[FIC]Il Diavolo Sorriso (4)
Title: Il Diavolo Sorriso
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: Spain/Romano (Spamano)
Rating: R/M - Very Mature
Summary: Lovino is trapped by the pirate monster "Carriedo el Diablo" who's smile is just as dangerous as his anger. Despite the horrors that he experiences, Lovino has his own reason to survive, and he will not give up until he finds what he is looking for.
Chapter One: Press-Gang
Chapter Two: The Emma
Chapter Three: Rescue Me From Evil, Protect Me From Cruel
A/N: I would like to apologize for two things. 1) For anyone that I never responded to their reviews. 2) For the long wait between the last chapter and this one despite the amazing reviews and support that I have received. 3) For how disjointed this chapter might seem (at least to me). It has been re-written, chopped to pieces; copy/pasted together at least 5 times these last couple of months. I usually like my chapters in one steady stream with no real scene change, but this chapter has a bunch of them which makes me nervous. I hope this chapter is crappy only in my freakish mind and not in reality. 4) Lovino is not his usual cursing self like in canon. I found that I had to neutralize his personality a lot, because him cursing everyone would have him killed within the end of the day in this fic. So, forgive Lovino being ooc, so that he can be IN-character in this fic!
I have a couple of announcements at the end of the chapter! Please make sure to read them!
Disclaimer: Hetalia and all characters are not mine. Languages other than English are curtsey of Google Translate.
Pairings: Spain/S. Italiy(Romano), Sweden/Finland.
Warnings: This is not a very nice story. Violence, brutality, nonconsensual sexual situations and character deaths. Lots of it. There are religious tones, especially in the first chapters. Read at your discretion.
Chapter Warning: Violence, bad touching.
Il Diavolo Sorriso
Chapter Four
Three Meals A Day
For the second time in two days, Lovino was woken by a fist in his shirt shaking him to wakefulness. Disoriented, unable to shake the grips of oblivion, he reached out to swat at the offending dick who was trying to get him up, but pain in his hands from grasping a large forearm brought his mind to the present, and in the next instant the agony in his body reminded him of his circumstances.
He cried out, absolutely certain that the devil Carriedo was back to assault him again. But the hand holding onto him shook him so hard that his teeth rattled and he forced his eyes open to stare at his assailant.
It was Berwald, blue eyes dark and brooding behind his spectacles. Lovino gasped in utter relief at the sight of the man and felt his body go lax, heart still pounding in his ears from the initial terror. It was dark, a single lantern sat lit on the table behind the pirate. Further back Lovino could see through the small peephole that the sun was beginning to rise, the darkness of night lightening up to a murky blue.
Seeing that the young man was no longer flailing about in panic, the boatswain said, "There's work to be done." Without warning he hauled Lovino up.
It was as if a thousand eels were traveling through his legs and back. As his feet came flat on the floor, his knees buckled and Berwald had to grip him by the other arm to keep him from crumbling like a broken doll. His whole body broke out into a sweat as memories of intrusive pain and bruising hands made his stomach twist painfully.
"I-I can't," he stammered in a hurried breath. "Let me d-down."
The tall pirate stared at him grimly, whether in displeasure or not Lovino was unable to meet the man's gaze for long. Finally Berwald nodded his head and helped lower Lovino back down. He crouched over the Italian, who was gasping in pain, and ran his large hands from his shoulders down to his hands.
Lovino pulled back, snapping, "What are you doing?"
Calloused hands examined his wrists and fingers, pressing with enough force that he hissed.
"Bruised, a bit swollen, but nothing broken," muttered the pirate, then moved his hands down to Lovino's ankles and pulled his folded legs forward.
This action caused the horrible panic to return, and without thought Lovino's arm swung at the man's head. He was dodged easily, and the fingers gripping his ankles tightened. With an enraged growl Lovino grabbed the man's thick wrists to halt any intrusive motion, his fingers unable to fully wrap around the full girth of the pirate's joint.
"Don't. Touch. Me." His voice shook. Damn it.
There was a heavy silence in which neither one of them moved, each trying to stare the other down.
And then, with lips thinned, Berwald spoke, "You were used by the captain. He breached you, did he not?"
Horrible, mortifying heat rushed up Lovino's face. He knew. Of course he knew. He had been the one that ordered Lovino to the captain's cabin. Knew exactly what awaited him when he did so. And of course was familiar with Lovino's wounds, for the man a sodomite.
"Fuck you," despondent tears burned at Lovino's eye, but he swallowed them. With a shuddering breath, he said lowly, "I'm fine." He wasn't. Not at all. "Nothing happened." Everything had happened. The marks on his skin and agony in his body were proof of that. The burning in his heart was evidence enough. Better to lie than acknowledge this shame to the pirate.
Forcing rising bile down to sit in his stomach, Lovino forced himself to look back at the boatswain and said, "Get your filthy hands off me."
There was a pause, and then with a nod the man released him. Lovino curled himself back. He did not protest when he was hauled up onto his shaky feet, the pirate assisting him so that he could place his hands on the table for support. It hurt to stand fully; he was forced to stoop at the hips to alleviate the pressure he felt in his back.
Berwald did not say anything further to him, leaving the young man to stand as the pirate gathered the foods that needed to be prepared for the ships breakfast. Lovino stubbornly took whatever was handed to him, gritting his teeth as he forced his abused limps to function. Still swollen fingers peeled, skinned raw wrists held the knife to cut, quivering legs held him aloft while his burning heart raged at him not to crumble.
