When a dying sailor leaves them the fabled map to Captain Roma’s Treasure Island, orphaned brothers Alfred and Matthew will have to stick together to survive an adventure full of pirates, new friendships, danger and betrayal.
Chapter Ten: In Which a Storm Brews The following weeks of the voyage passed by in a blur. Alfred and Matthew were kept so busy that they barely had time to speak to each other - from the moment they woke to the moment they collapsed into their shared bunk, they were constantly on the move.
Arthur seemed to have taken it upon himself to groom Alfred into a proper sailor. He was always keeping an eye on the elder twin, subtly maneuvering him out of trouble and instructing him in the finer points of everything from the knot tying to cordial conversation. To his credit, Alfred listened to the man - at least, when he wasn’t going behind his back in an attempt to make the food edible - and learned quickly, soon surpassing his tutor’s expectations. Arthur practically glowed with delight.
While Alfred was ‘keeping an eye on’ Arthur, Francis took over his role as Matthew’s protector. The younger twin would protest that label, of course, and insist that he could take care of himself. It was true, but Francis kept an eye out for him anyway, out of a sense of affection. Said affection was readily returned, as Matthew found he quite enjoyed the man’s presence and, especially, his seemingly endless stories of the sea.
The ship’s other inhabitants went about their business as usual. Ludwig kept a tight ship, carrying out the guidelines that his captain-brother had set. Feliciano spent half of his time as Ludwig’s loyal assistant and the other half facilitating Alfred and Matthew’s ‘sabotage’ of Arthur’s cooking. Meanwhile, Captain Gilbert kept up his usual routine of being awesome, by showing off his swashbuckling skills at every opportunity and gradually making more and more overt passes at Elizaveta. Roderich continued to sulk over that and spent long hours with his melodeon, either in his cabin or on deck, depending on the weather. His wife, more often than not, remained by his side. Vash watched over them both like a hawk.
Everything seemed to fall into a routine, but that did not mean that things were peaceful. The crew remained as ill-tempered as ever and, though all-out brawls were forbidden, there was still conflict.
“Mr. Braganski!”
The large Russian man turned at the first mate’s order with an amiable smile on his face. The crew around him scattered, pressing against the sides of the ship. Ivan Braganski had not been aggressive or violent at all throughout the voyage - indeed, he had barely done anything but stand by and observe. Yet, everyone on board was instinctively afraid of him.
Everyone, that is, except first mate Ludwig.
He approached the Russian without a hint of trepidation, looking him straight in the eye, and said, “You’ve been in the liquor cabinet again, haven’t you?”
“I’m afraid that I do not know what you mean, sir,” Ivan said, his smile never slipping from his face.
Ludwig lifted a vodka bottle to the tall man’s height, turning it upside down over his shoulder. A single drop fell from it, staining Ivan’s pale coat. “Vodka is your drink of choice, is it not?”
“Da.”
“This bottle was full at inventory last night. And I have a witness who places you in the area of the liquor store just before this was found.”
“Ah yes,” Ivan’s violet eyes swerved around to catch Feliciano’s gaze. “Your little assistant, da?”
Feliciano, though genuinely clueless, was not an idiot. He ducked behind Ludwig, out of the Russian’s line of sight, and sputtered, “Buh-but you were standing there! Ludwig, he was standing there for hours. I didn’t actually see him take anything though…”
“Which is why I’m only issuing a warning this time,” Ludwig said coldly, tossing the empty bottle overboard. “I’m keeping an eye on you, Braginski. Put a toe out of line and the gunner’s daughter will have a new playmate, and God help you if I ever get wind that you’ve been intoxicated on duty. Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” Ivan chirped. The sailors behind him shivered as though hit by a cold wind.
“Good. Dismissed.”
Ludwig turned on his heel and marched away. Feliciano scurried after him, avoiding Ivan’s gaze. The Russian hummed to himself and turned back to his work as though nothing had happened.
Gilbert, who had been watching his brother’s show from half-way up the mast, released his hand holds for a brief second to clap his palms together. “All right, bastards, you heard the man! Back to work, every damn one of you!”
