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| Yo ho ho...; New one - no idea where it's going! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: July 5, 2007, 9:08 am (6,145 Views) | |
| springsatine | July 16, 2007, 12:06 pm Post #31 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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That's why I can't stop imagine Cap. Hetfield since I started reading it
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| Verity | July 16, 2007, 7:29 pm Post #32 |
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The Story Girl
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Awesome!!! Hell yeah!!!!! You're handling Capt. Hammett's emotions for Mr. Trujillo very well. Capt Hammett seems like he has devoted his whole life to the sea, the dashing, loner, capt. He needs someone to spice things up. I'm dying to find out what Capt Hetfield is going to do. I love my daily trip to Metallipirates!!
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| Shayi | July 17, 2007, 9:16 am Post #33 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Not intentionally meltin' anything! I'm glad y'all are enjoying this Thank you so so much for your kind words. And don't worry Edgirl. Eventually we will find out why Hammett's pursuing Hetfield, why Hetfield hates him... and possibly even why Mustaine is a drunken asshole! Lol give it time ;) Now, on with the next chapter. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Captain Newsted stood once more at the prow of his ship, gazing out to sea. He could see the Death’s Lady as clear as day, heading towards the Revenge, and could see Dragon’s Wrath not too far behind her. There was an insistent tugging, a strange electricity that ran through every fibre of his being and he knew that it would not be long before once more the Ymir was summoned into the land of the living, once more to be unleashed upon those pursuing Hetfield. For now he knew that Ulrich was drawing power from the Ymir herself, for a long curse held a strange power of its own, to pull the mists through into the mortal world, to engulf and confuse the Lady, keep her at bay and terrify her men into submission. As well he knew, frightened men were more likely to mutiny, and if Hammett’s men were to mutiny, well that was all to Hetfield’s advantage. Newsted stretched slowly, the prickling across his skin letting him know that Lars was sending more of the mist and horror from this realm across the seas. He pitied Hammett, it would not be an easy journey from him. He knew first hand of the things, the nightmares that lurked within the mist itself, things that were real but unreal, and that might slowly send you mad if you let them. He felt a presence at his left shoulder and glanced across to see one of the other crew members standing there, Ragnar, a red-headed bear of a man who was in general one to keep himself to himself until some killing was to be done. He had been Skol Ulrich’s second in command and had never quite forgiven the betrayal and the denial to him of a warrior’s death and the promise of Valhalla. “We kill soon.” He observed, words heavily accented as he spoke, voice little used and harsh. “Aye we will.” Replied Newsted quietly. “Good.” Stated Ragnar with a sudden smile. “One day… we will be free, ja?” “I hope so.” “Ja, it is a feeling I am having. One day, we will be free. I will be free to be dying and entering Valhalla. You will be free to sailing again.” “I only hope ye be right.” Said Newsted with a wintery smile as he stared out once again at the Death’s Lady, seeing the mist engulfing the ship from prow to stern, shielding it from his gaze until it was just another transparent shape moving in the fog that they were all cursed to sail through. Ragnar grunted and turned away, stomping down to the other end of the ship. It wasn’t often that he felt an inclination to speak to anyone, but there was something about the sight of their Captain stood there that had awoken human emotions within him that he had thought to be long gone. He smiled to himself as he walked away, something in the air tasted like freedom beckoning to him. Ragnar could feel it coming. Captain Newsted watched Ragnar walk away with slight surprise. It was the first time that any of the original Viking crew had ever addressed him whilst trapped in the ether. For a few minutes he wondered if he had perhaps found his first ally on the godforsaken ship. It was certain that Ragnar craved the freedom as much as he did; a way off the ship and it occurred to him that he had never particularly thought that the crew wanted off as much as he did. They were so silent in their movements, they had always seemed more like automatons than living, breathing human beings. The realization that they were as feeling as he was sickened him. He had only been trapped a breath compared to the millennium that they had suffered aboard the ship that sailed between worlds. Slowly he let out a shaking breath, slumping down to sit on the deck of the ship, resting his head against the icy wood. Now more than ever he was certain that he would find some way, any way, to break free of the curse, or to have the curse broken. And perhaps, he thought, he had an ally in Ragnar. Something had moved the man enough to come and speak to him, and to Newsted, that meant an extra flickering of hope. From the side of the ship Ragnar silently watched the Captain. It had worn heavy upon him, his time on the ship. As it had on them all. He knew that for the rest of them there was no real life after this vessel, that death was the only true hope that they had. They had all been alive aeons longer than any man had a right to, and they were all weary, in need of the final rest. The world had moved on without them and they would no longer have a place. But this Captain, who for so long strove to cling on to his humanity, he still had that time, he still had a place in the world. Yes, he would help him in any way that he could, the strange, foreigner that he was who fascinated him so. Aboard the Revenge Hetfield watched the mist flowing away from the unseen Ymir towards where Death’s Lady sailed. He could almost taste the need for blood, the desire to hurt Hammett in any way that he could. First though, first he could suffer the nightmares that came from that world between worlds where Ulrich summoned the Ymir from. There was too much history lying between them to allow him to make his revenge swift. Too many betrayals, so many he couldn’t remember who had betrayed who in the first place, who had started the vicious cycle. All he knew was that he needed to end it all. Yes, he would draw this out for as long as he could. And he would savour every sweet minute of it. Hammett deserved everything that was coming to him. Briefly he closed his eyes as some of the memories came flooding back to him, brief harsh flashes that stabbed through him like knives. He had once sailed with Hammett. Had been part of his crew. Had been his… A hand on his shoulder made him start, then turn with a snarl to look down at whoever had thrust themselves into his thoughts. Green eyes stared up into his from a face that was both exhausted and hard, unyielding. “Cap’n?” “Ulrich?” Hetfield replied, regaining his calm, locking away the memories. He was Captain of his ship and no man could take that from him. He could still taste the smoke and death from the Mary Anne in his mouth as he spoke and he almost chuckled aloud. Yes, it was good to be him. “Death’s Lady will be