He refused to show weakness to these devils. For some reason that cazzo captain somehow caught on to some type of vulnerability in Lovino and decided to target him for his perverse enjoyment. If he continued to show that he was incapable of holding his own as a man, more jackals would flaunt towards him. He would be tormented, defaced and made into their woman to use at will. The day before, because of his youth and palpable terror he had attracted the crew's attention and attacked. Only the rigid law of the Quartermaster had saved him from being beaten to death. Only the curiosity of Captain Carriedo had saved him from flogging. Surely the crew would know what happened to him in the captain's cabin; Tino the Gunner and Berwald the Boatswain knew - had a hand in it. De Kaizer as the mate would surely know what his captain was about. Who else knew? Who else would know?
It was easier to move by the time the food preparations were complete. Lovino had to swallow his terror and force himself to go up to the top deck with Berwald carrying a massive cauldron of gruel. The sun had almost fully risen, and an impatient De Kaizer greeted them with an angry, "Tis late, Berwald. I pray the rest of our meals won't be delayed." The Quartermaster set his steely eyes on Lovino, his gaze appraising him from head to foot as if memorizing every part of the Italian that had caused the ship's routine to have started off late. There were a few men on deck, some attending the rafters, others sprawled here and there in conversation.
Lovino had been unable to make his shaky hands crack the flint to light the fire at the sandpit, so he stayed over the pot and stirred with a large ladle as Berwald set to the task. His attention drifted for but a moment, and it was then he spotted the Sailing Master, Roderich Edelstein, standing alone. The man's brows were knotted, and in his hands he held a leather-bound book that he was scribbling into with a feathered pen. The spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose had slipped down, making the man look like a crazed academic that Lovino had seen walking about the streets back in Italy.
Suddenly, as if sensing that he was being observed, the dark headed man looked up from his writing and looked back at Lovino. Snapping the book shut, he started towards them, calling out to Berwald for attention.
"How are the stores?" he asked, glancing down with a wrinkled nose at the gruel that was only now beginning to steam. "Yesterday's raid did not have much in food."
The tall pirate nodded in agreement. "We will be out by the week's end," he said, his voice low so that it would not carry.
"I guessed as much." Edelstein took a breath and lifted his glasses, pinching at the bridge with thumb and finger. "I told the captain a month back that our stores were in need of filling. He would not heed me, rather kept me working day and night keeping the Armada on course. He believes us fine with yesterday's acquisitions."
"What of Joan and Knight?" Asked the Boatswain.
Edelstein shook his head, "With all the activity I did not get a chance to confer with their officers." Readjusting his glasses and running an exasperated hand through his hair, he gave Berwald and imploring look, "You're one of the few men on board with sense, Oxtenstierna. The captain and his companions are driven blind. They will surely drive these ships to the ground or have every single one of us at the other end of the noose if we do not take caution."
The two officers looked at one another. Lovino, happily invisible in this exchange, hunched down and blew at the flame below the cauldron to keep it alive.
"Find a way to speak to him," Edelstein asked. "He sees me as nothing more than a talking compass and record keeper. My opinion means nothing to him. You have gained some of his respect. Please, for all our sakes, try to reach him."
Having had his say, the man took a step away, pausing for a second to look down at Lovino and nodding his head at him saying, "Vargas," as a way of acknowledgement.
It did not bring the Italian any comfort knowing that the pirate recalled his name. He did not want any of these butchers to take notice of him.
They were not left to themselves for long before the smell of the gruel reached the hungry nostrils of the rest of the crew, and within minutes Berwald and Lovino were swarmed. It was as if the men had not been fed for days; they shoved and clambered over each other, waving chipping and cracked bowl and mugs in an attempt to be first to get their share. Berwald, seasoned pirate cook that he was, served his crewmates with the grim stoicism he maintained with every task he set to. Lovino found pain in both body and spirit pushed to the side and he was soon snarling and shoving back at the hounds: "Wait your God-be-damned turn!", "Shove that filthy mug in my face again and I will use it to scoop yesterday's dinner from your gut!" and "Just cause you took off your hat does not mean I won't know that you've already gotten your share three times you selfish bastard!"
It took nearly an hour for the crowd to disperse, and Lovino collapsed next to the sandpit with a sweaty groan. "Animals. They're all fucking animals."
Berwald made a grunting sound in acquiescence, leaning down slightly to offer the exhausted young man a tin cup full of gruel. "Eat, then take everything down and clean up," he instructed. "I will take the captain his meal."
Lovino stiffened, but took the offered cup, tipping it to his lips and slurping it hungrily. He could not help but glare at the pirate as he pulled out a bowl and lopped the last remaining part of the gruel, making sure to scrape the browned parts that stuck to the bottom of the cauldron. Then miraculously he pulled from his pocket an apple, slightly dented and brown around the corners, but perfectly edible and placed it with the gruel.
Noticing the dark look, the Boatswain gave one back, unflinching. Lovino shrank back and turned away, unable to hold his will against the wall of a pirate. There would be no apology from this man. At the order of his superior Berwald would send him to the lion's den without hesitation.
Lovino did not know which was worse; to be an abuser, or to be one who watches the abuse without stepping forward? But then, these were pirates. They abided by no law of God or man. He was imprisoned on a pirate ship, and would have to somehow adapt under their barbaric laws in he wished to survive.
