perhapstomorrow | The bell has been raised from its watery grave...

"Are you not?" Rook asks, his jaw tightening as he turns to look at Ulysse. "You don't know. And we're not risking it. This is not a game, and I'm not going back without you so, pick up your feet already."

He goes as far as to Grab Ulysse by his elbow and practically march him forward.

"Rook-!"

Ulysses stumbles a couple of steps and then jerks his arm back, frown growing over his face. "I can walk perfectly well on my own. I'm just saying, it's dangerous for you and the others to be out here and it would be better if we got all of you back to the ship sooner rather than later, and the fastest way to achieve that is to split up. It's not a game, it's logic."

"All we need to do is to walk there and grab some cloth and needles," Rook grunts as he lets Ulysse go but doesn't slow down.

He's not going to discuss this. There's something magical about Ulysse and even if it's not the traditional magic that the slave traders are after, he's still in danger. Anyone in their right mind can sense as much about the man... Right?

"It's just as dangerous for you," he says sharply and points at the shop in the next street corner. "Oh well, look at that, there it is. Now just go in and do your thing. I'll keep a look at the street."

Ulysse is clearly exasperated and actually stares up at the sky as if hoping the answers will be written in the clouds, but heads for the shop anyway. He doesn't just go inside, though, and instead grabs Rook's arm to pull him inside, too.

"Stay by my side," he insists, shaking his head as they enter.

"Don't be an asshole," Rook practically snarls back but doesn't pull his arm free, letting Ulysse actually pull him inside, as surprising as that is to both of them.

When the door closes behind them, he shoos Ulysse to go bargain with the shopkeep. "Be quick," he insists as he cracks the door open a little and peers at the street.

Ulysse fixes the mage with a stern look that more or less says 'don't move', then goes to the shopkeeper. The old man is quite nervous at these two strangers, but he's professional and barters with Ulysses.

Once the deal is struck, the shopkeeper starts preparing the sails and extra fabrics for repairing future rips. So while he's working, Ulysse comes to the door, leaning to one side of the frame and staring at Rook.

"... I don't think I've seen you this tense, yet," he comments. And it's true - even before the storm, when they'd had their quick, rough coupling below-deck, it hadn't been anything like this.

It's honestly unexpected, given how Rook usually seems so... not restrained, but under control. He might act erratic, sometimes, but he's so much like a cat in that sense, of being unpredictable, sly, with just a touch of hidden intent. Not so very much on edge with his teeth bared at the world, like this.

Rook divides his attention between Ulysse and the street while the man bargains with the shopkeep. It's not so much about being precarious and caring about his crew but there's something about Ulysse that makes him feel like he should put a little effort into making sure the man isn't grabbed and taken away. (Maybe a little more than a little...)

Waiting is never great in situations like this, and he already hates every second of it. But he settles a little when Ulysse leans to the food frame, close enough for the mage to grab him and haul him away if there happens to be a need for it.

"Are you surprised?" he asks and there's sharp, mocking challenge in those words but an actual inquiry too. Did Ulysse think he is completely unaffected by everything around him? He leans back against the door frame and peers out of the crack, arms folded over his chest and jaw jutting out stubbornly.

"A little. You're usually... unflappable," he answers with a little shrug, a brief flicker of a teasing smile appearing over his lips before he looks out towards the street. "You didn't seem at all panicked when you tied yourself to the ship mast during the storm. Though I suppose that's a good deal less terrifying as a mage..."

Rook's brows furrow for a moment and then one corner of his mouth quirks up as he snorts and looks away from Ulysse, glancing outside again, just to be sure...

"It's just a storm," he says with a shrug. "And the job I was hired to do."

What about this then? What is this?

That smile appears for a second again and Ulysse shakes his head.

"'Just a storm', he says," he scoffs. "I knew you were missing a few marbles."

Then he looks back to Rook, eyes lowering to the scarred throat, thinking on how the man tends to leave his arms exposed as well.

"... Won't your scars make it easier for slavers to know you're a mage?" he asks quietly, just in case the shopkeeper gets any bright ideas to sell them out.

Rook's gaze shifts to Ulysse and there's cold fury in that one pale blue eye that stares him down.

