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Yo ho ho...; New one - no idea where it's going!
Topic Started: July 5, 2007, 9:08 am (6,143 Views)
Verity
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The Story Girl
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This chapter totally rocked! Wow!



“Are you standing there all day, Robert, or are you going to remove those clothes?” Asked Kirk in a light, teasing tone that Robert hadn’t heard from him before.

“Aye, jus’ appreciatin’ the view for a minute.” Said Robert, laughing softly as he finished undressing. Hammett’s eyes roved over the man before him before he stood up, pulling Robert towards him, pressing a kiss to his lips, tongue lightly flicking into his mouth before they broke apart.

^^^^^ That part totally made my day and Rob made me laugh with his response.

I like how you reach inside the minds of the characters, like in the part where Capt. Hammett was wondering if he would do the same for Rob if the positions were reversed. It's all very well written and so so so realistic.

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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you :) You have no idea just how much you have made my day today! That's one of the parts that I love to try and do - reach into their minds and see what they are thinking, and I'm glad that it seems to be working :)

Well...... we're leaving Hammett and Trujillo for a minute... but here's the next update!


Hetfield waved at the tavern keeper who grinned and gestured for him to go on upstairs. Hetfield had been a good customer to him over the years. Hetfield led the two women up the dark, rickety back stairs, a route that they all knew well. He swiftly found the nearest empty room and took the giggling Giselle and Scarlet in there, closing the door behind them. He looked at the two women with a sudden wolfish smile and they both knew that they were in for a busy morning. Not that they minded, Captain Hetfield was always fun for a morning and they were both extremely accommodating so everyone went away happy. Giselle kissed him lightly, tracing one long nailed finger up the side of his neck before shifting away to the bed, kneeling up on it, slowly unlacing her corset and letting it fall open little by little to reveal her pale, plump breasts just begging for Hetfield’s touch. Scarlet watched Giselle for a few seconds before dropping to her knees in front of Hetfield, slowly undoing his trousers, pulling them down over his hips, peeking up at him through her long lashes.

Hetfield smiled to himself in anticipation. It was good to be the mighty Captain Hetfield and it was certainly going to be a pleasant start to his day. And who knew, he might even pick up some useful news from one of them. Great excuse for a morning of sex. Scarlet’s mouth suddenly claiming his nether regions brought him back down to earth with blinding speed, and swiftly brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

In the town Lars had quickly and efficiently become part of the jumbled crowds flowing in and out of shops, taverns and brothels. Lingering in shops, ostensibly looking at the merchandise that they were selling he eavedropped on conversations, swiftly picking up the main bits of gossip in the town. Even Lars was surprised that news of their sinking of the Mary Anne had reached so far so swiftly, but then, if the two captives had ended up in the nearest tavern already, it wasn’t completely unfeasible for it to spread like wildfire. Merchant ship sinkings were always big news, mainly on the principle that that meant that the resulting cargo was on another ship that was suddenly rich pickings. That and a sinking tended to whet a man’s appetite for action. Lars crossed the street once again, heading in to the Crimson Feather, one of the many taverns that lined the main street of the town, and the favoured haunt of himself and the Captain.

“Ulrich!” Greeted a familiar voice from behind the bar.

“Bob,” returned Lars, pausing on the threshold for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust from the brightness of the outside world to the gloom of the hot bar room. Walking in he was assailed by all the familiar scents, stale beer and ale, smoke, sweat and cheap perfume. He grinned to himself. Walking back into that place always felt like he’d never been away. He made his way over to the bar and leant against it, while Bob filled a tankard for him before pushing it across the rough, scarred bar surface.

“What are ye doin’ here then Ulrich, here to surprise me?” He asked, pushing a few locks of blond hair away from his slightly plump, genial face.

“Cut the shit, Bob. I know Hetfield will ‘ave been in ‘ere by now.” Retorted Lars with a smile of easy familiarity.

“Aye, can’t put one past ye can I? He went upstairs wi’ Giselle an’ Scarlet.” Said Bob with a small shake of his head. “What are ye doin’ back on shore?”

“Droppin’ off a couple o’ prisoners.” Replied Ulrich, voice light and easy, sharp green eyes never missing a thing that went on in the room around him, always keeping a tab on who might be listening, who might be a threat. “Any news around here?”

Bob shrugged, slowly polishing a few glasses as he thought about it. “Not much to say.” He replied slowly. “Haven’t seen Hammett, or Mustaine in these parts for a time. There be a few more Navy patrols in these waters. Torres almost fell foul o’ one of they. An’ lessee…” He paused, going through what had happened since Lars had last been in. “Aye, Cap’n Lomenzo, he an’ his crew lie at the bottom o’ the ocean. Sunk by all accounts by the Navy although there be whisperin’s that it were due to ‘is own incompetence an’ a hidden reef.”

Ulrich chuckled. “So Mustaine is now Cap’n rather ‘n Commodore. Aye, I wouldn’t think he’d know yet…”

“I don’t think ‘e does.” Replied Bob with a shrug. “Usually they come in port ‘ere to report in to each other an’ for Lomenzo to be handin’ over the booty.”

Lars nodded, taking a long pull on his drink, savouring it. It wasn’t often he got to sample Bob’s ale. Bob’s wife, Anabel was renowned for the excellent ale that she produced. “So,” he said finally, “then Mustaine don’t know he be sailin’ alone. That could be workin’ to our advantage.”

Bob frowned, leaning on the bar as he looked at Lars. “An’ what is it that ye have to do with Mustaine?”

“He be in pursuit of Hammett, while Hammett be in pursuit of the Revenge.” Replied Lars with a sudden laugh. “In my thoughts we’d best be prepared fer Mustaine as well as Hammett. What concern be it o’ yours?” He finished, natural suspicion rising to the fore once again.

“None.” Said Bob with another of his easygoing smiles, “I let all o’ you an’ your lot fight it out among yerselves. So long as ye be drinkin’ and fuckin’ then I’m makin’ money an’ I’m happy.” He stated.

“Aye, ye have a point. An’ Hetfield provides a mort o’ help in that regard.” Replied Lars as he took another pull on his drink.

“That he does.” Agreed Bob, turning away to serve another of the patrons who had rolled up to the bar, obviously in fine drunken fettle. Ulrich moved away from the bar, sitting alone in the window, half listening to the men to one side of him, slowly drinking, relaxing in the warmth that radiated through the glass and into him. Slowly he lost himself in his own reflections. There had been nothing that he had picked up in town that had really been worth the time it took to listen. The same members of the brethren were feuding, the Navy was stepping up patrols, there was nothing really that he couldn’t have done without knowing. Which meant that he was at somewhat of a loose end for the rest of the afternoon. Once he had drained his tankard he stood up and left the tavern, reasoning that there was no point in staying there alone. Instead he would go and find some food, one of the pies from Mrs Aggie’s on the corner would do him just fine. She was legendary within the town for not only ruling her shop and bakery with an iron fist, but for terrorizing men who came in there. The result being that no matter how rough the clientele were, there was very rarely trouble in Mrs Aggie’s shop.