He could not die. Not yet.
"Sure," Lovino finally said, still unable to lift his head. "Go. I can clean up."
He had to survive. Somehow.
Once left alone, he managed to finish his gruel and swiftly packed all the leftover utensils away. He made sure to clean out the fire pit of any completely charred wood and hay, clapping his hands together to rid the ash from him and sneezing as it drifted into his face. Satisfied, he lifted the cauldron with a sore grunt and was about to start making his way back below deck when something collided with his low back, sending head-first into the sand-pit with an undignified cry.
His mind reeled as he choked and spat at the horrible grains that had gotten into his nose, mouth, and eyes. His eyes watered and burned, and he frantically tried to wipe them clear with his forearm. It took a moment for the beating of his heart to calm and his tears to flush the sand from his eyes, before he was able to hear the cackling laughter.
Still kneeling in the sandpit, he glanced over his shoulder and blinked pained eyes to look at two men sneering down at him.
"Too stupid to swab," laughed one, "so they made him the kitchen wench."
"C'mon sweets," the other bent down at his waste and puckered his lips, "Give us a kiss."
Lovino reeled back in revulsion, his stomach twisting horrible at both the proximity of the other man and the suggestion in his tone.
"Now don't be like that," the crouching one sneered. "Heard you gave the captain his share of kisses. Now's the crews turn, yeah?"
Blood rushed to Lovino's ears with a deafening roar. Both his hands reached to the side and found purchase with the handle of the cauldron. He did not think anything other than ridding these vicious barbarians of their cruel smiles as with a mighty heave, he swung the cauldron and made contact with head of the closest pirate. His arms and fingers jarred at the collision, but that did not stop him from swinging again with a shout, nearly knocking the torso of the other pirate who had been caught by the surprise Lovinio's initial retaliation.
"Get." Lovino spat, "the fuck." His chest heaving in both terror and rage, "AWAY."
"Son of a bitch," groaned the pirate to his side, coming to his knees and reaching for his head.
He looked about to lunge at him when a loud, familiar voice bellowed, "HOLD! HOLD!"
Abel De Kaizer was running towards them with such fury that Lovino dropped the cauldron in fear. His two attackers and he scrambled to their feet, all equally aware of the violence that their Quatermaster could meet them with for their brawling. Lovino felt both his hands and feet go cold, knowing that the man already did not think much of him, but for the second time to be caught in a fight with the crew…All his previous determination to stay strong deflated quickly, and his bones began to tremble.
"Vargas!" Lovino was prepared for the fist that struck him on the side of his head, his arms curling up to protect himself as he fell to his side and stayed down in utter submission. He kept his eyes clenched tight, listening to the pirate officer discipline the other two men. "It's like you are dogs sniffing the ass of a bitch in heat! Oxenstierna has already taken him under his wing, so this boy will be cooking your meals, and possibly medicating your festering wounds in the future. Keep. Him. Sound!"
He heard shuffling of feet as his two attackers fled, leaving him alone cowering at the feet of De Kaizer. Still, he stayed like a downed animal, arms covering his head, trembling. He felt more than heard the pirate crouch over him, and did not resist when a hand twisted into his hair and yanked his head up so that he could look up at the man.
De Kaizer's face was cold as stone, eyes like the ocean frozen over. His hair was combed and greased up straight, as if to expose every frigid contour of his features. This man had no fear, no weakness, no shame or regret. The only hint to any humanity in him were the tense lines pulling at the sides of his eyes and lips.
Those eyes narrowed in disgust. "If it weren't for our Boatswain, I would lash you till the skin peels from your back. If it weren't our Captain's curiosity, I would have done so yesterday. You are worthless to me, Vargas. I do not hold you in any sentiment, nor will I. You better pray that you remain in the good graces of my captain and fellow officer, for they are the only ones holding my hand from disposing of you."
Lovino swallowed the bile that rose at the man's threatening words. Yet, staring at cold face, he could not help a small surge of defiance as his said, "I did not s-start this." His voice shook, his teeth clashed. His neck and scalp protested the hold he was in. His fingers curled into fists on the deck, bracing for the strike he was sure would come.
Instead of the expected abuse, De Kaizer said, "It does not matter to me whether you were the one who initiated this fight, nor do I care whether you were defending yourself from those vultures. You are the cause, Vargas. By your presence on this ship you distract my men from their duties, and as you are now, will continue to distract their attentions. For this you are a thorn that I want nothing more than to pluck."
"What would you have me do then?" Lovino asked desperately. "What do you want from me?"
The Quartermaster stood, pulled an unresisting Lovino up with him. He held him still, studying Lovino's upturned face for a moment, and then releasing him with a sigh. "I want nothing from you. You have nothing, no skills nor traits that I have need of. How you survive is up to what little wiles you possess. Heed me, Vargas, the next time I separate a fight and find you in its center, neither the captain nor Oxenstierna will have reason to stall my hand. Get back to work."
He released Lovino, and watched him for minute as the young Italian gathered the kitchen wares. Lovino kept his head down, shoulders hunched when he made his way back down below deck. He found the kitchen empty, and numbly set about the task of cleaning the mess from the morning preparations.