deep within the mist soon enough. Do we head fer the nearest port, drop off our captives?” “She be near enough taken by the mist already Ulrich. You’ve done well.” He stated a shark-like smile curling his lips. Ulrich shrugged and looked out towards where the mist streamed across the seas, imagining the beautiful vessel being slowly engulfed by the nightmare mist that he had sent out towards it. They would suffer. But not as much as Hammett would suffer when Hetfield took a blade to him. He didn’t know whether somewhere he felt sorry, some small corner of his soul that remained his own, that wasn’t tied to his Captain or tied to the ship. The sound of Hetfield speaking took his thoughts away from it. “We’ll make for the port, I have no time fer keepin’ captives fed an’ watered. Not when we be havin’ a battle on the horizon. Neither do I need any aboard ship who may be wishful to sabotage us.” “Aye Cap’n.” Replied Ulrich sharply. “Our nearest port be half a day’s sailin’ away movin’ at our current rate o’ knots.” “Set the course, Mr Ulrich.” Said Hetfield with a smile. “Have ye any news of Mustaine’s ship? He’s been in these waters, and I have no wish to be meetin’ him before I’ve rid this world of Hammett.” He said, voice harsh as he spoke. Ulrich shook his head slowly. “Newsted said nothin’ about him. But I’ll be askin’ him again. We’ve had no sightin’s of him.” He stated thoughtfully, fingers restlessly playing with the hilt of one of the knives at his waist. With that he walked away, heading back to his cabin. Periods of inaction he found hard to deal with, he had a need to always be doing something. The rest of the crew were content to drink and gamble away their time, spend their money on whores when in port, but he craved action. That was perhaps why he spent his time in ports spying, picking up information and on board ship tried to keep a constant flow of activity. Now he was thirsting for the action that he knew to be coming to them. |
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| Verity | July 17, 2007, 9:54 am Post #34 |
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The Story Girl
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I hope Hammett's men don't mutiny. I am pitying and worrying about Hammett too. And all this talk about Hetfield taking a blade to him. I just hope that Kirk knows what he's getting into, and that Rob can perhaps bail him out. The end of this chapter was perfect. I totally identify with Lars needing constant action. I am very like that myself. Down time is hard for me to deal with, though I do like to drink and gamble too. I am craving the next installment!!! |
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| Raedoll | July 17, 2007, 4:18 pm Post #35 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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I all encompassingly agree with Verity. She took the blasted words out of my mouth -_X |
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| Shayi | July 18, 2007, 9:53 am Post #36 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thanks ladies I'm so glad that you guys are still reading this one, and still enjoying it because it's rather lengthy to say the least. Anyhoo, here we go with the next bit! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Commodore Mustaine stalked up and down the length of the ship like a caged tiger, anger radiating from him in almost tangible waves. The men were taking far too long to patch up the ship in his opinion and he was falling further behind Death’s Lady. He cursed long and fluently, tossing an empty bottle to the deck, feeling an insensible satisfaction as it smashed, spreading shards of glass skittering across the wood. None of the crew members on deck so much as blinked an eye. They were all used to the Commodore’s black moods and foul rages – there was nothing you could do about it and they’d long learnt to keep their heads down when he was like that. Some of them vaguely wished that they were sailing under the second ship that fell under his remit, but as the Captain of that ship wasn’t much better they put up with their lot. As Mustaine passed one of the crew moved to clear away the glittering pieces of glass that lay spread in a shimmering mass across the deck. The smell of rum now mixed with the already pungent medley of wood, tar, sweat, metal, rope and salt that pervaded the ship. Strangely it was not unpleasant. To Ellefson coming up from the bilges however that scent meant only one thing – that he needed to watch himself an tread carefully around Mustaine, moreso than usual. Even as he walked out on deck he could visualise the sneering, mocking, perpetually scowling face of his leader and he shuddered. He was certain that Mustaine was getting slowly worse over the years. True enough there were things that contributed but most of what made him bitter was self-inflicted. True enough he had once sailed with Hetfield, but he’d brought about his own downfall and been marooned on an island. Certainly he’d been rescued, but then had watched as Hetfield and Hammett together made themselves the terrors of the Caribbean while his reputation stagnated. Ellefson sighed softly to himself. He hadn’t made himself any more popular by becoming a privateer, killing off the pirates he had once sailed with. There were times when Ellefson almost felt pity for him, then remembered the way that he treated him and others and swiftly lost any such feeling. Ellefson glanced over his shoulder, hearing booted footsteps coming up behind him, knowing without really having to look that it would be Mustaine once again. “Mister Ellefson? I trust me ship be ready to be makin’ full headway again?” He asked, voice a low growl by Ellefson’s ear. Ellefson suppressed an urge to shudder and gripped the hilt of his cutlass tighter, briefly imagining what it would feel like to slide it between Mustaine’s ribs, watch him fall to the deck and breathe his last words through bloodflecked lips. Instead he curbed the desire and stood still. “Aye Sir.” He replied through gritted teeth. “Anythin’ further to report?” Asked Mustaine, a slight smile ghosting across his lips, blue eyes overbright with rum and madness that shone through. “No.” Replied Ellefson shortly, waiting for Mustaine to move away. After a second’s pause he did, striding down the ship, shouting out his orders as he did. The pursuit of Death’s Lady was back in earnest once again although they’d lost the best part of a day. Ellefson shrugged. There was a lot more that needed doing to the ship. Mustaine was too driven by his strange need to better others to keep his ship in order and now the wood was becoming spongy, rotting slowly. He couldn’t remember when the ship had last been careened and that didn’t help the problem. Still, he thought savagely, better at the bottom than in the hands of a madman. Ellefson pulled out his telescope that he kept tucked in the belt around his waist and raised it, gazing out towards where the Death’s Lady should be. He could no longer see her, and reasoned that they had lost sight of her. That would please Mustaine. Still, there looked to be a strange weather front moving in as well. Let the Commodore discover that for himself. He would keep himself well out of the way. Mustaine stood at the wheel of his ship once more, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingers. He watched Ellefson closely, saw him staring intently through his telescope at something in the distance then turning away once