The crew did so, all giving Ivan Braginski a large berth. The atmosphere was considerably more tense than before. From below, Roderich’s melodeon started up again, but the notes sank in the heavy tension like the empty bottle into the sea.
Alfred peered at Ivan over the wooden crate he and Arthur had been digging into when the argument began. “Woah,” he said. “That was intense.”
“Indeed,” Arthur said, the frown on his face bleeding into his tone. His eyes were narrowed at Ivan with all the intensity of a hawk watching its territory. He pulled a sack of flour out of the box and pushed it into Alfred’s grip. “Why don’t you take this downstairs and get started? I’ll be along in a bit.”
Alfred blinked, shrugged and hoisted the bag into his arms. “Sure.”
“That’s a good lad,” Arthur said with a smile. He pat the boy on the head and hobbled away.
Matthew watched his brother disappear into the galley, shuffling the heavy coil of rope around in his arms. He didn’t like that Alfred was getting so close to the so-called cook. His brother hadn’t even argued when he’d been ordered around! It made Matthew nervous. Didn’t Alfred remember what Antonio had told them, about the one-legged man? They had to be careful…
He was startled from his thoughts by Francis, who took the rope coil out of Matthew’s arms and slung it over his own shoulder. “Would you like to go after him?”
Matthew jerked back in surprise, barely able to remember the words he needed to respond. “I…I can’t. I don’t want to…”
“It’s quite all right,” Francis assured, patting the teen’s head with a wide grin. “I can easily handle this on my own. Besides…” he looked up at the stormy grey sky, taking a deep breath of air thick with the smell of fresh water. “The riggings are no place for a boy your age. Not in this weather.”
He was quiet a moment, staring pensively into the sky. Matthew followed his line of sight, but saw nothing. Finally, Francis sighed, lowered his eye to the deck and pushed Matthew helpfully toward the galley door. “Go on then, below with you. Shoo, shoo.”
“If you say so,” Matthew said, and headed below. Francis waved him off with a smile right up until he was finally out of sight.
( - )
In the galley below, Alfred dropped the heavy bag of flour onto the counter and heaved a sigh. He drew a switchblade from his pocket and sliced the bag open with one swift, precise cut.
“Where did you get that?”
Alfred lifted his head and grinned when he spotted his brother at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey Mattie! What’s up?”
“Where did you get that knife?” Matthew repeated his question, drawing closer intently. It wasn’t an impressive blade, as it was small and chipped and the spring looked ready to rust out, but… “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Ah, this?” Alfred grinned ,flicking the knife in and out twice before he finally slipped it away. “Arthur gave it to me.”
“Kirkland?”
“You know any other Arthurs on this ship?”
Matthew frowned at that, a scowl etching its way onto his features. “He gave it to you?”
“Well, yeah!”
“And you accepted?”
Now it was Alfred’s turn to frown, though he at least had the sense to look a little ashamed. “Yeah, why?”
“Alfred!”
“It’s not like he meant anything by it!” Alfred insisted, though his tone made it clear that it meant something to him. “He said it was important for a sailor to have a knife, that they’re useful.”
Matthew moved around the galley table and grasped his brother’s hand with both of his own. “Al, I’m worried about you. I think you’ve been spending way too much time with Kirkland. It could be dangerous.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Alfred demanded, yanking his hand away.
“Don’t you remember what Antonio said?”
“Beware the one-legged man!”
The last line was a chorus, and the twins shivered at the familiar chill that accompanied their rare bouts of unity. A large wave rolled up under the Hetalia, rocking the ship from side to side. The galley tolled, but the twins stood still.
“Antonio never told us anything else about the guy, just that he had one leg,” Alfred reasoned, his voice strangely cold. “It could be anybody. Lots of old sailors are missing limbs and stuff. I just don’t think Arthur’s the one he was talking about.”
Matthew worried his lip. “How can you be sure?”
“It’s just a feeling. A good one,” Alfred said, fingering the wooden handle of his switchblade affectionately. “He’s…nice. And smart. And he knew Dad.”