The streets were still crowded and with his small size he could weave in and out of them easily. Out of nowhere a large hand grabbed his collar and he was pulled violently into the alleyway he had just started walking past. His knives were out before he even focused on the attack, a natural reaction that had saved his life many times. As he looked into the face of his attacker he saw it was one of the men from the tavern that he had been sitting near. “Well, Mr Ulrich…” He said, voice grating as he spoke. Lars stared back, green eyes blazing with fury.

“What do ye want with me?” He demanded, voice harsh and unyielding. Not flinching once as the rest of the group surrounded him.

“Fer such a small man you sure have a nasty way o’ talkin’ to us.” Replied another, breath stinking of onions and rum as he pressed in closer, his own cutlass drawn.

Lars shrugged. “Aye, an’ what if I have? What is it ye want then we can all be goin’ on our way.” He said, tone of voice one of complete boredom. It wasn’t a situation he particularly liked being in, but he had been in worse in his time and come out in the end.

“The Revenge, she’s carryin’ a decent run o’ things.”

“Aye. What’s it to you?” Asked Lars, brazening it out, the fact that the Revenge was laden with plunder from the Mary Anne was common knowledge in the port already.

“You ain’t rejoinin’ that ship until we have a fair share o’ that plunder.” Came the reply, almost instantly.

“Hostage?” Asked Lars with a laugh. The men looked at him curiously. Laughter was not quite the reaction they had expected to their threat.

“Aye.”

“Do ye really think I be irreplaceable? Hetfield can get another First Mate. You keep me hostage an’ the Revenge still be sailin’ out o’ port with me or without me.” He replied, sardonically, looking round at them.

“Is that so?” Asked another of the voices as they pressed in closer, looking down on their captive.

“Aye, that’s so. An’ the quicker ye be gettin’ that fact into yer heads, the better for ye.” Stated Lars, body relaxed and ready for action. Any tension would be picked up on and he didn’t want to lose his edge. If they attacked him he would go out of this life fighting.

“It ain’t worth keeping ye alive then is it, runt?” Leered one of the men, looking around at his companions.

“I’d say it were much better for ye if he were to remain alive.” Came a deep, gruff voice from behind them all. Lars chuckled in recognition and the men turned to face the newcomer. Hetfield stood there, flanked by Bob and a couple of the other members of the crew who had drifted into the Crimson Feather on their meanderings through the town. “Now do ye want to die for it? Or do ye want to leave?” He finished, cutlass drawn, expression one of murderous rage. As a man Lars’ would be killers shook their heads and slouched away, grumbling under their breath. As they left, so did Bob and the members of the Revenge’s crew who went back into the tavern to resume whatever they had been doing.

“Thank ye.” Said Lars with a grin.

“I couldn’t well leave ye to get killed could I?” Asked Hetfield with a sudden smile, whether relaxed from his activities with the two whores, or from threatening the men who had tried to kill Ulrich, he wasn’t sure.

“James,” Asked Ulrich, using Hetfield’s rarely spoken name, “I mean it, thank ye. I was prepared to die fightin’, but I’d rather be livin’ and sailin’ for longer.”

“So would we all. Where would I be gettin’ a decent First Mate wi’ such little time afore we’re sailin’ again?” Asked Hetfield with a wicked smile.

“How did ye know what was goin’ on?” Asked Lars, ignoring Hetfield’s jibe, a slight frown in his expression.

Hetfield pointed upwards. “They tried to take me First Mate hostage below me own window.” He replied with a laugh. Lars looked up to see Giselle and Scarlet waving brightly from the window directly above them and shook his head.

“I thought that were where ye were.”

“Aye, ye be owin’ me another day wi’ the pair o’ them. I don’t think the mood be quite right.” Stated Hetfield, taking another swallow of rum, a teasing note coming into his voice. Lars smiled, enjoying this side of the Captain, the side that was seen less and less it seemed. For now, he would make the most of it.

“True enough. Done.” He replied, shaking hands with Hetfield. “Want to go visit another winsome woman?” He asked with a wicked grin that lit up his eyes.

“I thought ye’d sworn off the winsome strumpet’s fer now?”

“Mrs Aggie.” Replied Lars, sheathing his knives and walking out of the alleyway towards Mrs Aggie’s with Hetfield following a few paces behind him.


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Verity
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The Story Girl
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Totally awesome update. :horns2 Kick ass!

I wonder what's up with this man terroizing Mrs. Aggie. I bet she can keep Capt. Hetfield in line. :lol:

The scene with the whores was awesome. Totally bad ass writing. I could picture it as clear as if it were on my TV set.
I bet he really did have a "busy morning"
and the names Scarlet and Giselle were good names. :)

I also like the name the Crimson Feather. I'd sure go to a tavern called that.

and I'm glad that Hetfield came to Lars's rescue just in the nick of time.

I like the 2 different relationships Hetfield and Ulrich and Hammett and Trujillo that are described so wonderfully in this.

Can't wait for more!!!
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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Thanks Ashley... I did have a bit of fun with the whores there.... Hetfield just seemed like a man who needed to get laid plain and simple :)

Well... here we go then - tally ho!



As always, Mrs Aggie’s shop was hot and bustling, filled with raucous noise and the scent of baking pastry. There were a few minutes of jostling and cursing before Hetfield and Ulrich made it to the front of the counter. “Mister Hetfield… Mister Ulrich, pleasant surprise to see you boys in here.” Greeted a familiar, if rather grating voice as Mrs Aggie came forwards, her rotund figure liberally spattered with flour, greying hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun and hidden under a white cap.

“Mrs Aggie…” Said Hetfield, urbanely smiling at her, deciding not to correct his title and risk being on the wrong side of her razor sharp tongue. “Could we be havin’ two o’ your famed meat pies?” He asked, with a quick glance down at Lars who was grinning to himself at the sight of Captain Hetfield being so polite rather than taking what he wanted and asking questions later.

“Don’t be tryin’ to sweet-talk me young man. And if whoever it is over there cursin’ up a storm don’t stop it right now, I will personally rip off his balls and stuff them up his nose!” She finished on a screech, eyes spitting daggers at a pair who were becoming a little unruly in the corner of the shop. One of them stood up as if to cause more trouble and shout back but she looked at him again and he suddenly remembered the fact that Mrs Aggie had legendarily with the help of her henchmen carried out just such a threat and settled down to eat with a few muttered comments under his breath. “Now, what are you boys doin’ in here an’ not out on the seas?”

“Provisions.” Replied Lars smoothly. “Provisions and your cooking.”

“Ah…. Yer a sweet boy, Ulrich. Unlike your father, God rest his soul.” She sniffed disapprovingly and handed over the two pies requested, waving away their offer of payment. She’d watched Hetfield and Ulrich grown into the men they were. She still remembered when they were young lads on shore leave, running riot in the town, and now they were grown. There were days when she began to feel her age. She still wondered what had become of Hammett who had used to visit with them, the quiet, soft spoken man. She hadn’t seen him in a long time and didn’t like to ask. The last few times that he had visited had been alone. There was also that Newsted lad, he’d been a quiet one as well, but always cheerful. There was no devil in his smile and he had been gone for years. She didn’t like to ask however, didn’t want to find out that the boys she’d watched running around as boys do had met their fate, died on the cruel waters. No she would just wait and see if any of them ever returned.