again. Yes, he would watch Ellefson, there was something there he didn’t trust. Never trusted. Or did he? Sometimes these things changed themselves around in his mind. Confusing. Memories and the present mixed together like a giant whirlpool, spinning him into a maelstrom of uncertainty. He took a quick swig of rum. He’d watch Ellefson, closely, that much he was decided on. Once he had dealt with the Lady and then with Hetfield, he would deal with Ellefson. He wasn’t sure what for, but he was sure that there was some reason why he should. And if there wasn’t, what more reason did he need than the fact he was Commodore? Satisfied by the line of reasoning he smiled again, losing himself in memory once more. On board the Death’s Lady the fog had all but swallowed the ship, shifting in sinuous tendrils about the men’s feet and legs, its cold touch on their skin dirty and tainted, feeling almost as though it was a poison that could soak into the skin, affecting everything that it touched. Once they were in the fog there was nothing. Every sound was muffled, there was no forward, no backwards, and no sideways. The horizon was nothing more than a dream, an idea, something to strive for but never to see. The water below looked almost ink like, black where before it had shone blue. Robert watched closely as the men went about their allotted tasks. He could sense the general unease, hear the barely there mutterings of dissention that flowed like trickles of water between them all. He could feel the general tension in the air as though there were walls hanging between them all, heavy and oppressive. “There be ghosts in these waters.” Came one murmur, close to his ear. “Ah don’ you be ridiculous now Mister Thomas.” Came Rawlett’s gruff voice shortly after. “The Cap’n wouldn’t be leadin’ ye into cursed waters.” There was a momentary silence and Robert turned to listen to the conversation. Thomas stared Rawlett up and down then deliberately spat on the deck at his feet. “That to yer Cap’n.” He stated, narrowing his eyes. “I saw sommat in the waters out there.” “There’s nothin’ there that weren’t there before.” Stated Rawlett with finality. “Believe what ye want.” Said Thomas with a snarl. “I know what I saw Mister Rawlett… I know that there ain’t nothin’ right about this fog. T’ain’t natural.” There was an unmistakable challenge in his voice and Rawlett just shook his head. “Believe what ye will Mister Thomas. But I’ll not have ye spreading rumours on this ship.” Looking at Rawlett as he spoke, Robert could see an unmistakable weariness in his expression, tired and worried. He believed in the nightmares that were hidden within the fog. Robert didn’t blame him; he too knew that they were there. What was of more concern was that the crew were already talking about things that they’d seen, already badmouthing the Captain and they hadn’t even been in the fog for a day. Not that days or nights held sway any longer. They could see nothing but a grey, swirling about the vessel whether day or night as they would all find out shortly enough. “Aye, Mister Rawlett I will. We all said that pursuin’ the Revenge would end in no good. ‘Tis a cursed ship, an’ this is the curse that our Cap’n’s led us to.” He said belligerently, almost daring anyone to speak up against him, say that he was wrong. Robert finally shook his head and made as if to speak but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Mister, Thomas I believe?” Thomas looked at Robert and then beyond him to where Captain Hammett stood, his face an expressionless mask as was his wont before the crew. “Aye…” He replied, keeping the anger in his voice, although his body language betrayed his fear. “You feel that this ship is being sailed by an incompetent? That I lead you into danger?” He asked, voice like the last of the cat o’ ninetails as he spoke. “I believe that when you signed the ships articles, Mister Thomas, you were prepared to do as you were ordered, with no questions asked. I further believe that I know exactly what I am doing, and that I would not willingly lose my ship or crew. Do you believe this?” “Aye Sir.” “Liar.” Stated Hammett with finality. “Mister Trujillo, if you would be so kind, seize that man and with Rawlett’s assistance, take him down to the brig. You, Mister Thomas will be brought up to the deck within the hour to receive your punishment. I do hope that I have made myself entirely clear.” “Cap’n…I…” Stuttered Thomas as Robert stepped forward, pulling his arms up behind his back, stopping him from struggling. “Rather than speaking to me, may I suggest that you make your peace with what ever gods it is that you pray to?” Asked Hammett in a silky tone before turning to the other crew members. “Do any of the rest of you have anything further to say upon the matter? Because if you do not, get back to whatever it is that you were engaged upon.” As he walked silently away he caught Robert’s eye for a brief moment and Robert smiled slightly as he started half marching, half dragging Thomas down to the brig. |
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| Verity | July 18, 2007, 11:06 am Post #37 |
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The Story Girl
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Once again I just love and adore your Commodore Mustaine in this. I know he's a raging, violent, drunk but he's written so well. He cursed long and fluently, tossing an empty bottle to the deck, feeling an insensible satisfaction as it smashed, spreading shards of glass skittering across the wood. None of the crew members on deck so much as blinked an eye. They were all used to the Commodore’s black moods and foul rages – there was nothing you could do about it and they’d long learnt to keep their heads down when he was like that Awesome paragraph. It would have taken me like a year to write something that well thought-out and put together. I would have sent Mr. Thomas to the brig too. :horns2 for Capt. Hammett!!!!! This story rocks and kicks all the ass in the entire world. |
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| Shayi | July 19, 2007, 11:43 am Post #38 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thanks Ashley! I'm glad that you're enjoying this one - Commodore Mustaine really is such fun to write Okay. Let's get swashbuckling again! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rawlett followed Trujillo down into the brig with the struggling Thomas. As the stench of the place hit him it drew back memories of his own distinctly unpleasant night spent there and he threw Thomas without ceremony into the cage, watching as Rawlett locked it, buckling the key onto his own belt. Thomas kicked at the bars, spitting in rage, rattling the door and Rawlett looked at him, almost as though he was about to speak, then just shook his head, and motioned for Trujillo to follow him out. As he closed the door behind them and locked that as well Robert looked at him seriously. “So he’s to make his peace?” He asked quietly. “Aye. Hammett won’t be toleratin’ behaviour like that.” Replied Rawlett quietly. “I remember the last time. ‘Twas a few years back now… but aye, no man on this vessel will forget.” He stated, falling into a reflective silence. “What happened?” Asked Trujillo, pulling Rawlett to one side, voice quiet as he spoke. “Well, t’was a feller by the name o’, Murphy I believe it were. ‘Ee expressed ‘is dissatisfaction with what the Cap’n were sayin’ an’ doin’. Ee tried to start a mutiny, aye, there were a few behind ‘im t’was about a