[Fanfiction] "Stella Cricket and Rigging"
Title: "Stella Cricket and Rigging"
Characters: Brazil, Argentina
Rating: T
Prompt: STEAMPUNK BRARG!
“I told you they were going to hate your idea of diplomacy!” Martín shouted as he ducked beneath another onslaught of bullets.
“What?! They were totally fine with everything until you opened your mouth and started spitting out verbal fine print! ‘We have a few terms and conditions we need you to agree to, quid pro quo-‘”
Luciano paused for a moment to lean around the wide panel of oxidized copper they were sheltering behind to fire off a few rounds at their pursuers. He swore as a well-aimed shot grazed his cheek, falling back behind the panel to wipe his face grimly with the back of his hand.
“So,” he asked in a voice far too cheerful for their situation, “what exactly does ‘quid pro quo’ mean anyway? Really, I thought a Negotiater like you would know better than to use big words like that around skyway-men like them.”
“I like to keep things professional,” Martín sniffed haughtily, adjusting his tie and straightening his sleeve cuffs, “it keeps the company bureaucracy off my back. Besides, it wasn’t like I was trying to rob them, unlike you.”
“Oh yes, I’m horrible,” Luciano retorted, “I make a living robbing them blind behind their backs with some tact, but you just do it right to their faces and now they’re shooting at us and you’ll probably die and then I’ll get saddled with the blame since I’m responsible for you until we get to the next port and then they’ll shackle me up and kill me for manslaughter even though it was your own stupid fault that you got shot-”
“Let’s not go killing me off before I’m even dead, you bastard,” Martín barked, lifting himself into a careful crouch and shaking the hair from his bright green eyes with a toss of his head. “Besides, you’d probably deserve whatever punishment you got, whether I die or not. Not that I will. I’m not going to get gunned down by a bunch of illiterate, borderline idiotic sky pirates.”
Luciano scoffed and followed suite, leaning against their makeshift cover to shoot another spray of bullets from his Stella Cricket into the gathering mass of angry sky pirate crew. Satisfied, he swung the rifle onto his back and backed away from the panel in an odd half-crab walk, half lope towards the steamship’s stern, angling towards a collection of thick ropes that controlled the aft sails. Martín followed with as much grace as he could manage while still technically fleeing for his own life.
Luciano risked a quick glance over the railing and cringed.
“We’re at least 20 tribekas up and there’s not a lifeboat for us to take.”
Martín let out a stream of impressively vulgar Spanish at the news and pulled on his golden hair in frustration.
“So what now, Captain Da Silva?” he hissed, “we wait for them to catch us and toss us overboard so we can fall those 20 tribekas to our deaths?”
Luciano grinned and reached for one of the ropes secured to the brass railing and tugged on it experimentally.
“Well, that depends on two things.”
“And what’s that?” Martín asked skeptically, shooting a nervous look over his shoulder and the noise of advancing pirates grew louder.
“First of all, it depends on how fast they get here.” (Martín’s eyes went wide and he swallowed nervously, though he immediately tried to hide the reaction behind an expression of impassivity.)
“Second of all, it depends on how much you’re willing to trust me.”
“…what?”
“I’m asking you if you trust me. Because if you don’t, we’re going to die.”
Martín leveled Luciano with a suspicious look, eyes turning from the rope in the Brazilian’s hand to the dark eyes staring steadily back at him.
“And what’s keeping you from just leaving me behind to save your own skin?”
Luciano laughed and brushed the back of his hand (still slightly stained with his own blood) gently against Martín’s cheek.
“You may be a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass until I get to personally boot you back onto land. That’s in pretty bad taste to leave the cargo behind.”
Martín bit his bottom lip and sighed, covering Luciano’s hand with his own and shooting him a grim smile.
“I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”
Characters: Brazil, Argentina
Rating: T
Prompt: STEAMPUNK BRARG!
“I told you they were going to hate your idea of diplomacy!” Martín shouted as he ducked beneath another onslaught of bullets.
“What?! They were totally fine with everything until you opened your mouth and started spitting out verbal fine print! ‘We have a few terms and conditions we need you to agree to, quid pro quo-‘”
Luciano paused for a moment to lean around the wide panel of oxidized copper they were sheltering behind to fire off a few rounds at their pursuers. He swore as a well-aimed shot grazed his cheek, falling back behind the panel to wipe his face grimly with the back of his hand.
“So,” he asked in a voice far too cheerful for their situation, “what exactly does ‘quid pro quo’ mean anyway? Really, I thought a Negotiater like you would know better than to use big words like that around skyway-men like them.”
“I like to keep things professional,” Martín sniffed haughtily, adjusting his tie and straightening his sleeve cuffs, “it keeps the company bureaucracy off my back. Besides, it wasn’t like I was trying to rob them, unlike you.”
“Oh yes, I’m horrible,” Luciano retorted, “I make a living robbing them blind behind their backs with some tact, but you just do it right to their faces and now they’re shooting at us and you’ll probably die and then I’ll get saddled with the blame since I’m responsible for you until we get to the next port and then they’ll shackle me up and kill me for manslaughter even though it was your own stupid fault that you got shot-”
“Let’s not go killing me off before I’m even dead, you bastard,” Martín barked, lifting himself into a careful crouch and shaking the hair from his bright green eyes with a toss of his head. “Besides, you’d probably deserve whatever punishment you got, whether I die or not. Not that I will. I’m not going to get gunned down by a bunch of illiterate, borderline idiotic sky pirates.”
Luciano scoffed and followed suite, leaning against their makeshift cover to shoot another spray of bullets from his Stella Cricket into the gathering mass of angry sky pirate crew. Satisfied, he swung the rifle onto his back and backed away from the panel in an odd half-crab walk, half lope towards the steamship’s stern, angling towards a collection of thick ropes that controlled the aft sails. Martín followed with as much grace as he could manage while still technically fleeing for his own life.
Luciano risked a quick glance over the railing and cringed.
“We’re at least 20 tribekas up and there’s not a lifeboat for us to take.”
Martín let out a stream of impressively vulgar Spanish at the news and pulled on his golden hair in frustration.
“So what now, Captain Da Silva?” he hissed, “we wait for them to catch us and toss us overboard so we can fall those 20 tribekas to our deaths?”
Luciano grinned and reached for one of the ropes secured to the brass railing and tugged on it experimentally.
“Well, that depends on two things.”
“And what’s that?” Martín asked skeptically, shooting a nervous look over his shoulder and the noise of advancing pirates grew louder.
“First of all, it depends on how fast they get here.” (Martín’s eyes went wide and he swallowed nervously, though he immediately tried to hide the reaction behind an expression of impassivity.)
“Second of all, it depends on how much you’re willing to trust me.”
“…what?”
“I’m asking you if you trust me. Because if you don’t, we’re going to die.”
Martín leveled Luciano with a suspicious look, eyes turning from the rope in the Brazilian’s hand to the dark eyes staring steadily back at him.
“And what’s keeping you from just leaving me behind to save your own skin?”
Luciano laughed and brushed the back of his hand (still slightly stained with his own blood) gently against Martín’s cheek.
“You may be a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass until I get to personally boot you back onto land. That’s in pretty bad taste to leave the cargo behind.”
Martín bit his bottom lip and sighed, covering Luciano’s hand with his own and shooting him a grim smile.
“I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”