She watched as with their pies, Hetfield and Ulrich made their way into the window seat and sat there, quietly talking between themselves while they ate. She scratched her head, the wiry grey hair tugging in the bun she always wore. She remembered a time when that wiry hair had been black. She was getting old now, and beginning to feel more maudlin as time went on. The battleaxe front was just that, a front that kept her and her shop safe in a rough town. Still, there were other things she could do to help some of her favourite boys and made her slow and deliberate way across to their table, pulling up a chair.

“Do ye want to know what is on yer horizons?” She asked dark eyes almost black as she looked between them, taking out a small pouch from one of the voluminous pockets in her apron and putting it on the table before them. Ulrich and Hetfield glanced at each other then back at Aggie. They both knew from past experience that her predictions could be surprisingly accurate. Which could be both a curse and a blessing when at sea.

Finally James nodded. “Aye, tell us our horizon.” He said, low voice gruff as he spoke, keeping it steady. Anything to do with witchcraft and fortune telling somehow striking a chord within him that unsettled him. Lars however was leaning forward slightly to get a better look. Rune-telling was in his blood, passed down through his family. He hadn’t done it for a long time, not since his rune-stones had been lost overboard during a storm, and he was interested to watch Aggie’s work.

She nodded, taking the cowrie shells out of the velvet pouch and holding them in her cupped hands. Ignoring the rest of the room around her, all of whom were involved in business of their own she closed her eyes, voice low as she began chanting in a language that neither Hetfield, nor Ulrich could understand. She was lost in another world as she threw the cowrie shells, scattering them on the surface of the table before her. After a couple of minutes she opened her eyes, looking at the spread of shells before her, lips still moving in her inaudible chant. And then, she was silent. Hetfield and Ulrich waited for her to speak, tension building between the three of them. “There is much coming for you my boys. There is a storm coming your way, both in the weather and in your lives. I see insecurity. I see a meeting of men long apart and I see death. I see ice that slowly melts, warmed by a strange fire. I see distrust and faith restored. I can see confusion and resolution. There is much you will need to face, much that you will. All that I may tell you for sure is that you must trust each other and yourselves. There is a demon on your heels. A demon coming for my boys.” She stated, tears unaccountably pricking at her eyes before she gathered the shells into her pouch and nodded at the pair. “Take care my boys, my blessing goes with ye both. Take heed o’ my words though, I’ve never told false yet.” She stated, walking slowly away once more, berating and haranguing men on her way through, reasserting her tough exterior.

Ulrich looked at Hetfield who was frowning slightly, mind swiftly scanning over what she had said, food almost forgotten. “A storm?”

“Aye, there’ll be a storm.” Retorted Lars, “can’t ye smell it in the air. ‘Tis the rest of it that I don’t like the sound of.”

Hetfield shook his head as if to thrust the thoughts aside, too uncomfortable to think about before heading out to sea once again. Superstitions were one thing; outright fortune telling was another and was something too closely akin to witchcraft for his comfort. Lars could sense his discomfort and didn’t mention it again, instead finished his food in silence, mentally going over what Mrs Aggie had said to them, trying to figure out exactly what the different parts of her prophesy referred to and coming to no concrete conclusions. There was always a storm coming for them, that was how they had chosen to live their lives. The men long apart, well, to his mind that was probably Hammett and yes, death would most certainly be involved. As to the rest, well the future would take care of it. He was happy to live in the present and pushed such concerns to the back of his mind.

When they had finished he stood up, glancing out of the window. “I can feel it in the air. The storm ain’t gonna be too long comin’.” He stated, waiting for James to stand to leave with him. With a shrug, Hetfield got to and followed Ulrich out of the door and into the streets of the town. There was nothing else to do for the remainder of the afternoon, so the pair of them headed out to the dock to hire a boat to row them out to the Revenge. The rest of the men would take the longboats back full of provisions when they returned from whatever it was that they were doing in the town. Ulrich had been right, Hetfield reflected, there was a storm coming, he could feel the humidity of the air, the taste of ozone in his mouth. Yes, they would probably do better to be out at sea once it did strike, rather than surrounded by these other vessels. He would much rather face down the elements where there was space, than face down the elements while feeling his beloved Revenge being beaten against other ships out in the harbour.

Once he and Ulrich had boarded once again, Hetfield went into his cabin, wanting to look at his charts, plot the most likely course that Hammett had taken so that he could be ready for him when he finally caught up. Ulrich however stayed on deck, still basking in the warmth of the sun, feeling truly well rested now that he no longer had to try to maintain a link with the Ymir constantly. It was only after the link was broken that he remembered just how draining it really was upon him. Now there was nothing for them to do but wait for the crew to come back and for the storm to break upon them. Waiting he could just about manage when he had plenty to occupy his mind, and plenty to occupy his mind he most certainly had after their encounter with Mrs Aggie.

Aboard Death’s Lady, Robert found that sleep came easily as he sprawled out on his side, one arm draped loosely across Kirk’s warm body beside him. Within just a few minutes of lying there his breathing had slowed and evened out to an easy, peaceful rhythm. Kirk smiled to himself as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the solid warmth of Robert beside him. He turned slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at the other man, silently studying him. Asleep you could tell a lot about a person, seeing them when they were most vulnerable meant that you saw who they really were. At that moment he could see the calm, peaceful man behind the pirate, behind the looting killer. Vaguely he wondered what Robert would see if he watched him sleeping. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. Kirk lay down once again and closed his eyes, blanking his mind, forcing himself into a void so that he could find the rest that he needed.

When they did wake, it was Robert who opened his eyes first, coming to slowly, unable to immediately place where he was. He yawned and looked at the dark curling hair on the pillow next to him, the night before suddenly flashing back to him. Hammett was still sleeping and he stretched slowly, careful not to disturb him coming into full consciousness as he did. He could feel that there was a storm coming, something to break the suddenly stifling humidity of the air. Robert looked at Kirk once again, feeling the other man’s body suddenly tense, before he turned, dark eyes open and instantly completely awake. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I could feel you watching me. Believe me, that will wake me faster than cannon fire.” Replied Kirk with a low laugh, his tone one that did not invite further questions. Robert shrugged and lightly kissed Kirk, feeling him arch up against him in an unconscious response to his invitation.

“Can we do this later, Kirk?” Asked Robert quietly. Kirk pulled back, looking at him with a strange expression, not quite hurt, and not quite angry.

“And why would that be?” He asked, flicking his tongue lightly across his lips, the sudden rejection stinging slightly, in a way that he certainly hadn’t expected.

“Because I’m in need o’ a piss.” Replied Trujillo with a sudden grin. “An’ because if I ain’t mistaken, that be the sound o’ yer other First Mate approachin’ to tell ye that there be a storm on the way.”