curse then as well. There were nothin’ in the rumours though, there were no curse. Cap’n Hammett, he heard the mutterin’s, an’ he got hold o’ the ringleader Murphy an’ punished him. The others were flogged but, they lived. Murphy, he attacked the Cap’n and, well, he gave ‘im the blood eagle.” Rawlett’s voice dropped and he wiped one hand across his eyes although trying somehow to erase the memory of what he’d seen. “Blood eagle?” Asked Robert softly, watching Rawlett’s expression turn from disgust and sadness to blank as he explained what it was. “The Cap’n had Murphy tied to the mast. Didn’t tell ‘im what ‘e was goin’ t’do. I think Murphy thought ‘e was gettin’ away with a floggin’.” Rawlett paused. “I’ve seen a lot in me life, it’s been a long ‘un spent on the sea. What the Cap’n did, I never seen before or after. ‘e split open Murphy’s back, ignored ‘is screamin’. Split it open either side an’ reached ‘is ‘and in there, pulled out Murphy’s lungs.” Rawlett shook his head. “Murphy were still screamin’ an’ ‘is lungs were flappin’ be’ind him like bloody wings. That’s why it’s a blood eagle. ‘e died soon enough after that. An’ the Cap’n? I didn’t see anything. He’s the devil so he is.” Trujillo crossed himself subconsciously, something he hadn’t done since his childhood as the images of the punishment flowed through his mind like the blood that had flowed across the deck that day. Rawlett nodded. “Aye, I can’t look at our Cap’n the same after that day. Nor will I.” He stated, walking back up on deck once again. Robert stayed where he was, leaning back against the wood of the door to where Thomas was incarcerated. He could imagine it all too easily and vividly, Hammett wouldn’t have shown even so much as a flicker of emotion as he inflicted that terrible punishment on the man. He rarely did. There were times when Robert could hardly imagine that he was human at all. Certainly he’d killed himself, many times, but never like that. Death in battle was different to killing in cold blood, especially in such a cruel way. He shook his head, mind torn between his lust for the enigmatic Captain, the flashes of the human man he’d seen beneath the cool exterior, and the harsh, cruel statue that was capable of inflicting such suffering on another human being. He closed his eyes for a few seconds then stood up straight, pushing all the thoughts from his mind as he went back up on deck once again, the mist wreathing around him like clammy fingers touching his skin and he shuddered. Silence had descended amongst the men as they worked and he was loath to do anything to break it. There was a sullen atmosphere, full of apprehension, but at least while they were all so tense, they were watchful, mindful of what could be lurking out in the mist. Hammett stood alone at the prow of the ship, staring out into the nothingness and Robert walked towards him with swift strides. “He’s in the brig?” Asked Hammett without so much as looking up. “Aye.” “Good. He has an hour.” “Why? What are ye going to do to him?” Asked Robert, voice hard as he spoke, watching Hammett with narrowed eyes. “Are ye going to do what ye did with Murphy?” Hammett turned to look at him, dark eyes pits into oblivion as he stared at him. “You’ve spoken to Rawlett then?” “Aye.” Replied Robert, staring back, refusing to back down an inch. In some ways he realised that by backing down to him, he had less chance of surviving the encounter than if he stood up to him. He doubted Hammett often had any man stand up to him, and he would be damned before he lost his own free will to the strange, exotic creature before him. “And? I am Captain upon this ship. It is for me to decide the punishment.” He stated, crossing his arms as he turned to face Trujillo. “I’m not disputin’ that fact. But what ye did?” Robert shook his head, looking away. “He attacked me. Death was the only option open to me. Or should I show my weakness for the next man who decides to defy me?” Asked Hammett. “What would you have me do?” “Shoot him?” Suggested Robert. “Somethin’ that don’t mean he dies in that kind o’ agony.” He finished, shaking his head again as the images flashed through his mind. Hammett smiled. “But Robert, since that day there has been not one incident of mutiny, not one man has raised his voice against me. This ship has been one of complete peace. Should the life of one man be worth more than those who may have risen after him? No. By his death, peace has stayed. I disgust you don’t I Robert?” His voice which had been quiet, almost emotionless changed slightly at the end, letting a flicker of something else show behind it. “You do.” Confirmed Robert. “An’ if ye do that to this man, I will kill ye myself.” He stated, not as an idle boast, just a simple statement of fact. Hammett let out a soft breath, eyes glittering like chips of obsidian as he looked at Trujillo. “I disgust you and you would fight me? Those words are enough for me to slaughter you where you stand Robert. But I won’t. I’d like to spar with you one day, out of interest. No, I am not going to kill Thomas in the way that I did Murphy. Not because of what you have said to me, although, your disgust at my actions has touched me somewhat, but because his crime was not so severe. Thomas will be killed, but it will be swift.” Stated Hammett, thinking out his action as he spoke. Robert regarded him steadily. “I’m glad to be hearin’ that Cap’n.” He said quietly. “I thought you might be. The trouble is, Robert,” Said Hammett moving closer, eyes devouring Trujillo as he stood there, anger still glittering in his eyes, solid and menacing as he faced him down. “No matter what you may think about what I’ve done, about what I might do, you still want me don’t you. I interest you in the same way that you interest me. Deny that if you choose but one day you will have to face up to that fact whether it is now or later.” “I don’t deny it.” Replied Robert. “There be plenty about ye that interests me. I think ye may drive me to madness but I do. You’re two people an’ I intend to know both.” He stated. “Yes?” Hammett smirked, looking Robert up and down. Robert nodded and reached out, motion quicker than a striking snake, grabbing Hammett and pulling him into a searing kiss, hard and needy, something dirty and gritty that both had been craving until he pulled away and stalked away without another word. Hammett stood stock still, fingers lightly tracing across his full, sensuous lips, eyes aflame with desire as he watched the black clad figure moving away down the ship. A smile slowly filtered into his expression and he turned watched for a few more minutes before turning to stare once more into the mists, waiting to see what would come of them. He didn’t have long to wait. A loud shout went up from the port side of the ship, strangely dulled by the fog that swirled all around them and he turned swiftly, walking down towards them to see what was happening. Three of the men were staring down the side of the ship, while a few more had backed slowly away. Robert was already there, moving towards the side, staring downwards to see what had startled the rest of the crew. |
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| Raedoll | July 19, 2007, 12:36 pm Post #39 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Commodore Mustaine is bloody brilliant. Ellefson will do well to step away and stay out of the wrathen drunk's path. Hammett and Trujillo are marvelous with one another, and our Offender Thomas, well....He be in Davy Jones's Locker now. THEY KISS! YES.