"Aye."

He doesn't think his answer will explain his nervousness to Ulysse. It doesn't to himself.

"They can try me."

Ulysse stares at him in silence, eyes unreadable, face stoic. Then he sighs and starts unbuckling the leather bracers from his arms. His own scars are considerably less obvious with the tattoos and bracelets, after all, and they'll be covered enough from carrying the goods back to the ship, anyway.

"Give me your arms," he says, and while his voice is still soft, there's a firm note in there that implies he doesn't want a fight about this. There's not much he can do about Rook's throat, but the man's long hair disguises it well enough from behind and the sides, so that might be easier to slip by unnoticed...

Rook doesn't fight him this time. Obviously he'll have to pick his wars with this one. You win some, you lose some.

He doesn't say anything, just offers his arm while looking at Ulysse. When those bracers are put on his arm, his fingers idly trace Ulysse's stomach, nothing that suggestive but firmly in the realm of too familiar to be just platonic.

"You happy now?" he asks when his arms are covered.

The straps are adjusted carefully to make sure they're not too tight on Rook's forearms. While there are no lingering touches between them against the warm skin or anything otherwise so intimate or sweet, he does look up once he's done, keeping hold of the mage's wrist for a moment before releasing him with another quick, small smile.

"Somewhat," he answers, ignoring the lingering tickling warmth at his stomach where Rook's fingers had been playing over the thin linen of his shirt. "Try not to lose them, would you?"

Job done, he takes his hands back, looking down as he rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, checking the thin silver cuffs at his wrists he'd had on under the bracers. In another light, they might've looked like shackles themselves, but Ulysse had made sure they had enough artistic engravings on them to make it clear they're meant for decoration, not containment.

The scars might not be obvious under his jewelry and tattoos, but Rook knows they're there. He also knows there are long whipping marks on Ulysse's back, similar to those that travel across Rook's back. When Ulysse releases his wrist, he doesn't hold onto his hand, but hangs onto a chain of silver, his finger hooking under it for a moment so he can pull that hand up and towards himself. If they had been at the ship, he would have done more, but they're in the sails shoppe and there are slavers out there in the town.

"All you need is a tiara," he says with a corner of his mouth quirking up.

The hand is finally released and Rook peers out of the door again. "You'll get your trinkets back," he promises as he adjusts them over his arms, trying to get comfortable with the feel.

"You might as well keep them for whenever we head into towns," Ulysse snorts, turning to rest his back against the wall, watching the shopkeeper while also being able to stay close enough to Rook to keep talking quietly.

"... And a tiara would be useless since it would just fall out as soon as someone grabbed my hair, don't you think?"

Was that flirting? A joke? A logical comment, even?

A gift even. Rook's one good eye follows Ulysse's movements when he looks at the shopkeeper, doing his thing. Just like that. Giving away things.

That comment about hair grabbing is met with a the mage tilting his chin down, his lips quirking into a small smile that is warmer than the feral ones he's given Ulysse before.

He faces the door then, his shoulder almost touches Ulysse's, but not quite. When he tilts head to the side, to look out, to talk to the other man, it doesn't matter, they end up just a palm's width away from each other.

"Is that what you like?" he asks in a quiet, private and thoroughly amused tone of voice, referencing back to their silly game during the best sex Rook has had in years and years.

That ghost of a smile is there and gone, but the amusement lingers in Ulysse's eyes as he flicks them over to stare up at Rook's face.

"Now that would be telling," he murmurs. "Isn't it more fun to find out yourself?"

The shopkeeper calls over to them, then, and Ulysse keeps staring up at Rook's eyes even as he straightens from the wall before finally turning to the trader, reaching up to put his hair in a quick knot to keep it out of the way. He's going to be carrying quite a few things, after all, and it would just annoy him.

The needles and thread are tucked away in his belt pouch, coin exchanges hand, then the sails are rolled up and hoisted over one of Ulysse's shoulders with far more strength than would be assumed for a man of his height and supposedly slim build. He doesn't ask Rook to take anything.

Best if the mage has his hands free in case someone does come after them.