Hammett’s body relaxed from the tension that he had barely realised was there. “Very well, I can’t argue with that. But believe me, Robert… I will have you… all of you, before the storm blows itself out.” He said, voice a dark, cool vein of ice that he knew would make Robert shiver inside. He smiled his sphinx-like smile as he slowly stood up, stepping over Robert and onto the floor, naked and entirely unashamed as he picked up his clothes, dressing himself quickly an efficiently as Robert followed suit more slowly. Kirk turned towards him, pushing him up against the wall of the cabin, claiming his mouth savagely, hot and needy until he moved away, opening the door for Rawlett.

“Cap’n…” Began the First Mate.

“I know. There is a storm coming. Rouse the rest of the crew and have all hands on deck. That will be all. Thank you.”

Rawlett stood gaping at him for a few seconds before turning and walking out once again. Hammett looked at Trujillo with a sudden rueful smile. “There are moments, when I almost pity Rawlett.” He stated and Robert just shook his head, stifling a chuckle.

“Aye Cap’n. You should. I’ll be on deck readyin’ the crew that be there when ye want me.” He said, finishing buttoning his shirt and strapping on his swords before walking out on deck once again.

Hammett paused for a few seconds, composing himself and his thoughts, dragging himself back into his persona, his mask that he showed to the world. He could feel the storm coming, and at the same time, could feel them gaining on Hetfield. He would catch him. Of that much he was entirely convinced. Strapping on his own sword and thrusting his pistols into his belt he strode out onto the deck, locking his door behind him. There was already a swarm of activity, spurred on no doubt by the winds that were swiftly picking up, and the dark, ominous clouds on the horizon.

He went and relieved the man at the helm, once more entirely in control of the Lady. He looked up at the billowing sails, taking in the wind, sending them scudding forwards. He would let that wind take them right to the edge before he furled the sails ahead of the lashing rain and lightening that he knew were to come. He welcomed it, relished the challenge and smiled wildly as he thought of it.
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Verity
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The Story Girl
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Just when I think that this couldn't possibly get any better it does!

I liked the bit with Mrs. Aggie. I didn't think that she might be like a fortune teller type. That was awesome, and now I'm very worried about what's in store for them.

I loved this line

“Don’t be tryin’ to sweet-talk me young man. And if whoever it is over there cursin’ up a storm don’t stop it right now, I will personally rip off his balls and stuff them up his nose!”

I'll have to try that one on my husband sometime. :lol:

I also loved the backstory of the boys as children, something rarely ever though of. It sounds like they were all friends at one point.

The part with Trujillo and Hammett was also totally bad ass and very very much entertaining.


“Can we do this later, Kirk?” Asked Robert quietly. Kirk pulled back, looking at him with a strange expression, not quite hurt, and not quite angry.

“And why would that be?” He asked, flicking his tongue lightly across his lips, the sudden rejection stinging slightly, in a way that he certainly hadn’t expected.

“Because I’m in need o’ a piss.” Replied Trujillo with a sudden grin.

:lol: :lol: :lol: a very, very, very nice touch. :)


I wonder what the upcoming storm holds...



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Raedoll
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Poor Twisted Me
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I quit slacking off and read your last two updates. Brilliant, I love Hetfield and Giselle and Scarlett. Sounds like his kind of time anyway. Captain Hetfield is quick to state what is owed to him, and dares any fool to argue. I love it. Ulrich being so small he could weave throughought the crowds. Mrs. Aggie seems like she's a brilliant woman, and a good cook if Hetfield and Ulrich visit her for her cooking! I hope the storm doesn't hold many terrible things for them, and that the trust regained can be between Hetfield and Hammett. Hopefully not as one or the other perishes, bless their hearts. Poor Rawlette, I could only imagine what Hammett and Trujillo did the night before, and Hammett letting down so much of his guard is a very nice sight for sore eyes.
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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you so much you guys :)

Ashley: In all fairness.... I didn't think Mrs Aggie was going to turn out like that either - it just kinda happened while I was writing her. And by all means, try that out on your husband ;) I just hope he doesn't dare you to try!

Edgirl: Mm... Hetfield is such a whore man in my mind here. And it's fun!

Here we go for some more. After this... yes, there is trouble on the horizon.



And so the storm came as they knew that it would. The wind ripped through the rigging, screaming like soul in torment while the rain lashed down, blinding and stinging in its intensity, almost seeming to try to flay flesh from bones. The lightening split the sky and thunder rolled as though even the sky was crumbling around them. The deck became slick with water, the bare feet of the men serving aboard sliding on the wood, fingers growing numb under the onslaught of savagely falling water. Hammett battled with the wheel of the ship, tendons standing out in his arms and shoulders as he fought to keep the vessel on course through the churning water. His face was set in harsh lines as he battled with the ocean, knowing that the Lady could end up in the depths. His practiced eye noticed a that part of the sail was about to come free and he shouted out for someone to furl it, anything to stop it filling with wind and wrenching the ship round. His words were snatched away by the wind and he snarled, looking around for either First Mate, trying to see where they were, and why they hadn’t noticed it before.

Staring down across the deck he narrowed his eyes against the driving rain, trying to make out the familiar figure of Trujillo. He was fairly certain Rawlett had gone below to assist with securing the cannons, making sure they didn’t roll around below decks as the ship was pounded by waves and wind from all sides. He couldn’t see him anywhere on deck and shook rain out of his eyes, frowning slightly as he glanced upwards. As he did he noticed the figure climbing the rigging, clinging tightly to the violently shaking framework of ropes. A few curses slid past his lips and his body tensed. He knew full well that one false move; one slip on the rain soaked ropes would send Trujillo plummeting down to the deck. He’d seen a few men died that way, and had no desire to see Robert do the same.

Robert kept his head down against the stinging hail of rain that pelted against him, concentrating instead on staying on the rigging, making it to the flapping corner of sail and securing it before it ripped the rest free. The ropes were slick under his fingers and he gripped tighter, glancing up every now and again to gauge how far he still had to go. He could feel the wind ripping and tearing into him, trying to pull him free of the rigging which was shaking as though it were truly alive. He took a deep breath, relaxing into the rhythm of climbing, something that he had spent many years doing in his youth, working the rigging. Although it had been a long time since there had been any necessity for him to do so, the old innate balance and skill came flooding back to him.

As he climbed he could feel the burning in his shoulders and fingers as he pulled himself upwards, bracing himself against the elements as he did. He glanced upwards seeing that there was not much further that he needed to go. The worst part was still to come, holding himself stable enough on the mast to tie up the flapping canvas. Another gust of wind almost pulled him free of the ropes, and he gritted his teeth, pulling himself back before continuing upwards. After what seemed like a lifetime he was straddling the spar of the mast, slowly pulling himself outwards towards the tip where the canvas had pulled free. He gripped with his legs and feet, pushing himself along before hanging there, reaching out for the canvas, trying to catch the flailing edge. He leaned further out, the material, rope and wood slick beneath him and he could feel himself starting to slowly slide away from the mast. He looped a trailing rope around one foot, anchoring himself more solidly and reached out once more, straining to catch the sail. Finally he grabbed hold of it and worked as swiftly as he could to secure it, numbed fingers fumbling at the stiff ropes, wind whipping strands of his hair into his eyes and around his face.