OHMIGAWD. HOTT. FINALLY they get to relieve a little of that sexual tension. I wonder when they'll be able to exercise it all out *waggles her eyebrows suggestively*Brilliant, Shayi. Brilliant. I love it. |
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| Verity | July 20, 2007, 12:36 am Post #40 |
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The Story Girl
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Holy shit!!!! I totally didn't see that ending. wow. Your Kirk is brilliant in this. He's a cruel hardass, yet smooth, and very mysterious, almost like a Rhett Butler type. Hammett let out a soft breath, eyes glittering like chips of obsidian as he looked at Trujillo awesome sentence!!!!
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| Shayi | July 20, 2007, 10:29 am Post #41 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you thank you thank you You have no idea how happy you guys and your lovely reviews make me feel This is the last update until Monday as I'm off for the weekend. So hope you all have a great weekend and yeah, until Monday! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Robert swore long and fluently at the sight that greeted him over the side of the Lady. Thick blood oozed out of every pore of the wood, the scent coppery, harsh, sickly and familiar. For a few seconds it was almost like re-living a nightmare, the nightmare that had been the Redeemer in her last days. They had seen everything then, from blood to fire, to ice and monsters that he never wanted to encounter again. Hammett reached the side only seconds later and looked at it with a vaguely supercilious air quickly processing what he saw before him. Certainly he felt shocked but there was no way that he would ever show that in front of his crew. Not when there was already mutiny in the air and at least one death to come that night. He reached over the railing and touched his fingertips to the dark liquid sliding slowly down the side to join with the ink black ocean below and brought them up to his face, the blood shining on his skin. Lightly and deliberately he sucked the blood from each fingertip, looking at the crew with a wolfish smile, eyes lingering for a second longer on his first mate. “I always said that the Lady was alive.” He murmured, his gaze never leaving Trujillo’s face. “Can ye be tellin’ us now there be no curse?” Demanded one of the crew, glaring angrily at the Captain and the two First Mates. “Because this be lookin’ mighty like a curse to me.” Hammett faced the accusing eyes, cat-like smile still in place. “You are quite correct. There is a curse. However,” his voice, which had been fairly genial in tone changed once more to the stony voice he used when there was to be no hint of disobedience. “Although there is a curse, I will not have any nay-sayers. We go forward through this and we pursue Captain Hetfield of the Revenge.” “Aye Cap’n. But will we make it through the curse?” Came the question from the back of the group who had all crowded round to see what the commotion was. Hammett looked at them all, gauging the temperament of the mass of men before him, deciding how best to react, what to say to them. Sometimes that was one of the hardest parts about Captaining a ship. Not working out where they were to sail to, not keeping the ship running in order and telling the men what to do, not directing battles, no, the hardest part was reading the men themselves, working out how they would react, what they were going to do. And after years of practice, he was good at it. He knew just how far he could push his men, just how much they would take from him. “Yes. That is beyond a doubt. Have you ever known the Lady to fail you? Me to fail you? No. Should you have any further doubts, do direct them to Mr Trujillo, who is in fact a survivor of the current curses.” He finished, shooting a quick almost imperceptible smirk at Robert that wasn’t . “Now, are there any further questions?” Without waiting for a reply he turned away and walked swiftly back to the helm, taking the wheel from the temporary helmsman there. He didn’t trust anybody else to guide his beloved Lady through the cursed fog that surrounded them. Aboard the Revenge Hetfield glanced across at Ulrich who was sat leaning against the rail of the ship, basking in the bright sunlight. They were making excellent headway towards the nearest port and if his calculations were correct they would lose Hammett along the way. Which would make their lives a lot easier to pull into port and get rid of the captives. True enough once they drew far enough away from Death’s Lady they would be unable to maintain the mist flowing between the worlds and the Lady would be sailing free once again. By that time however, they would be far enough away that he could make it into the port without Hammett being any the wiser. Ulrich looked up, squinting against the bright glare of the sun as Hetfield walked over to him. “Ulrich, how long can we keep this up?” Lars shrugged. “A while longer Cap’n.” He replied quietly, a weariness around the edges of his voice. Using that amulet to keep a rent open between the worlds without bringing the ship through was always draining on both him and Newsted, more on Newsted and the rest of the Viking crew, but even so, he was beginning to feel the effects. “It won’t be long afore we can break free o’ the Lady, an’ abandon these captives.” Murmured Hetfield thoughtfully. “We’ll re-provision and we will take the Lady to the bottom o’ the ocean.” He promised, his voice suddenly dark and foreboding. The thought of the end of Death’s Lady and the destruction of her Captain was one that had comforted him on many a long night when he remembered things that had once been, things that would never be again. He and Hammett had sailed together years before. Before Hammett even came into ownership of the Lady and before he’d become Captain of the Revenge. There had been a time, a long time ago when he and Hammett had been equals, working together, slowly building their reputations. He’d acquired the Revenge with Hammett’s help and had become Captain while Hammett waited for them to take Death’s Lady. Yes, things had been simpler then so much simpler. Before any betrayal. There had been one stage where he had even loved him but that had been a long time ago. Things had changed a lot since then. Ulrich looked up at Hetfield and shook his head. “Doesn’t do to be dwellin’ on the past, Cap’n. What’s done is done, an’ we have a port to reach, a ship to send to the bottom an’ a Cap’n to be killin’.” Hetfield pushed the maudlin thoughts from his mind and suddenly grinned widely. “Aye, an’ it’ll be a pleasure to be watchin’ ‘im die.” “Mustaine’s sailin’ hard once more.” He remarked laconically. “An’ from what I remember o’ him, ‘e won’t be too happy to be sailin’ into that fog. So…” Ulrich broke off with a shrug and a knowing look and Hetfield nodded. “He’ll be on our trail if we don’ take care.” He finished. “Aye, that’s what I were thinkin’ Cap’n. But we should be within sight o’ port afore he ever has a chance to be reachin’ us. An’ we’ll be snugly in berth afore ‘e ever catches us. ‘E won’t risk himself sailin’ in there. Not anymore ‘e won’t. Mustaine never