He was hunching over a large pot, scrubbing some of the cutting knives clean when he paused. Daytime light shone through the porthole, striking the flat edge of one of the knives he had cleaned. How would it feel, he wondered, to stab a man through the heart? Would it go deep enough? Would he hit bone and miss? How long would it take for a man to bleed to death?
How long would it take for him to bleed to death?
We will be fine, brother.
The knife fell clattering out of his hand, and with a cry Lovino hunched over his legs, wrapping his arms around his torso. Such vile, poisonous thoughts! Only the second day in this hell and already he was plotting murder like a man lost of soul and God.
He would die here. De Kaizer has practically signed his death with his last threat. How was he to defend himself and survive if he would be killed for fighting back?
"You're slow."
Lovino stiffened.
Berwald entered the kitchen, pausing at the sight of his hunched form. One eyebrow rose, "You're covered in soot."
Lovino threw himself at the man, latched his hands into the giant's shirt. When Berwald refused to stoop down, Lovino pushed up onto his toes and yelled, "I'm dead! They'll kill me! And if they don't that beast De Kaizer will!" When he found only stone silence and cool features facing his words, he pushed away, stumbling back when his arms could not budge the man from his position. "Diavoli! All of you! Assassini e ladri! May you all hang! Every single fucking one of you HANG!"
His final yell rang against the wood. Lovino gasped for breath, glaring hatefully up at the pirate. Waiting, wanting…needing to see a reaction to his words.
"You were spared death," the man instead said, voice and face emotionless.
"Spared only to be tortured at the whims of you mad men!" Lovino snapped, gripping at his head.
"You're weak," Berwald said, his voice low and the words slurred but clear.
Lovino could do nothing but flush, for there was no way he could deny this truth. "De Kaizer won't let me fight back. He will kill me if I do."
Even though he should not be surprised, Lovino still could not fathom the other man as he shrugged his broad shoulders. "We have to prep for lunch," he said. "I will start cutting; you get a bird from the storage with the livestock."
"Do you care for nothing?" He could not keep the despair from his voice as he asked, "You asked to have me so that I may help you, yet you will do nothing the help me? What good am I to you dead?"
Berwald fished a handful of large yellow onions from a basket, peeling them. "You survive."
"HOW?"
Berwald looked at him, and Lovino gulped when he noticed the slight bit of annoyance there. "You get the bird and cook."
The Italian looked up in bafflement when the giant went back to cutting onions as if Lovino did not exist. Defeat weighing heavy in his heart, he forced himself to move. Perhaps he might outlive the chicken before the evening.
Berwald had been called away to the Gunnery shortly after the chicken had been decapitated and Lovino had begun plucking its corpse. One of the men had not locked his gun and had shot himself in the leg.
"Tino's keeping him from bleeding out." It was grayed man who came with this message, waving his arms in haste for Berwald's aid.
The Boatswain and apparent medic wiped his hands on his pants and reached for a large satchel that sat in a corner. "Finish here," he ordered Lovino. "When you are done take it up and serve the men."
"Alone?" Lovino protested, but Berwald was already gone with the other man. He was alone, covered in feathers and having to cook a meal for over a hundred strong men.
With a foul curse, he launched himself into his task with such fervor he had sweat dripping down the sides of his temples. He opened a burlap bag and found orange colored lentils, which he fried with the broth that came from boiling the fat of the chicken. Once the prepping was complete, he poked his head out of the kitchen and called out to the frailest pirate he could find.
"Oi, you! Help me get the pot up on deck," he said gruffly when the pirate came to him. He was gaunt, missing most of his front teeth.
"I ain't the cooking wench," the pirate said in disgust.
"And you won't be given a fucking drop of food if you don't help me get my shit on deck," Lovino snarled.
This caused the pirate to pause, then with a nasty look he spat at Lovino's feet and cursed, "Fuckin' blighter."
Feeling no small victory, Lovino and the pirate hauled all the gear to the deck. He did not give the man any thanks when done. The pirate did not, nor would ever deserve a word of gratitude. Instead he told the man to fuck off, and did not mind the hateful glare aimed at him before the pirate left him to his task.
Good. Rather to be hated than to be sought after for sport.
It was not new to be despised - he was never very likable, even as a child. Lovino had always had trouble reining his temper. He could not count the times his grandfather had thrashed him for getting into fights with other children in their village. He picked up the language of men from the pubs, and enjoyed making Feliciano squeal at the foul words he repeated by men of dubious backgrounds.
If anything, he could tell a good story at least.
The little bit of victory and confidence he had built up immediately crumbled when he spotted the plumed hat and scarlet coat of Carriedo il Diavolo. He looked like a rooster surrounded by hens, standing out so much that one could NOT notice him grinning amongst his men. And it was the devil's smile, eyes flashing and devious as they locked onto Lovino to the Italian's horror.
He was not ready for this. He could not deal with an encounter with the man so soon, Lovino thought in panic as the captain said a word to another man near the main mast and started towards him. He would die; surely, his heart was beating so fast it would surely fail. The blood was drained from his face, his limps trembling, and all the pains and sores that had been pushed aside came forward with a vengeance.
"Ah, mi Lovino! I see Berwald has trusted you with our meal this fine day!" The pirate captain was flashing him a full mouth of white teeth, his head tilted slightly to the side as he looked upon the Italian.
Speaking to him as if he had not tortured him the night before.