From the bridge Hammett watched, dark eyes riveted to him, watching as Robert fought against the stiff ropes and billowing canvas. He could feel a faint trickle of fear dripping through him, freezing his insides more thoroughly than the storm that raged over them all. He had felt something jolt through him that he wasn’t certain that he wanted to recognise as Robert had slipped on the rainslicked ropes and shook his head, pushing the thoughts from his mind. No good would come from dwelling on it. Instead he let his mind go blank, watching as Robert descended without incident, keeping his mind on the feel coming from the boat beneath him, steering her by instinct and instinct alone.

Once he had seen that Trujillo had made it safely back down onto the deck once more he allowed himself to inwardly relax. Out of habit he took a quick pull of rum, steadying the nerves that he would not admit to himself were slightly shaken. He took out his compass, wiping the water from his eyes on the back of his sleeve as he quickly looked at it, adjusting their course accordingly. He looked back down to the deck once again where Trujillo had joined a group of the crew, quietly talking with them before moving on to the next group. Hammett turned his full attention back to the matter at hand, releasing everything from him but the moment that he lived in. A useful skill that he had developed in battle, nothing was there but the present, no past, no future. That way at least he could keep his concentration wholly on what was important at that time.

Aboard the Dragon’s Wrath Mustaine was struggling in the foul weather as well. He finished off the last of the bottle that was in his pocket and bad temperedly threw the empty vessel over the side. “Witchcraft,” he muttered under his breath. “This be fuckin’ witchcraft dreamt up by that Hammett.” He continued, blue eyes blazing with both anger and an inner madness that made those near him move further away, out of his reach.

“’Tis jest a storm Commodore,” reassured one man, one who had spent most of his life sailing the waters of the Caribbean and was nearing the end of his tenure as a seaman.

“It’s the work o’ the devil himself.” Retorted Mustaine furiously. “Are ye in league with Hammett? Are ye defendin’ him?” He demanded, voice rising demonically above the shouts of derision that followed his question.

“No, Commodore. I’m sayin’ ye need not worry.”

“Aye, I won’t be the one worryin’. Ye need to be worryin’ about yer soul.” Said Mustaine, voice rising to somewhere near a scream as he drew his sword and ran the man through. He watched as his victim fell, a look of surprise on his face as he clutched his chest, falling to the deck. Mustaine raised the bloodied blade to the skies, staring round at the rest of the crew. “Any more o’ ye want this? ‘tis the work of Hammett, the work of the devil.” He shouted.

The men glanced at each other, an almost imperceptible look that still managed to speak volumes. “Aye Commodore, ‘tis the devil Hammett.” They replied, raising their swords to join his, water streaming down the cold steel, running down their skin and feeling as though it was soaking through to their bones. Mustaine was becoming a dangerous man to follow.

Mustaine grinned suddenly as he saw Ellefson approaching from his cabin. Apparently the storm had woken him. All well and good, his place was on deck taking orders in Mustaine’s mind rather than sleeping. “Ellefson.”

“Aye Commodore?” Asked Ellefson, natural caution in place at the sight of Mustaine wielding a bloody blade whilst fighting with the wheel in a storm.

“Who did this?” Asked Mustaine, eyes glittering as he looked at Ellefson. Remembering the cries that had been ringing out across the ship Ellefson knew what it was best for him to reply.

“Hammett.” He said in a low voice, looking just past Mustaine, not really wanting to look the man in the eye. Mustaine nodded, eyes narrowed.

“Everyone back on deck,” he snarled. “Except for you Ellefson.”

Without another word the other men left, glad to be away from the mad Commodore who had dispatched so swiftly of one of their members. On the bridge Ellefson looked down at the corpse and decided to woodenly ignore it. “Commodore,” began Ellefson, waiting for Mustaine’s attention to return to him.

“Aye?”

“Should we not furl the sails? We’ll be takin’ on water if she swings any harder.” Said Ellefson, trying to voice his fears in a calm, rational tone, trying to remain respectful in front of the drunk and furious Commodore.

Mustaine looked at him, a smile playing about his lips, ignoring the rain darkened hair that had plastered to his face. “No, Ellefson. Belay that kind o’ talk. Take a look ahead.” He said, voice soft, almost a sing-song as he handed his telescope to Ellefson who looked in the direction that Mustaine had indicated, seeing vaguely through the pelting rain the dark shape of a ship in the distance. “That, Ellefson, be Death’s Lady an’ Cap’n Hammett. They be movin’ slower, this storm be our chance to catch ‘em.”

“If we don’t lie on the bottom ourselves.” Shot back Ellefson, fury at Mustaine’s inability to think beyond his own petty anger and revenge lending him sudden courage.

“We will catch Hammett an’ when we do I’ll be wearin’ his guts for garters.” Replied Mustaine with a sharp bark of laughter. Ellefson shrugged, ignoring the mental image that sprang unbidden to his mind. He had no doubts that Mustaine would carry out his threats when he once again met with Hammett. It was only a matter of time.

Mustaine stared at him for a few seconds, wondering why the hell he wasn’t doing something more useful than just standing there. There were some days when he wondered whether perhaps Ellefson was a half-wit. There was also days when he could more than happily gut his First Mate and watch him twitch out his life on the deck. “What are ye doin’ standin’ there. Do somethin’ useful if ye care to live.”

“Aye, Commodore.” Said Ellefson, silently seething as he turned away.

“Bring another bottle o’ rum.” Called out Mustaine to Ellefson’s retreating back. Ellefson turned around to glance back at his swaying, glaring Commodore before turning and walking as swiftly as he could across the rainslicked deck towards the door leading down to the store room below deck. Vaguely he wished he had some kind of poison that he could put into the drink. Anything would do. He just wasn’t ready yet to meet the Commodore in a physical confrontation. Too many members of the crew were still on Mustaine’s side, seeing in the wild, drunk something that they wanted themselves, and a part of themselves that was already there. One day though he would be able to do something, hopefully before it was too late for all of them.

At the wheel Mustaine smiled to himself, howling out his laughter into the wind. They were gaining on Hammett. He could almost taste the fight ahead. Could smell the cannonfire, feel his own blood thrumming through his veins, hot and urgent, needing action. Craving death. He could almost see the blood streaming from Hammett’s lifeless body, wanted him to beg before he killed him. And then, then perhaps he would be able to get to Hetfield. If Hammett could sail through that godforsaken fog, then he could too in pursuit of the other of the two men that he would be more than happy to erase from the face of the earth.

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Verity
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The Story Girl
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Wow. This is some really bad-ass writing. The descriptions are first class.

I'm worried though for Capt. Hammett. I like Mustaine too, but I don't want poor Kirky to beg before Dave kills him. :(

Your opening paragraph describing the storm was awesome. I liked
this line

"The wind ripped through the rigging, screaming like soul in torment while the rain lashed down"

Awesomeness.

and this part

“We will catch Hammett an’ when we do I’ll be wearin’ his guts for garters.” Replied Mustaine with a sharp bark of laughter.

:lol: even if it wasn't supposed to be funny. I can just hear Dave snarling.
I feel bad for poor, Ellefson though. :(

Oh, how will I ever wait for another update. (sigh)

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Broken, Beat & Scarred
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Shayi
Jul 6 2007, 12:33 PM
“There is no curse.  Hetfield is just a man.  A man who will bleed and die, same as any other."