Matthew sighed, looking at his feet as the boot rolled beneath him again. “I jut don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Don’t worry. That’s definitely not going to happen.”
Matthew looked his brother in the eye. Alfred’s gaze was distant, but bursting with confidence. Once again, the younger twin sighed and forced a smile onto his face. “If you say so, Al. I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right!” Alfred said brightly, grinning and thumbing his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me, Matt. I’ll be okay. I’m a hero, after all.”
A crash burst above their heads, echoing through the wooden haul like the inside of a drum, and the entire ship jerked suddenly to the side. Matthew and Alfred grabbed onto the boxes to steady themselves, scattering flour in all directions.
“Holy -!” Alfred yelped. “What the hell was that?”
“Boys!”
The trapdoor at the far end of the servant’s quarters burst open, ushering in a shower of rain. Arthur leapt down, using the latter to slow his decent, and landed as though his handicap did not exist.
“Get out of bed, you wanker!” he snapped, striking a sleeping Denmark with his crutch. The Dane yelped and tumbled out of his bunk. “All hands on deck, now! Alfred, Matthew, that means you too! Go!”
“What’s going on?” Matthew asked ,stumbling after the cook as the boat lurched once more.
Arthur twisted around just in time to catch the younger twin before he fell. He glanced between the twins with an intense gaze, more serious than any expression Matthew had seen on his face before.
“It’s a storm, lads. A big one,” he said soberly. “Everybody’s going to have to pull together for this. Everybody.”
TBC…
Random Note: “Kissing the gunner’s daughter” refers to the practice by the British royal navy of bending a sailor over a ship’s gun to receive harsh corporal punishment. A similar term, the “captain’s daughter” referred to punishment using a cat o’ nine tails. Yes, the British royal navy and army spanked and whipped their dissenters. I’m pretty sure they don’t do it anymore, but the cat was still used for judicial punishments right up into the 1940s…
Author/Artist: geministar01
Characters: All nations, focus on America, Canada and England
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence, a bit of blood, and sailors cursing the way they do.
Summary: AU. When a dying sailor leaves them the fabled map to Captain Roma’s Treasure Island, orphaned brothers Alfred and Matthew will have to stick together to survive an adventure full of pirates, new friendships, danger and betrayal.
Chapter Ten: In Which a Storm Brews The following weeks of the voyage passed by in a blur. Alfred and Matthew were kept so busy that they barely had time to speak to each other - from the moment they woke to the moment they collapsed into their shared bunk, they were constantly on the move.
Arthur seemed to have taken it upon himself to groom Alfred into a proper sailor. He was always keeping an eye on the elder twin, subtly maneuvering him out of trouble and instructing him in the finer points of everything from the knot tying to cordial conversation. To his credit, Alfred listened to the man - at least, when he wasn’t going behind his back in an attempt to make the food edible - and learned quickly, soon surpassing his tutor’s expectations. Arthur practically glowed with delight.
While Alfred was ‘keeping an eye on’ Arthur, Francis took over his role as Matthew’s protector. The younger twin would protest that label, of course, and insist that he could take care of himself. It was true, but Francis kept an eye out for him anyway, out of a sense of affection. Said affection was readily returned, as Matthew found he quite enjoyed the man’s presence and, especially, his seemingly endless stories of the sea.
The ship’s other inhabitants went about their business as usual. Ludwig kept a tight ship, carrying out the guidelines that his captain-brother had set. Feliciano spent half of his time as Ludwig’s loyal assistant and the other half facilitating Alfred and Matthew’s ‘sabotage’ of Arthur’s cooking. Meanwhile, Captain Gilbert kept up his usual routine of being awesome, by showing off his swashbuckling skills at every opportunity and gradually making more and more overt passes at Elizaveta. Roderich continued to sulk over that and spent long hours with his melodeon, either in his cabin or on deck, depending on the weather. His wife, more often than not, remained by his side. Vash watched over them both like a hawk.