Lovino found himself instinctively placing himself behind the large pot and fire, keeping some type of barrier between him and the monster. He opened his mouth and shut it, his Adams apple bobbing as he attempted to say something, anything to the other man.
Seeming oblivious to Lovino's aversion and fear, Carriedo bent over slightly to sniff at the contents warming in the pot. "Hm, I do not believe Berwald has prepared something like this before. Did you make it?"
"Not taking your meal in your cabin, Captain?" he found himself asking, his new-found voice croaking with one word and girlishly high with another. He could feel every man present watching them in curiosity and anticipation for something that Lovino did not want to be a part of.
"I would wish nothing more, but alas no," the devil sighed. "My good Boatswain insisted this morning that I be more patient with my conquests. Perhaps I shall have a far more satisfying experience if I wait?"
Lovino swallowed hard, his arms coming to wrap protectively around his torso. "You'll get bored," he insisted, looking away and praying the devil did not notice how hard his whole body trembled in his presence. "You'll get bored before then. Perhaps you shall find another, more willing companion?"
"Ah, I do not bore easily." The pirate shifted suddenly, stepping around the pot so swiftly that Lovino only had a chance to take half a step back before his shoulder was seized firmly. He stood frozen, feeling the heat on the hand branding him. The shadow of man covered him in a shroud so dark that he could not see anything but the pirate before him. Carriedo leaned in, grinning a wolf's grin about to devour his prey. "And never after something has snared my interest as you have."
The grip on his shoulder squeezed so that Lovino winced. Distracted he did not see the pirate captain bring his other hand up to run the back of an index finger down the side of Lovino's face. Lovino flinched and pulled back, eyes darting in panic to the vultures that continued to watch him and the captain. "N-No!" he gasped, driving his hands up to knock the man from him.
One of his hands was caught and twisted behind his back. The captain's hold of his shoulder became excruciating as expert fingers dug into the socket. One boot clad leg came forward and pushed so that Lovino nearly fell over, the only think holding him from toppling was the painful hold Captain Carriedo had him in.
"None of that now," Carriedo growled, soft and dangerous.
"Bastard," Lovino writhed, his heart hammering in his ears. He could feel himself suffocating in the man's searing heat. The beast's knee slid forward to press against his crotch. "Don't!"
"Shh," the pirate bent over to press his face into the young man's neck. Moist lips grazed the sensitive skin there, making Lovino shudder in repulsion. "I want to tear your skin, make you bleed so that every man who sees you knows you belong to me." Teeth pinched at him lightly.
Lovino was sure the man would follow through, screwing his eyes shut and tensing so hard that he felt the muscles all the way down to his legs spasming in protest. But instead the pirate captain took a breath and pulled away, taking care to right the Italian so he did not fall. Harsh hands released him, and ignoring the other's obvious terror, patted Lovino's shoulders.
"Tend to my crew's meal, mi tomato joven. We shall leave this for another day, and for another location with less prying eyes." The hands lifted and brushed briefly through his hair, and then pulled away.
Lovino brought his trembling, sore hand to cover his face as Carriedo walked off; heading towards the helm as if they're short exchange had meant nothing to him.
So shaken by this encounter, he nearly burnt the lentil. The smell wafting from the pot made his stomach churn with nausea and he feared that he would be sick in front of all the men. His shoulders hunched, prepared for attack when without having to announce anything the men began to gravitate to him and the food. However, instead of an assault he found them less energetic than in the morning, still acting like rabid animals, but thankfully with less fervor. It was almost anti-climactic how they left him alone to serve without any abuse.
Perhaps it was as Berwald had said. To survive he had to cook. Feed the men, and they will leave him mostly alone. Be the face that serves them their meals and they will develop some type of respect for his position on the ship.
Perhaps their captain molesting him in public made them balk. Was he marked now?
Lovino scratched at his neck, trying to claw away the ghostly touch of Carriedo's lips on his skin.
"Vargas."
Lovino blinked and looked up from his crouch beside the pot. He was cleaning up to head back down to the kitchen. To his surprise he found both Thomas Anderson and Harris White of the Melody standing before him.
He stood up, hand still at his neck. "What? Didn't you get your share?" he asked gruffly. He felt awkward being so close to them. It was like staring at a past life.
The older man, Anderson, had grizzled white hair that was matted with sweat and dirt. His face haggard and lined with deep unhappiness but mostly unscathed. White on the other hand sported a black eye and cut lip. His clothes were torn, and he stood like a man frayed of nerves.
"Vargas," Anderson said, his face hard, but had a pitying look in his eyes. Lovino knew what he was going to say before the old man spoke. "We have been hearing rumors, lad. They've not been gentle…"
"Shut it," he snapped automatically, quickly. He did not want to hear any rumors. None at all.
"There's nothing to talk about." He squatted to collect his wares.
White came down to his knees in front of Lovino, his blue eyes burning even behind swollen bruising. "I saw what the captain was doing to you earlier. I saw him - "
"You saw nothing!" Lovino snarled, reaching forward and pulling the other young man towards him. "You saw absolutely nothing!" He shoved away, standing and swinging the pot over his shoulder.
"Lad," implored Anderson. He stood like a military man in battle, thick hands clenched in fists. "We mean no harm."
No. They didn't. They meant to stick together, protect one another. But they, Anderson and White, both manned the yardarms. Both slept in the lots with the rest of the crew. Neither of them had been targeted by the Quartermaster, neither of them had been forced into the captain's cabin and…
And…
Oh, God. He intended to call for him again. Carriedo would call him again. Not today, but on another day. Any day. Tomorrow….