I liked this line. :)

Ah, and two pages read, which means I'm done for tonight.

But, like I said before, so far, so good. :)

I really like your writing style and you clearly know your pirates. Reading this makes me almost feel like I were there...

Ah well, more reading to be done tomorrow. :)
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Raedoll
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Goodness. A terribly enthralling update. Hammett had right to be worried about Trujillo, the way the man was nearly ripped out of the rigging. I could only imagine being out on the water in winds like that, I've felt them on land and it isn't a pretty thing. It makes you worry to an absurd degree about stepping ten feet outside your own front door. Mustaine is getting vicious, and I like it! I can't wait to read what happens when the pair of them finally get out of the storm!!
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Shayi
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*G* Thanks guys!

Ashley - I feel bad for Ellefson, and I'm the one writing the damn thing :) But thank you, I'm glad the descriptions are going down well and working!

Edgirl - Yeah I'm looking forward to their showdown... I'm sure it's on the way!

Minna - Thank you! Glad you want to keep reading!


Right then... onwards!


Captain Newsted looked into the mists, seeing the Wrath gaining on the Lady. Seeing the Dragon’s Wrath struggling under full sail in the highwinds, tossing in every direction over the waves. He frowned slightly, wondering what Mustaine was thinking then shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts. Mustaine was of no interest to him whatsoever. What interested him more was the fact that Hammett was not too far behind the Revenge and he knew that once the storm passed and the Lady was under full sail, she could easily catch the Revenge. That much he knew for certain.

Slowly he stretched out, feeling the relief from the insistent tugging that had characterised the last few days. He was glad of that, it may have been draining on Lars but it made him feel as though his soul was being ripped from his body. Now he was just back to the familiar task of watching and waiting, seeing what would happen to the different ships and their respective crews. He watched the storm raging around the Revenge, just out of the port with a strange sense of satisfaction. It amused him to see Hetfield and Ulrich struggling against the force of the wind and rain. There was no weather where the Ymir sailed, no sun, no wind, no rain, nothing. That was something that he did miss, weather, the change of the sea, the sky. Newsted shook his head, refusing to dwell on it too long. To do so was a sure route to madness. No, he was happy to just wait for now, there was nothing more that he could do.

Since Ulrich had been rending a gap between the worlds he had noticed Ragnar had been more talkative towards him. He had had a millennium to get used to that soul rending pulling on him and it seemed that the longer you were there, the less it affected you. Even so, he had been there, talking to Newsted, keeping his mind on other things, now and again when the mood took him regaling him with old Viking sagas. Yes, reflected Newsted, when it came to be Ragnar’s time to go, he would miss the gruff man. Letting him leave for Valhalla would be one of the hardest things that he had to do, watching the burning pyre making its way into the sunset.

More thoughts that he didn’t want to dwell on. Newstead shook his head, pulling off the hat that he was wearing and running his fingers through his curly brown hair, feeling it damp, as always from the mist, snagging on his fingers. He watched as a wave caught the Revenge, slamming into her, watched as it swept across the deck. A smile curved his lips. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait too long to be released from the living purgatory that he currently resided in. If the Revenge ended up on the bottom of the sea that would release him and the other members on the Ymir just as surely as if Lars did it himself through choice.

Aboard the Revenge Hetfield cursed loudly, feeling the ship pitch dangerously to one side knowing that another wave of that size slamming into the side of the ship, washing across the deck could be enough to take them right over. He slammed his palm into the wheel, shouting out his frustrations to the sky above. He couldn’t lose, not now. There were too many things that he needed to do before he ended his life. And sure enough, if they went down where they were, there would be no survivors. He wanted to get his revenge on Hammett for betraying him. He wanted to take Mustaine down to the bottom of the ocean, just to be rid of the man who had plagued them for so many years. He wanted too much to lose everything in one storm.

There was no time to think further about it. He had a ship to try and keep above water. A cry went up from the deck as a man was pitched over the side into the boiling foam of the wind whipped sea. He shrugged, there was nothing that they could do for him. Whoever it was would be seeing his maker sooner than expected, but when it was time to go, it was time to go. There was no choice in it. A man’s fate was not something to be easily turned aside. He looked down at the deck to see Lars stagger across it, buffeted by the wind, before making his way up to the bridge. “All’s secure below, Cap’n.” He said, breathless from his struggle below decks followed by the lashing he had taken to arrive by Hetfield.

Hetfield looked at him, seeing a cut above his eye, blood trickling lazily down, diluted by the water that streamed down his skin. “What happened down there?”

“Cannon broke free. No damage, we’ve tied ‘er up now.” Replied Lars, swiping irritably at the blood that was threatening to drip into his eyes. “Cap’n. We need to be tryin’ to skirt the next island.” He said quietly, admitting that the Revenge was struggling.

“Aye, I know that. At least then we’ll ‘ave a chance of makin’ it.” Said Hetfield, voice harsh, hating to admit any form of defeat, forcefully pulling the wheel to one side, glancing at his compass to check his bearings once again. Ulrich watched him in silence for a few seconds, knowing just how much it was driving Hetfield insane, not being able to control everything, his ship and crew at risk, at the mercy of the elements.

“There’s two islands we’re close to. I know ye don’t want to go back where we came.”

“No choice about that.” Stated Hetfield with a sharp bark of laughter. “Current’s draggin’ us this way an’ there’s nothin’ that can be done about it fer now. I’m content to travel with it. This’n will take us towards the next spur o’ land.” He said, casting his mind back to the charts he had last been looking over.

Ulrich handed over a flask that he had stashed away in the sash that held his pistols and Hetfield took it without question, taking a long drink, feeling the burning spread through his body. “What the hell was that?” He asked, surprised at the strange flavour, the thickness of the liquid. Definitely alcoholic but not something he’d tried before.

“Don’t be questionin’ it, Hetfield. Just accept I have ways an’ means o’ makin’ things and there be nothin’ worse than findin’ out what things are. Ruins it for ye.” He replied with a familiar smile briefly lighting his expression. Hetfield chuckled, glad of the slight bit of levity distracting him from the situation that they were in. “I’ll be headin’ back on deck then, settle the men. They ain’t too happy losin’ one over the side, an’ surely they don’ like the Revenge threatenin’ to take on water.” He stated, moving away with swift businesslike strides, leaving Hetfield to struggle to keep on course as they were hit from all sides by the churning waves.

Ulrich could feel the ship shuddering under the blows of the tons of water shifting against them. Another wave washed over the deck as they entered the centre of the storm, the winds whipping through them all, buffeting them from all sides. As the water flowed over them, he almost lost his footing and grabbed hold of the rail, holding on for grim death. He righted himself with a grunt of annoyance and moved forward once again to give the men some stability, order them about their tasks even though he knew full well they could perform their duties with their eyes closed. It would keep their minds occupied; keep them away from counting the storm as an ill omen, as a reason to turn on Hetfield.