Rook doesn't bother answering that quip with anything but a lingering look of amusement. If that wasn't an invitation, he is quite off his rockers. He stays where he is for a long while, just watching Ulysse walk up to the shopkeep, pulling up his hair and showing Rook the nape of his neck that still probably has some bite marks. How did he get this familiar with the lines of the man's body? Rook doesn't know but he isn't sorry about it either.

He lets Ulysse handle the sails, they take quite a bit of room and are difficult to handle. He silently agrees that he needs his hands free. But he does grab the package they earlier took from the blacksmith. It goes over his shoulder and can be dropped at a twist of a wrist.

He toes open the door and pushes through, holding it open for Ulysse who is carrying the difficult cargo.

Out on the street, he isn't exactly talkative. He's too busy making sure there's no one suspicious around while they hurry through the muddy streets.

Ulysse thankfully isn't the type to make small talk unless prompted to, so they walk in relative silence, both men too wary to be comfortable, though he's considerably less obvious in his tension than Rook.

It's at the docks that they spot the crew responsible for the tension.

The ship is large and a sick feeling enters Ulysse's stomach on recognising it as a slaver's brig. There's a sleek little schooner flying the same colours anchored at it's side, no doubt the pirates' guard and attack-dog whenever they come across prey in the open waters, given the brig is just too big to be fast in manoeuvring for battle. Ulysse can't remember ever being in a brig... but he knows exactly how it would look below deck. How the slaves would be hobbled and chained together, packed in like cattle, not seeing daylight for weeks on end until the next port for trade... some would be used on deck to work, tethered to the oars to row when there's no wind, and depending on the crew, a mage would either be shackled to the prow or the main mast, sometimes even as a living figurehead, to ensure good winds and safe waters for the pirates.

The pirates at least aren't paying them any mind, too busy guarding the brig, a couple on the docks smoking their pipes and chatting idly about nothing of importance.

Ulysse takes a deep inhale through his nose and walks right past them, heading up the gangplank to their ship and giving Aidan a little nod in greeting, wordlessly passing the selkie the sails. He's then gripping Rook's wrist, making sure the mage won't do anything stupid like storm the brig by hinself, and takes him to the captain's quarters, knowing Grey's not onboard yet and affording them some privacy.

Just the sight of the brig makes Rook growl under his breath. His attention is on the ships all the way to the captain's quarters where he finds himself being pulled in. He honestly didn't even see Aidan there.

He doesn't know what, but something will happen tonight to that ship, to those people in it.

Ulysse drags him in the captain's cabin and when the door closes behind them, Rook curses and starts to pace the floor, every time he turns towards the brig, he glares at the wall.

"We... should raise sails and leave," he says between his teeth. "But not yet. Not tonight."

Staring at the agitated mage, Ulysse silently shifts to block the door, just in case Rook decides to run outside and do something crazy.

"You can't go after them," he says, voice quiet but firm. "You know they'll have the tools to subdue mages."

"Don't even try to tell me you're going to just sit here and leave," Rook replies with a rasping laugh that lacks all amusement. "Don't lie to me."

The smile and laugh is gone as the mage stares at Ulysse, his glare hard and furious.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Ulysse answers calmly, unflinching in face of that fury. There's no denying how Rook is making him wary and tense, but he's spent all his life (that he can remember) hiding his nerves behind his cool facade.

"But I'm not about to let you go charging after them and getting yourself killed, or worse. I've dealt with slavers before. I'll take care of it, tonight," he adds, bracing himself in case Rook does explode, now.

Rook's brows arch up. Incredulous.

"You aren't going to let me?" he asks. "Since when did you get to decide for me what I'll do and what I don't?"

It comes out a lot harsher than he wanted. It comes out vicious and angry. He's not angry at Ulysse but Rook isn't exactly good at directing his emotions at their rightful targets, is he?

"And how would you feel like if I'd tell you that I'm going to take care of it, that you should walk away?" he asks with something akin amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth. It's not amusement, it's... something nasty and below Ulysse but Rook isn't discriminating who he hammers right now. As long as someone gets it.

"Let's try this again," he says in a low, low rumble that sounds a lot softer than it is. "We can take care of it tonight, without you trying to take it on by yourself."

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