And they knew it. Anderson and White knew it. Their eyes showed it. Their words said it. There was not denying it.
He couldn't. To accept their pity would be admitting it to himself. He refused. Raged against it. He had no idea what steps he should take, but accepting these men's comradeship would do nothing to solve his predicament. What could three men do in the face of over a hundred hardened pirates and a mad pirate captain?
There would be no escape. They would be killed, if not worse, tortured for their defiance like Captain Edward.
"No," he said. He shook his head and repeated again, louder, firmer, "No." Lovino heaved the pot, and turned his back on former comrades. He stomped away from them, unable to look back to face them in any way. They did not follow him, he was relieved that they did not even bother to call out to him, but he could feel their eyes on him, burning into his back. A shame to his cowardice.
Lovino needed to live. He had to survive. He could be a coward as long as he lived.
The kitchen was no longer vacant by the time Lovino returned to it. Berwald stooped over a water barrel, shirtless and washing blood from his arms. Beside him stood Tino, holding aloft Berwald's large shirt which was completely soaked in crimson.
The sight of the two caused Lovino to stop in place, staring at them. A dirty ladle slipped from his arm and clattered to the floor.
"Oh!" Tino noticed him first. "Take a look at this! It always amazes me how many shirts Berwald ruins whenever he needs to doctor one of the men." The Master Gunner waved the shirt about like a flag, unfazed by the amount of staining on the shirt.
Lovino placed the kitchen wares next to the cleaning barrel, unheeding the other man.
Oblivious to the fact that he was bring ignored, Tino came beside him. He watched Lovino work for a moment before saying quietly, "One of my men died. Such a waste. He was young and did not care for my warning to check the lock." He crouched over his legs, resting his head over his knees, watching the Italian.
"I wonder if you can shoot? I'm now down a man, and we were are already short. Your shipmates went to the yardarms, didn't they? I saw them, good strong men. How good of shots are they?"
"Ask them yourself," Lovino hissed, the other's voice grating at his nerves. The Master Gunner looked of a delicate disposition, but despite how one of his comrades died, he held the shirt that was covered in his blood, and already he was speaking of replacing him as if he were some type of commodity rather than a man.
Devils. Every single one of them.
Tino sighed, "I could have sworn you would be a bit chattier. Sometimes I feel like I am talking to a wall when I'm with Berwald." He gave the tall man an apologetic grin. Berwald was donning another shirt, not taking offense to his partner's slight.
"I have nothing to say to you," Lovino glared, wanting to be left to himself. He had rejected the friendship of good men; he would not accept false kindness from a deviant.
"I don't blame you for your anger," the slight pirate sighed. "You have not had an easy time."
"Really?" Lovino asked hatefully.
"But you need not suffer alone," Tino said. "Berwald and I mean you no harm."
Again, those very same words now echoed through the lips of a pirate.
Lovino found his lips twisting into a harsh grin. Laughter bubbling from the poison in his chest came out as the hysterics he had been trying to control whipped through the wooden cage of the ship's hull. Lovino's mind manically began to catalogue every bruise, cut, and scrape that was painted over his body like a madman's scribbles. Two day's history of cruel violence was written on his skin, proof of wretched situation.
They meant him no harm.
His hysterical laughter seemed to mix in with painful sobs so that even he did not know whether he laughed or cried before these men. He brought up one arm to press against his eyes, trying to force some semblance of calm and sanity.
Finally, he was able to swallow his deep despair, dropping his arm and giving Tino, who had the audacity to be looking at him in alarm, the most withering glare he could muster. "You have nothing to offer me that I would ever want. Unless the day comes that I wish advice on how to service a man like a woman, I will never had anything to say to you. I would rather bite off my own tongue."
At his words, Tino seemed to pale slightly, his expression hardening. He stood, finally giving the Italian some space to breath, and went back to Berwald who had watched their exchange in silence.
"I need to get back to work," Tino said, one small hand placed on Berwald's large forearm, fingers pressing into the flesh slightly before letting go. "Perhaps something with a bit of fruit in it tonight," he said before pulling away and leaving the kitchen.
It was when Lovino realized that he had been left alone with the Boatswain that it occurred to him how foolish he had been. He had just insulted the giant's self-proclaimed wife! Though Berwald was just as much of a devil as the rest of the pirate crew, Lovino had inadvertently felt enough confidence in the man's presence to forget every inch of his self-preservation!
With nothing else to do other than panic, Lovino attacked the dirty dishes, scrubbing them wordlessly but hyperaware of the way the large pirate had not moved from where he stood. He dried them of every single drop of moisture with some torn rags, stacking them precisely, breaking out into a sweat when Berwald still watched him.
Like a giant bear watching salmon jumping in the river.
Just one swipe with deadly claws and fangs to rip him apart.
Finally, the gargoyle of a man shifted on his boot clad feet. He took his glasses from his face and cleaned the lenses with his new shirt. "Oranges," he murmured, so low that Lovino almost missed it.
He went to a large crate and pulled the lid, picking out some bright fresh looking oranges. "Rice and oranges," he said, his eyes flickering in thought. "Chicken was for lunch, so no meat tonight…" He trailed off, and finally addressed Lovino, "There is a large bag of rice. Last one. We will make it tonight."