Hetfield squinted against the rain, trying to make out whether it was land he could see in the distance, whether there was any chance that they would be able to safely beach the vessel. Another curse burst from his lips at his inability to see through the lashing rain that had already soaked him to the skin. There was nothing that he could do save try to ride it out, and try to keep the Revenge above water. If he could find a sandy beach, then he would more than happily beach her. If not, they would stay at sea and weather the storm, whatever it was going to bring to them.

The storm continued to rage around them and Hetfield kept them steadfastly on the course for the island that he knew was not too far away. The only worry he had at the back of his mind was the fact that the storm did not seem to be easing up, and that meant that visibility wasn’t great. He could see Ulrich at the prow of the ship, as far forward as he could get, telescope out, searching out land, anything that could get them out of the worst of the weather. It was a much worse storm than any of them had anticipated. If they’d had any idea that it would be that bad, they probably wouldn’t have left the harbour.

Ulrich snarled to himself in frustration. The weather was rendering his telescope almost useless so he moved as swiftly as he could back to Hetfield on the bridge. “I can’t see, Cap’n. I’m goin’ to try to contact Newsted aboard the Ymir. At least he’ll be able to see the shadows of land where he is.”

“Do it.” Said Hetfield in a terse voice.

Ulrich obediently pulled out the amulet and his knife, going through the familiar ritual, confident that Hetfield would make sure that no harm came to him when he was unable to see things in the mortal world, and was drawn into the world inhabited by the Ymir. Hetfield heard the strange words, rolling from Lars tongue as though he had never spoken in any other language and frowned. He had never watched Ulrich as he contacted the Ymir and it was opening his eyes to a side of Lars that he hadn’t really known existed, even in all their years of their acquaintance. Lars knew of things that were not of this world, held within him something ancient that had been passed down his bloodline for generations. He turned away, turning his attention back to the task at hand, slightly uncomfortable with the feeling that Lars was between worlds. He was happy to utilise the powers of the Ymir, but that was as far as he wanted to know.

Ulrich felt the last parts of the mortal world slip away from him as he stared down onto the Ymir. “Newsted?” He asked, voice harsh and strong dulled slightly by the mist.

Newsted looked up and shrugged, feeling Ragnar coming up behind him as he stood before Lars. “What do ye want, Ulrich?” He asked. “Do ye want to know how far away from land ye be?”

“Aye, that’s what I’m wantin’ to know.” Replied Ulrich, green eyes seemingly blazing as they stared down at the two men facing them. Newsted moved to the side of the ship, staring out into the mists, trying to gauge the closeness of the land.

“Ye are the image of your ancestor, Lars Ulrich.” Said Ragnar, blue eyes meeting Ulrich’s without a trace of fear, only challenge and an old knowledge that seemed undimmed by the ages.

“An’ what be that to you?” Asked Lars, voice harsh, unsure before this ancient warrior, one who had never spoken to him before.

“You won’t be keeping us here forever, Ulrich. Your ancestor is long dead, the one who was trapping us here, but we will be free, Ulrich, I swear that to you. It is coming, coming, and I can be feeling it now. Beware, for the Ymir will break free and be sailing once more.” He said, voice dark and foreboding as he spoke. Lars felt a shudder run through him and he watched as Ragnar walked away across the deck.

Newsted stepped forwards. “Ye be close to land now an’ on the right course. Ye have no need of my help.” He stated, voice unconcerned as though he had never heard the warning of Ragnar.

Silently Lars nodded, slowly withdrawing from the world of the Ymir, finding himself once again on his knees on the bridge of the Revenge.
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Raedoll
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Poor Twisted Me
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LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND HO!!!


Hetfield is like me, he's a control freak. Though, I find I'm only a freak to a certain degree. ANYWAY, fabulously written chapter, I can really see a dripping, drenched Captain Hetfield struggling at the helm to keep the Revenge above water. Mmm, good images. Newsted yearns to be free, as does the rest of the crew of the Ymir. I feel that for them, especially in Ragnar. I hope that the men can be freed without the disposal of the Revenge. And I hope the Revenge can be beached safely for Hetfield's sake. The man would go mad if he lost everything and survived.
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Verity
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I can just see that storm and all the waves slamming against the ship.

You also used the word "terse." That was very bad ass and awsome.



You write Capt. Hetfield so well. Simply marvelous.
I love how you write when they drink.

"Ulrich handed over a flask that he had stashed away in the sash that held his pistols and Hetfield took it without question, taking a long drink, feeling the burning spread through his body. “What the hell was that?” He asked, surprised at the strange flavour, the thickness of the liquid. Definitely alcoholic but not something he’d tried before."

though I must wonder, did Ulrich do anything weird to that flask? I wonder if he is hiding some secrets himself.

:heart: :heart: this story!

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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Go the 'terse'. Yeah I really am a word whore. I love words :) Thank you guys so much for your continuing reading of this story :) It's a bit lengthy, but, it's getting there slowly but surely. Anyhow, here's the next installment!


Aboard Death's Lady, Hammett was still fighting against the current which was threatening to drag them off course while the waves grew larger, more threatening as they pounded into the ship. They rose to the crest of a wave, plunging down into the trough, the descent so steep it felt as though they were going to plunge into the bowels of the earth itself. Several of the men who still clung to the idea of a God crossed themselves, none of them knowing whether they would ever make it up to the crest of the next wave.

Only Hammett stood alone on the bridge, expression completely impassive. To look at him you wouldn't think that there was a wind screaming like soul in torment tearing through the ship, wouldn't think that there was a risk of them being swamped by a wave, of being dragged down into the depths. He looked as calm as if he was sailing with a good tail wind across a still sea, the only sign that anything was different was the amount of strain showing through his shoulders and body as he tried to hold the wheel steady.

Trujillo made his way up to the bridge, steadying himself against the rail as they plunged down into another trough. They were heading into the worst of the storm in the path that Hetfield had taken although they didn't know it for certain at the time. "Cap'n, cannons and supplies be secure below, an' all be well with the Lady." He stated laconically, dark eyes giving nothing away.

"Well done, Mr Trujillo. Where is Rawlett?"

"Below, keepin' an eye on the crew below." He replied quietly, glancing back over the stern of the ship. He frowned, turning once again to Hammett. "Take a look through yer telescope Cap'n. I think there be someone followin' us." He stated, staring into the rain, trying to make out the shape he was almost certain that he had caught sight of behind them.

Hammet frowned, relinquishing the wheel to Trujillo and taking out his telescope, staring through it, trying to make out what it was that Robert thought that he had spotted. As he stared into the pelting sheet of rain he could make out the shape of a ship under full sail following them. "I see it, Trujillo, I see it." He said, a hard note in his voice as he did. He was convinced that it was Mustaine following them, and he would be gaining on them, under sail as she was, whereas he was being borne by the tides and the currents, running with no sail in the wind. "He is bold, too bold running full sail in this storm." He murmured. "But sometimes, fortune favours those who are bold. Sometimes."

"Aye, that it might. You want me to warn the rest o' the crew, make them arm themselves? At least it'll be sommat else for 'em to be thinkin' about, take their minds off this Godforsaken weather that we're havin' at the moment." He said quietly, looking out across the sea to try to make out the ship that was chasing them, the ship that would slowly but surely gain on them if they didn't end up at the bottom in the attempt. Hammett nodded, remaining silent as he once again looked out across the prow of his ship.