Everything seemed to fall into a routine, but that did not mean that things were peaceful. The crew remained as ill-tempered as ever and, though all-out brawls were forbidden, there was still conflict.
“Mr. Braganski!”
The large Russian man turned at the first mate’s order with an amiable smile on his face. The crew around him scattered, pressing against the sides of the ship. Ivan Braganski had not been aggressive or violent at all throughout the voyage - indeed, he had barely done anything but stand by and observe. Yet, everyone on board was instinctively afraid of him.
Everyone, that is, except first mate Ludwig.
He approached the Russian without a hint of trepidation, looking him straight in the eye, and said, “You’ve been in the liquor cabinet again, haven’t you?”
“I’m afraid that I do not know what you mean, sir,” Ivan said, his smile never slipping from his face.
Ludwig lifted a vodka bottle to the tall man’s height, turning it upside down over his shoulder. A single drop fell from it, staining Ivan’s pale coat. “Vodka is your drink of choice, is it not?”
“Da.”
“This bottle was full at inventory last night. And I have a witness who places you in the area of the liquor store just before this was found.”
“Ah yes,” Ivan’s violet eyes swerved around to catch Feliciano’s gaze. “Your little assistant, da?”
Feliciano, though genuinely clueless, was not an idiot. He ducked behind Ludwig, out of the Russian’s line of sight, and sputtered, “Buh-but you were standing there! Ludwig, he was standing there for hours. I didn’t actually see him take anything though…”
“Which is why I’m only issuing a warning this time,” Ludwig said coldly, tossing the empty bottle overboard. “I’m keeping an eye on you, Braginski. Put a toe out of line and the gunner’s daughter will have a new playmate, and God help you if I ever get wind that you’ve been intoxicated on duty. Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” Ivan chirped. The sailors behind him shivered as though hit by a cold wind.
“Good. Dismissed.”
Ludwig turned on his heel and marched away. Feliciano scurried after him, avoiding Ivan’s gaze. The Russian hummed to himself and turned back to his work as though nothing had happened.
Gilbert, who had been watching his brother’s show from half-way up the mast, released his hand holds for a brief second to clap his palms together. “All right, bastards, you heard the man! Back to work, every damn one of you!”
The crew did so, all giving Ivan Braginski a large berth. The atmosphere was considerably more tense than before. From below, Roderich’s melodeon started up again, but the notes sank in the heavy tension like the empty bottle into the sea.
Alfred peered at Ivan over the wooden crate he and Arthur had been digging into when the argument began. “Woah,” he said. “That was intense.”
“Indeed,” Arthur said, the frown on his face bleeding into his tone. His eyes were narrowed at Ivan with all the intensity of a hawk watching its territory. He pulled a sack of flour out of the box and pushed it into Alfred’s grip. “Why don’t you take this downstairs and get started? I’ll be along in a bit.”
Alfred blinked, shrugged and hoisted the bag into his arms. “Sure.”
“That’s a good lad,” Arthur said with a smile. He pat the boy on the head and hobbled away.
Matthew watched his brother disappear into the galley, shuffling the heavy coil of rope around in his arms. He didn’t like that Alfred was getting so close to the so-called cook. His brother hadn’t even argued when he’d been ordered around! It made Matthew nervous. Didn’t Alfred remember what Antonio had told them, about the one-legged man? They had to be careful…
He was startled from his thoughts by Francis, who took the rope coil out of Matthew’s arms and slung it over his own shoulder. “Would you like to go after him?”
Matthew jerked back in surprise, barely able to remember the words he needed to respond. “I…I can’t. I don’t want to…”
“It’s quite all right,” Francis assured, patting the teen’s head with a wide grin. “I can easily handle this on my own. Besides…” he looked up at the stormy grey sky, taking a deep breath of air thick with the smell of fresh water. “The riggings are no place for a boy your age. Not in this weather.”
He was quiet a moment, staring pensively into the sky. Matthew followed his line of sight, but saw nothing. Finally, Francis sighed, lowered his eye to the deck and pushed Matthew helpfully toward the galley door. “Go on then, below with you. Shoo, shoo.”