Lovino frowned, "Rice and oranges?" He had never heard of such a concoction. "Will that even be edible?"
Berwald's large shoulders shrugged, "They will eat. If they are hungry they will eat rats and maggots."
The image was so horrid that Lovino visibly blanched. "Surely no man would ever sink so low that he would eat maggots!"
The Boatswain threw an orange to Lovino, who nearly dropped it. "Tino and I were once stranded on an island," he said, peeling an orange, making sure to bag the peel for further use some other day. "We found a dead boar, covered in maggots. The meat was too foul to eat, but the maggots…"
Lovino's eyes were wide in horror, wanting to not believe such a tale. However, Berwald did not seem like a man who told such lies. The Boatswain took apart his orange and ate a piece, chewing carefully and swallowing before continuing: "It was Tino who gathered the maggots and seared them. I would not go near it. Thought him mad with hunger. But his strength kept us alive. My stubbornness would have had us starve rather than scavenge food from the dead."
Tino's large dark eyes, pale face, wispy blond hair, and delicate wrists came to Lovino's mind. He could not imagine it, though he tried hard. After all, this was the very same man who lead the gunnery on the ship, had men whom he oversaw, and managed one of the most dangerous assets on the Emma. But still…maggots!
Tino looks were so deceptive to his lethality. He was hard, hard like the jackals on this ship, but stronger because he held authority over them. An officer on a ship of killers, commanding, and leading with skill and ruthlessness…
…yet being buggered by another man…
Lovino looked at Berwald, the Boatswain, the Cook, and the Medic. Truly, Lovino looked at him. Past his size, and his profession of a pirate, he wondered if had circumstances been different would the man have become a baker? Could he have possibly settled in some obscure town and lead a decent, law abiding life? And if so, would he hold such authority as he did now, fixing the wooden hull of a massive ship and fixing the men that sailed it? Would he have commanded Lovino's attention as a baker, or would have disappeared amongst the throngs of every other man that Lovino came across?
Lovino's chest tightened and he asked in a small voice, "Why are you telling me this? Don't you despise me for being harsh with the man you bed?"
Berwald paused, leaning against the orange crate before saying, "Tino can fight his own battles. He is strong. You, on the other hand are weak…just like he was." He looked away, and to Lovino's amazement he saw a slight blush on the man's cheeks, as if voicing these words embarrassed the pirate.
"And how did he become strong?" Lovino inquired.
"He learned to outshoot any man alive." The man was boasting, but the pride in his voice was palpable.
Lovino swallowed hard, and then asked after a second of hesitation, "And me? How can I become stronger?"
The Boatswain nodded his head towards the forgotten orange in Lovino's hands. "Three meals a day."
They served rice boiled with oranges for dinner. Lovino was left mostly to deal with the men while Berwald took a large serving to Captain Carriedo's cabin. A few men voiced their complaints that there was no meat, but Lovino kindly reminded them of the chicken they had consumed for lunch, so shut the fuck up, thank the Lord, and eat your damn rice.
The sun had set long after the kitchen was clean, and the dishes dried and stowed away. Berwald sat himself on a low stool and opened a small book that he read from, a small lantern on the floor so that he may see in the gloom of the night. Lovino, his body sore, was so fatigued that curled up in the corner he had slept in the night before without a single word.
Sometime later he was awoken to the sound of hushed voices. His fuzzy mind noted that someone had draped a blanket over his shoulders, and curiously he cracked his eyes open. Berwald lay on his side beneath the large table, holding up a blanket of his own to allow Tino to crawl in beside him. The Master Gunner was completely engulfed into the giant man's arms, only his blond head peeking out from the cocoon that the Boatswain made for him.
They were whispering to each other, too low for Lovino to hear. When Tino tilted his head up and allowed Berwald to touch his lips with his own, Lovino could not look any longer. Shutting his eyes from such display, he rolled over so his back was facing them.
Lovino did not care much for his dreams.
He never spoke about them, even when prodded by Feliciano. His brother was fascinated by dreams, especially his own. Whenever he woke up (always bright eyed to Lovino's disgust) he would throw himself over his slumbering brother, and try to recall the odd visions he had. Majority of the time it was about food, especially pasta (which Feliciano loved bordering on ridiculous). There were animals, all fat and happy, congregating in circles to discuss issues of the world around them. Why beasts got together to discuss issues of man, Lovino had no clue and his brother did not find it strange that animals knew and understood such things. He merely babbled happily to their grandfather and him, and if so inspired, pulled out a canvas and attempted to paint it. He was never satisfied, claiming that he could never get the color right. In his dreams, he claimed, the colors were different, vibrant and bright. Not matter how he mixed his paints; they could never match his own expectations.
"Just use the colors you want," Lovino had grumbled once, washing soot from his hands, careful of a burn on his forearm where he had clumsily brushed against an iron hot shoehorn his grandfather had been about to douse into some water. "No one knows what they're supposed to look like since they came from your head."
"But I will know," was the whining complaint. "It doesn't matter what anyone else sees because they don't know the truth. But for me…I'm the only one who knows what they're supposed to truly look like."