"You do that Mr Trujillo. They will not stop me in my pursuit of Hetfield. He will be caught and he will die, cursed ship or no cursed ship." He stated, voice becoming harsh once more, as his thoughts turned to what was ahead of them. "We will not be losing more ground to him. In fact I believe that we are going to be slowly gaining on him. Although we were caught in the fog, he will have made port to relieve himself of the captives that he picked up from the Mary Anne. I do not believe that we are too far behind him." He stated, thinking out the positions of the ships even as he spoke.

Trujillo nodded, sensing the dark mood that had taken the Captain and walked away across the deck, heading towards the crew to talk to them. As he did he saw Rawlett coming up from below, sweating from the heat down there where they had been working to secure all the cannons, ensure that they would not break free, potentially killing a crew member and damaging the ship itself. "What be happenin' up here?" Asked Rawlett, gruff voice strained from his earlier exertion as the rain mixed with the sweat streaks carving grooves in the dust and grime that clung to his skin.

"Mustaine be catchin' us." Replied Robert quietly, watching the expression on Rawlett's face change from weariness to surprise. "Aye, followin' under full sail."

"An' the Cap'n?" Asked Rawlett, natural resistance to one who he considered was taking his place slowly ebbing away the longer that Trujillo was on the ship. Since he had been there, Trujillo hadn't tried to take over anything that Rawlett considered his place, and Hammett had continued to treat him as First Mate as he always had. If he had to admit it to himself he was almost glad of the slightly reduced duties, he'd noticed how he'd found it harder to wake in the morning, noticed the way that he was becoming stiffer in the bad weather.

"Wants the crew readied. He believes Mustaine be on the way to catchin' the Lady."

"Aye, he won't be riskin' the Lady under sail in this weather." Said Rawlett thoughtfully, eyes flicking between the Captain stood with all the emotion and expression of a statue at the wheel then to the men. "They'll fight like demons in
this weather. More'n normal." He noted, watching the tension in the men before him. "Anythin' to take their minds off o' this storm, off o' the thoughts of meetin' Davey Jones."

"Good. He thinks we be closin' on Hetfield as well." Observed Robert, watching Rawlett as the older man scratched at his grey, wirey beard thhoughtfully.

"He be wantin' Hetfield more'n he be lettin' on. I think he'd be pursuin' that man to the ends o' this earth." He commented with a shake of his head. "All in the name o' revenge." He said, still staring out into nothingness. "I've sailed wi' Hammett for many a year an' never have I seen such a single minded chase as he be havin' for Hetfield."

"Aye, he said it were revenge fer things that Hetfield made him suffer."

"He did. 'Tis Hetfield who made the Cap'n the man he is today. He's ever been a cold one, ever been cruel, but whatever t'was that happened twixt he and Hetfield in the past made him as emotionless as the dead themselves." Said Rawlett, voice
low, "he became a devil in that time."

"I heard as much." Said Robert quietly, eyes flickering over the Captain who was staring out into the distance, mind elsewhere, on another time, another place. Without another word Robert moved away from Rawlett, moving across the rain-
soaked deck to the men who stood there, waiting on his orders, waiting for him.

Hammett watched impassively as the men rallied around, preparing themselves for the prospect of attack. It was something that they had done countless times in the past, but this time there was an urgency about them, a desperate need for action, for control over something rather than being at the mercy of the fates and the weather. He chuckled to himself. No man could truly control his fate, but he could bend it to his will, take what he wanted by force or other means. And that was what he intended to do when they met Hetfield. Unbidden his thoughts began to slide back to a time when Hetfield had been his tormentor, a time when Hetfield had taken everything from him. He would never forget lying almost delirious in the stinking cell in the brig of the Revenge, soaked through in things that he didn't even want to think about, beaten and abused in every conceivable way. He could still remember the feeling of the blood streaming down his face, the burning agony within him, so much blood he hadn't thought it possible that it could have come from his body, and so much pain and shame as everything he had to give was taken from him in front of the crew. Even then, at that moment, the humiliation and pain was nothing to the feeling of having his soul torn away as his ship had been taken by that very same man.

He had been determined then that no man would break him, and no matter how they used his body, no matter how much he bled he refused to back down to Hetfield, refused to let that man take from him the one thing that he had control over, his will and his mind. He could still see the laughing, sneering face of Hetfield in front of him, pale blue eyes blazing down into his soul, laughter still echoing in his ears. He could even smell the sickening stench of the brig and felt his stomach
roil with nausea at the memory that was haunting him.

He shook his head, trying to pull his mind back to the present once more, not wanting to remember any of the other nightmares that still came to tease him through his memories. What bothered him more than the remembrance was the fact that it had come back to him, broken through the walls that he had built up in his mind to hold it all back. He shuddered suddenly, feeling as though someone had walked across his grave. He knew what had broken down those walls. That man, Trujillo. Easy enough to deal with when he had wanted him for his body alone, just wanted to own him, use him. When it had come down to it, Robert had fascinated him. It was someone who would not back down to him, a man who would not just bow down to his every whim unless it agreed with his own plans. That had drawn him to him like a moth to a flame and he was trapped, feeling things for Robert that he hadn't felt in years. Not since... he broke off his thought train there, refusing to let those memories come to the fore. Lust he could deal with, carnal pleasure was something that drove him, but anything deeper meant a loss of control, meant having complete trust in another, and that was something that shook him to the core.

Hammett wrapped his hand round the hilt of his sword, fingers gripping tightly, feeling the cool hilt that fit so well into his palm familiar, real, grounding him. There would be death that day and he relished the thought, needed it with a desperation that he would never let out, needed to feel his blade sliding through a man's flesh, biting deep into bone, needed to see the spray of blood bright against the cold rain, needed to know that he controlled that man's fate, that he brought death and that he was master of his ship and of himself. He relished the thought of Mustaine coming upon them and would gladly take him and his ship down to the bottom of the ocean.
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The Story Girl
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oh oh oh!!! I have just got to find out what it is that Hetfield has done to Hammett to make him so thirtsy for revenge.


For this paragraph

"He had been determined then that no man would break him, and no matter how they used his body, no matter how much he bled he refused to back down to Hetfield, refused to let that man take from him the one thing that he had control over, his will and his mind. He could still see the laughing, sneering face of Hetfield in front of him, pale blue eyes blazing down into his soul, laughter still echoing in his ears. He could even smell the sickening stench of the brig and felt his stomach
roil with nausea at the memory that was haunting him."

you need to become a shrink. Totally. Beautifully written thoughts. :)

and I love it when you explore Hammett's thought on Trujillo, being the one man who has never backed down to him.

I feel worried for Mustaine. Especially since Hammett is relishing the thought of his ship going down to the bottom of the ocean (another awesome line).
I wonder if his drunkeness end up being the downfall him. He sort of deserves it, even if he is way sexy, but poor Ellefson. :(

And I don't mind the length at all. I'm not real good at telling short stories. :)
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