“If you say so,” Matthew said, and headed below. Francis waved him off with a smile right up until he was finally out of sight.
( - )
In the galley below, Alfred dropped the heavy bag of flour onto the counter and heaved a sigh. He drew a switchblade from his pocket and sliced the bag open with one swift, precise cut.
“Where did you get that?”
Alfred lifted his head and grinned when he spotted his brother at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey Mattie! What’s up?”
“Where did you get that knife?” Matthew repeated his question, drawing closer intently. It wasn’t an impressive blade, as it was small and chipped and the spring looked ready to rust out, but… “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Ah, this?” Alfred grinned ,flicking the knife in and out twice before he finally slipped it away. “Arthur gave it to me.”
“Kirkland?”
“You know any other Arthurs on this ship?”
Matthew frowned at that, a scowl etching its way onto his features. “He gave it to you?”
“Well, yeah!”
“And you accepted?”
Now it was Alfred’s turn to frown, though he at least had the sense to look a little ashamed. “Yeah, why?”
“Alfred!”
“It’s not like he meant anything by it!” Alfred insisted, though his tone made it clear that it meant something to him. “He said it was important for a sailor to have a knife, that they’re useful.”
Matthew moved around the galley table and grasped his brother’s hand with both of his own. “Al, I’m worried about you. I think you’ve been spending way too much time with Kirkland. It could be dangerous.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Alfred demanded, yanking his hand away.
“Don’t you remember what Antonio said?”
“Beware the one-legged man!”
The last line was a chorus, and the twins shivered at the familiar chill that accompanied their rare bouts of unity. A large wave rolled up under the Hetalia, rocking the ship from side to side. The galley tolled, but the twins stood still.
“Antonio never told us anything else about the guy, just that he had one leg,” Alfred reasoned, his voice strangely cold. “It could be anybody. Lots of old sailors are missing limbs and stuff. I just don’t think Arthur’s the one he was talking about.”
Matthew worried his lip. “How can you be sure?”
“It’s just a feeling. A good one,” Alfred said, fingering the wooden handle of his switchblade affectionately. “He’s…nice. And smart. And he knew Dad.”
Matthew sighed, looking at his feet as the boot rolled beneath him again. “I jut don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Don’t worry. That’s definitely not going to happen.”
Matthew looked his brother in the eye. Alfred’s gaze was distant, but bursting with confidence. Once again, the younger twin sighed and forced a smile onto his face. “If you say so, Al. I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right!” Alfred said brightly, grinning and thumbing his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me, Matt. I’ll be okay. I’m a hero, after all.”
A crash burst above their heads, echoing through the wooden haul like the inside of a drum, and the entire ship jerked suddenly to the side. Matthew and Alfred grabbed onto the boxes to steady themselves, scattering flour in all directions.
“Holy -!” Alfred yelped. “What the hell was that?”
“Boys!”
The trapdoor at the far end of the servant’s quarters burst open, ushering in a shower of rain. Arthur leapt down, using the latter to slow his decent, and landed as though his handicap did not exist.
“Get out of bed, you wanker!” he snapped, striking a sleeping Denmark with his crutch. The Dane yelped and tumbled out of his bunk. “All hands on deck, now! Alfred, Matthew, that means you too! Go!”
“What’s going on?” Matthew asked ,stumbling after the cook as the boat lurched once more.
Arthur twisted around just in time to catch the younger twin before he fell. He glanced between the twins with an intense gaze, more serious than any expression Matthew had seen on his face before.
“It’s a storm, lads. A big one,” he said soberly. “Everybody’s going to have to pull together for this. Everybody.”
TBC…
Random Note: “Kissing the gunner’s daughter” refers to the practice by the British royal navy of bending a sailor over a ship’s gun to receive harsh corporal punishment. A similar term, the “captain’s daughter” referred to punishment using a cat o’ nine tails. Yes, the British royal navy and army spanked and whipped their dissenters. I’m pretty sure they don’t do it anymore, but the cat was still used for judicial punishments right up into the 1940s…