Feliciano was outside, leaning through an open window to the smith that grandfather owned. They were young, adolescents with fat still on their cheeks - especially Feliciano, whose eyes took half his head when not squinting them in laughter. There was a gentle breeze, and Lovino looked up at his brother, who cradled his chin in crossed arms, a gentle far-away look in his hazel eyes, his hair tussled and messy, the flyaway locks brushing against his forehead. Lovino had always been in awe of his brother, how when he paused and was quiet and smiled just so he seemed so unnatural.
They were twins, similar in appearance (though Lovino took after his grandfather's darker coloring), but opposites in temperament. Lovino was surely and foul mouthed, downtrodden and pessimistic. Feliciano on the other hand seemed to shine and thrive no matter what the circumstances. Even when grandfather was killed, and the two were on their knees, scrubbing his blood from the ship's deck after pirates had left them and a skeletal crew alive; Feliciano, though weeping, wrapped an arm around Lovino's shoulders and whispered, "We will be fine, brother. Don't cry. We will be fine."
It was Feliciano, who when reaching the docks of Nova Scotia, suggested that perhaps they should work in a bakery rather than a smith. Grandfather was no longer with them, so why carry on with something that did not seem to fit either one of them? "Besides," his brother was grinning so large one could not help stare at him, "Beating dough is far more pleasant than beating iron!"
So they both apprenticed with a chef, and both thrived - in their own way. The chef liked Feliciano's creativeness, while appreciated Lovino's way of squeezing customers to buy their breads and pastries. Lovino was bit more methodical about his approach, while Feliciano liked to experiment. Feliciano was fastidious about putting away everything in its place when done and making sure all the dishes and bowls and tables were clean and spotless. Lovino whined and whimpered and complained when it came to this - even once earning himself a kick in the rump from the chef who had tired of his slovenly tendencies.
Slowly, despite the grief of their grandfather's murder, happiness began to creep into them. Feliciano's optimism was no longer forced through crippling loss, and Lovino could feel himself smile at the thought of what the new day would hold for them - of course he hid it from his brother, for God knew Feliciano was happy enough with little excuse!
He should have known better. Happiness, contentment, stability was not something written for the Vargas brothers. Disasters always lay around the corner for them since they had been born to the world on their mother's deathbed. Their father died of illness before they reached their first year, and orphaned, were taken in by their grandfather.
And their grandfather, strong and resolute smithy that he was, could not withstand the vicious assault of pirates.
They were harbingers of misfortune, it seemed.
And misfortune was not done with them…
"Lovino! Brother!"
Happy, kind, foolish Feliciano. Eyes filled with terror and tears. His hand, which never seemed to carry a single callous of the harsh world, reaching out to Lovino, and calling…
Screaming…
"BROTHER!"
Lovino awoke with a jolt, hair standing on end, his heart drumming loudly in his ears and beating at his chest. He took a shuddering breath, and threw his arm over stinging eyes and forced himself not to weep.
No, Lovino did not think too much of his dreams. He never spoke of them, nor would he ever.
End Notes:
1) NaNoWriMo is in a couple of weeks. I will be delving for the whole month of November into another project (I'm considering taking Honor and Pride - the Avatar Last Airbender fanfic - and making it into an original novel). But do not fear, I plan to have Chapter 5 of Il Diavolo Sorriso completed before January 2013!
2) Let's talk about Love, Il Diavolo Sorriso, and Me (Tristripe):
When I originally wrote this story (or at least the first 9 chapters) back in November 2011, to get the word count of 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo I inadvertently began to write the SAFE way. As in, despite the horrors that Lovino experienced, he AND Antonio began to become gentle…or fall in Hollywood love.
Writing a Hollywood love story is simple, because the emotions are easy. There is forgiveness to faults that should be unforgivable. There is comradeship and laughter, and in at least Hollywood, romances live happily-ever-after.
Il Diavolo Sorriso is NOT a love story. This is the story about survival, and the extent some men will go to reach their goals. It is about losing oneself to hatred and vengeance, and the sacrifices they make to achieve them.
I did not realize how difficult it is to write this until I had to go back and continually re-write what I had already written 3-4 times because when editing I found that I had taken the easy road again and again! For this I have so much respect to the writers, who despite loving the characters as much as I do, are able to go those distances others wouldn't be able to bare to go to. Kudos to them. I hope I will be as successful as they have been!
A couple of days ago I read one of those advice columns where a woman was complaining that when she asked her boyfriend whether he loved her, his response was, "What do you mean?"
I found myself wondering the same thing, "What the fuck does she mean?" I am a 31 year old woman. I was engaged once, and we mutually broke up 6 years ago. Never once did we say that we loved each other…at least not out loud to each other. Do couples actually do that? It wasn't until after our breakup by about a year that one of my friends told me, "I know how much you loved him." And it HIT me HARD. I did love him, dearly. But I wanted him to be happy. We wanted the other to be happy, even if it meant letting go of what we once had.
I have not been in love again, nor do I really search for it - but then people tell me I am a strange bird. The older I become, the more I am baffled by the way people define or express Love.
Love, to me, is heartbreakingly tragic. The rise, the fall, and the inevitable separation that is the ending of every person alive.
Though not a love story, I find myself unable to NOT delve into this enigmatic emotion through other characters that you shall meet in the chapters of this tale (you have already met one couple!) Unfathomable, quite, and deep. Every couple is different in their expression. And…because it is me, be sure that they will be heartbreakingly tragic.
I hope I have not bored you with this incessant babble.
Leave a comment, and see you in chapter 5!