made ‘imself that popular where we’re headin’. Not popular at all.” Remarked Lars with a sly smile. “Aye, ye made sure o’ that didn’t you?” Asked Hetfield, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a bottle, taking a quick swig before passing it to Ulrich who took it without at word, taking a hard pull and shuddering as the fire burned through his gullet and down into his stomach. “I have talents.” Remarked Ulrich with a wink, stretching luxuriously against the warm wood of the side of the ship, feeling the heat soaking through his clothes and into his skin. He looked up at the sky, a beautiful, bright blue, the sort that can only be found above the sea in the Caribbean. There were no clouds, nothing threatening, just a blue expanse that seemed to stretch on for eternity, disturbed only by the blazing light of the sun that seemed to sink right down into the centre of his very being. “That I can’t deny.” Agreed Hetfield, taking another pull from the drink, passing it down to Ulrich once again. They both fell silent for a while, watching the scenery flowing past the ship as they sailed. They were still having their luck of the wind and were making good time with the Revenge fairly flying through the water, white spray shooting up from her bow as she plunged through the peaks and troughs of the waves. Nothing stood between them and their objective and Hetfield was feeling in a remarkably good mood. Things seemed to be going his way. Ulrich too was sharing the general sense of wellbeing. Certainly he was tired from the drain of continuously keeping that mist surrounding Hammett’s ship, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Then they would be in port once again, he’d be gathering information, Mustaine wouldn’t be a problem for a while, and they would then be able to pursue Hammett with fresh provisions and men fresh from the taverns and whorehouses, with all the trouble out of their systems before they headed aboard once more. After that? Well then if Hetfield was to be believed, they would once again be in pursuit of the Lady and in for some action for sure. In his view, his life was very good. |
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| Verity | July 20, 2007, 9:16 pm Post #42 |
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The Story Girl
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I can just imagine Lars sitting on the ship basking in the sun. I liked the tiny bit about Hetfield remembering when he and Hammett used to sail together as equals. I wonder what happened there??? Can't wait to find out! I'm a little worried about Capt Hammett going after Hetfield and The Revenge though. I can't believe I'm actually saying this but I can't wait until Monday! damn girl, you're good.
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| Shayi | July 23, 2007, 10:06 am Post #43 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Thanks so much Ashley! I'm really glad that you're enjoying it... I'm having such fun with all these damned pirates So... here goes some more. Newsted was silent as he stood amidships, watching the Lady slowly losing ground to the Revenge, trapped as they were in the thick mists. All he could feel was the cold insistent tugging and an all encompassing weariness as Lars poured more energy into maintaining the flow between the two worlds. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands across his face, almost trying to scrub away his own tiredness. Not long and the Lady would be far enough away that Lars couldn’t use anything from the half-world against it. Although at the same time that meant that there was no chance of the Ymir being brought out of the half-world to fight against the Lady, so no chance of feeling the hot Caribbean sun caressing his skin, feeling the sea air sliding down his throat. However, he was still glad that for a while at least the insistent pull would stop and they would be left in peace. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked up into the craggy, bearded face of Ragnar. “So no freedom fer us.” He commented with an attempt at a smile. Ragnar shrugged. “Not yet, Captain Newsted, but I am feeling it coming. One day you will be sailing free.” He stated, gruff voice low and sure. Looking at the Captain he could feel trickles of his own humanity, coulf feel pity for the once so cheerful man who was steadily becoming more like the rest of them. He didn’t want more innocent men condemned to a life aboard the Ymir. There was no honour in punishing an enemy that way. By axe or sword, it made no difference how you punished them, but you didn’t condemn a man to be trapped on another world on an accursed ship. That didn’t sit right with him. He felt the injustice just as deeply as he could feel their freedom coming, almost within reach, just past the horizon. “I hope yer right. Why are ye talkin’ to me?” “You are a good man, Newstead, an honourable man.” Replied Ragnar simply, leaning against the rail, staring out towards the prow where the dragon’s head rose, its wooden eyes staring out to see. Still proud and fierce it seemed, even after a thousand years, still snarling a challenge though all she had been built to challenge were long gone, the stuff of half forgotten memories. They were the only ones left, a crew and a ship out of time and out of place. For the first time in over a century his thoughts drifted to comrades he would never see again and wondered about their fate. Did they burn in the funeral pyres to be gathered to Odin in Valhalla? Or had they met their fate battling the cruel seas? He would nknow one day he reasoned. One day when he and the rest of the crew were allowed their release to the next life, when the Ymir was finally allowed her final rest as she had long deserved. “Thank ye Ragnar.” Said Newsted, breaking the big Viking from his private reverie. “Ye be an honourable man also. An’ I be truly glad ye believe in our freedom.” “Ja, I do. Newsted, can I asking you to do somethings for me?” Asked Ragnar after another long silence in which each man was lost to his own thoughts. “A request from one warrior to another.” Newsted frowned in slight surprise. “Aye, ask away.” “When this curse is over, we will let ourselves be dying in the battle. We are having no place on this earth. We are wanting to go on to Valhalla. Our bodies, will you be sure our bodies are getting the burning aboard this ship as is the right way?” Ragnar asked, his voice barely a rumble across Newsted’s conscious, solemn and quiet. It was a genuine request, neither wanting nor requiring either sympathy or argument. Newsted was surprised at the sudden tug it gave his emotions to think of no longer having the quiet, solid presence of Radnar around, but finally he nodded. “I will make sure.” He promised, his gaze meeting Ragnar’s head on. “That I swear to ye.” Ragnar smiled. “My thanks to you Newsted.” He replied simply, laying one hand on Newsted’s shoulder for an instant, the first human touch the Captain had experienced since arriving aboard the Ymir. It may have been the momentary touch of a man who by rights should have been dead for the best part of a millennium, but it was warm, solid and real and that was in truth what he really cared about at that moment. Ragnar smiled again and slowly walked away, leaving Newsted to his own thoughts once more. Hammett frowned as he stared into the mist, seeing only vague undiscernable shapes leering out at him, then disappearing again as they drew closer. He lightly chewed on his full lower lip, hating his next decision, but knowing that it was the right one. He ordered that the sails be furled, knowing that there was no way they could keep sailing full tilt through a fog that could contain anything; monsters, ghouls or even the Ymir. The only comforting thought was that Mustaine would not follow them into the mists. Under his breath he cursed Hetfield, cursed his ship and damned them all to the depths. All around there was a feeling of anticipation, that there was something out there, something that was waiting. The feeling irritated him, meant that he was not in complete control and it only fuelled the frustration that he was feeling. He looked down to Rawlett on the steps down to the deck. “Take out Thomas and lash him to the mast.” He instructed, voice tight as he spoke, eyes almost blazing. Rawlett tugged his forelock and moved away swiftly, knowing that now was not the time to cross Hammett in any way. Robert had just made sure that the oars were out and the boat being moved slowly and smoothly through the water and was walking across the deck when the first shudder ran through the vessel making him stumble. He regained his footing quickly and moved to the port side where he had felt the judder reverberate from. The ship rocked, and a few shouts went up as another blow shook the ship while some of the men rushed to the side, staring down into the inky water where the surface was rippling, but nothing was visible. Robert turned to see Rawlett dragging Thomas to the mast, tying him there securely as yet another blow rocked the ship. He glanced up at Hammett who was shouting for the cannons to be readied and for the men to arm themselves. The deck was a flurry of activity and Robert jogged swiftly up the steps to the wheel where Hammmett was stood, steadying the course of the Lady after the buffeting she had received. “What could you see?” Asked Hammett, voice level although the strain around his eyes showed. “Nothin’ Cap’n.” Replied Robert with a shake of his head. “Whatever it was, it’s happy hiding below the waterline.” “I thought as much. Very well, we shall just remain prepared. In the meantime, you will take the wheel while I deal with Thomas.” Said Hammett with finality, giving up his place at the helm to Trujillo who wordlessly took the wheel. “This is going to be one hell of a ride.” Murmured Hammett, looking directly into the dark eyes of his first mate, before reaching out and lightly touching his fingertips to Robert’s lips before turning abruptly and striding down onto the deck leaving Robert staring after him. Hammett walked directly to Rawlett who was stood beside Thomas who had been firmly lashed to the mast. Another shudder went through the ship, timbers creaking in protest as she adjusted to the force that came from the side. Thomas down into the face of Hammett, pupils dilated in fear that he didn’t want to show. “Well, Thomas. You have made your peace with your God? I do hope you have.” Murmured Hammett in a low voice before glancing round at the other crew members on the deck. “I will not suffer mutiny, treachery or disobedience aboard the Lady.” He stated, voice never raised but clear and penetrating, leaving nobody in any doubt as to what he had said. Thomas swallowed hard, unable to drag his eyes away from the knife that Hammett had drawn from his belt and was lightly tossing from hand to hand. Hammett smiled, dark eyes alight with something that there were no earthly words for as he drew the steel lightly down Thomas’ cheek, then the side of his neck before leaving it point resting lightly just above his heart. “Well, Thomas… should I make this quick?” He asked softly, the steel tracing slow circles across Thomas’ cheek now. “Or should you suffer? It is a rhetorical question. I require no answer from you.” Hammett breathed in slowly as he sheathed his knife before drawing his cutlass. “You are in luck, Thomas. Fare thee well.” He said pressing the point to the base of Thomas’ throat and pushing it in, hearing the gurgle as the blood welled up beneath the blade. He grasped it with both hands, drawing down with all his weight and strength until the finely honed blade split through Thomas’ ribs, dragging down his body, slitting him from chest to crotch. A sheet of blood coated the deck beneath the still twitching body and Hammett turned away with a look of distain. “Rawlett, have this mess cleaned up.” He said, pulling a handkerchief from one of the pockets of the greatcoat he wore and wiping his blade clean before sheathing it once more and walking steadily up to the bridge once again even as the Lady shuddered under another violent blow. |
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| Verity | July 23, 2007, 1:45 pm Post #44 |
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The Story Girl
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All I can say is wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. That death scene was so well written that you made the whole knife sliding Thomas's throat thing seem almost beautiful. If that makes any sense. It must have taken hours to put such a well written paragraph together. Perhaps Hetfield should be a little worried about Capt. Hammett. How will I ever wait for more? |
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| Shayi | July 24, 2007, 10:34 am Post #45 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you thank you thank you. You have just made my day! I loved writing that death scene, it was enjoyable in a rather strange way Suffering from one helluva hangover writing this part so I make no promises as to the quality - but here we go anyway! Robert watched Thomas’ death with a slight frown. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but watching Hammett toying with him first made him shake his head. Then again, Hammett didn’t get the reputation of being one of the most feared pirates sailing the Caribbean by being decent or human. He knew that Thomas had to die. And Hammett would do that in whatever way he felt necessary. Watching him kill had been different, he moved like a cat stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. He made killing into a strange art form that suited him almost too well. He felt another shudder run through the ship, feeling as though something was scraping hard along the keel. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away any time soon. He pushed a few strands of long dark hair away from his face, staring into the mist, seeing if he could make anything out ahead of them. It was impossible, the all pervading mist giving him no visibility. Suddenly the wheel tugged to one side, almost jerking out of his grasp as the being scraped against the rudder. He shoved hard against it, keeping the ship on course, struggling to hold the wheel steady. Hammett came up beside him. “What is it?” “Toyin’ with the rudder.” Replied Trujillo, straining to keep the wheel steady. Hammett nodded, joining him. “Toying with the ship. Whatever it is, I believe that it’s trying to decide what we are.” He said thoughtfully, nodding his thanks as Robert relinquished the wheel to him once the scraping stopped. “Aye, you’re probably right. Soon enough though, it’ll be havin’ other ideas.” He responded, looking at Hammett who nodded. Trujillo looked outwards into nothing, running through the things that the Redeemer had encountered in the mist, dark eyes unfocused. Hammett locked his own gaze on his first mate, taking in everything about him, letting the image add to the gallery he had already built up of him. Long black hair reached down to his waist, golden skin that almost glowed, even in the dull light of the fog… Hammett smiled to himself, killing always put him in the mood for sex and standing beside Robert was only amplifying that sensation. A cry went up from one of the men on the deck and Hammett turned immediately in that direction, seeing as the others did something scaly rearing out of the water, smashing into the rail of the ship, sending splinters of wood dancing across the deck. Trujillo ran down the steps onto the deck, drawing his twin swords as he did while Hammett silently watched, interested to see what he was going to do. The scaled monstrosity reared up again and this time it was plain to see that it was the tail of some beast, lashing in the air, ready to do more damage to the ship. It crashed down once again, lying across the length of the ship, smashing through the rail the other side. Even as it had descended Trujillo and the other men were attacking it, trying to make it draw back while Hammett shouted the command to fire the cannons that rebounded down the ship, passed from man to man culminating in the familiar thunder of the cannons firing, smoke blossoming from their gaping mouths. The tail withdrew, the surface of the inky ocean suddenly a seething mass of activity as the creature thrashed in pain, ramming the ship once again. Hammett gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain outwardly impassive, while inside fury roiled at the thought of the damage that the creature could do to the Lady. A monstrous head appeared from the water, rising almost to the height of the main mast, staring down at them with menacing eyes, foetid breath filling the air as it let out an unearthly screech, raw anger and threat mixing to give a terrible cacophony that reverberated through the men’s bodies, rocking them to their very souls. This was something that none of them had faced before, but still the cannons fired again, balls thudding home with deadly force, embedding themselves deep within the thick flesh of the creature as it threatened. The terrible cries broke off abruptly as it stretched out its neck towards the men on deck while below the crew worked furiously to reload the cannons, knowing that their lives depended on it. Hammett watched as the mighty head came down, snaking across the deck, crashing through the men there, catching a few as it did, knocking them to the ground without so much as a check in its progress. The force of it landing across the deck made the whole ship rock before resting at a drunken angle, the weight pulling it down. Hammett abandoned the while and stalked down onto the deck, drawing his own sword as he did, feeling cool rage rush through him. Rage against the monster that was killing his men even as he watched it, saw them fall prey to the vicious teeth and bulk of the beast. The air was filled with smoke, the stench of blood and sweat while the shouts of men were weirdly muffled by the fog. It was a familiar scent that could never be forgotten as long as a man lived. As it always did time almost seemed to slow and he watched as Trujillo dropped and rolled so that he came up underneath the head, both swords raised to pierce the soft throat even as the cannons roared again. Hammett grinned wildly, the blood thrumming through his veins as he shifted in lower than Trujillo, kneeling and waiting, waiting until the head descended enough for their blades to shred into the softer skin, tearing it open, blood streaming down onto them from above while they both dived aside, rolling across the deck to their feet as the great head flopped onto the deck while yet another bout of cannon fire tore into the monster’s body that still writhed beside the ship. The ship groaned ominously with the great weight settled on it and Hammett stared at his crew members. “Push you bastards. Get this off my ship before we all end up with Davey Jones.” He called out, watching with satisfaction as the men sprang into action, straining against the great bulk to shift it off the deck and back into the hellish ocean that it came from. For a few minutes the men were still and silent, catching their breath, although short the encounter had been vicious and had taken the wind from their sails. There was an air of solemnity hanging over the ship, coming from the sudden realisation that although they had spoken of monsters, and of ghosts and curses, they had not truly believed. Now it had come to life and was suddenly real and threatening them and the ship itself. They were not invulnerable aboard the legendary Death’s Lady. Hammett raised one eyebrow. “Is there any particular reason you are all just stood there? I want the carpenter repairing my vessel as he is wont to do, I want some of you below decks investigating for damage, the rest of you can clean up this mess and get on with what you are supposed to be doing rather than standing there being as much use as a landsman aboard.” He said, voice cold and calm, as though he was doing nothing more than making a comment about the state of the weather. “Of course, should you not swiftly do it, then you will be investigating any damage to my ship from the waters below. It is your choice entirely.” The icy drawl effectively sent the men about the tasks that he had given them without another word. Rawlett came up from below on the gun deck at that moment. “Nothin’ to report from the gun deck Cap’n. No damage to yer ship, or yer crew.” He stated, rubbing his eyes that were still stinging from the gunpowder and smoke that clung to his skin like a black mask and clothes. It was a scent that never quite left Rawlett, the unmistakable smell of gunpowder and hot metal. “Thank you. Rawlett, that is all for now?” “Aye Cap’n fer now.” He replied slowly, his words measured, almost as though he was unsure of what he should say, or perhaps that there was more that he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Then rest, Mr Rawlett. I will need you on duty overnight.” Replied Hammett, dismissing him with a quick nod. “Mr Trujillo? With me.” Out of the corner of his eye Robert could see Rawlett watching him, face drawn into bitter lines, and could feel his gaze burning into him. Yes, Rawlett could have been a good ally aboard the ship, but it seemed more and more that he would need to watch his back around the older man. Robert finished wiping the last of the blood from his swords on his shirt, and sheathed them before following Hammett across the deck towards his cabin. |
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wow.

4:27 AM Jul 11