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

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."

Ulysse's face remains stony and still, even if his eyes might be a bit flat after that vicious response. "With the way you're carrying on at present? I don't trust you to keep your head when it matters, Rook. I aim for subtlety, not explosions that will set the entire crew on us in one fell swoop."

"Still, you make it sound like you have a right to choose what I'm about to do," Rook points out. He hates that. He hates it with passion. People thinking they have the right to make claims for his life. Perhaps it is one of those scars that was left on him that just doesn't show on the outside until something like this happens.

"We'll talk about it. But you're not cutting me out."

There's a tiny crack to that calm veneer in the form of slightly flaring nostrils as Ulysse takes a long, deep breath. This is probably why he's always gone after his targets alone, in the past. That and he doesn't do well knowing a friend or ally is potentially going to be in danger because of him.

Crossing his arms, he stares at Rook, not backing down, but then reminding the mage:

"There will be slaves on that ship. The majority of the crew will be at the bars and brothels, tonight."

Which means they could kill two birds with one stone. But, given how Rook had been so adamant against splitting up even in town to get back to the ship faster...

"I can run a distraction with the crew while they're out. Pick off a few of their stragglers while they're relieving themselves in the bushes, even."

It takes quite a bit to get under Ulysse's skin but Rook feels like he might have just managed that. Unfortunately he's not in the mood to enjoy it. They're like two waves moving against each other, breaking and breaking again, never quite relenting.

"What do you mean with distraction?" he asks cautiously. "I want those slaves out of there and I want to burn that ship down to smithereens but I'll settle with cutting some throats and getting at least the children out." The bahamoth of a ship is giant. Will they have time to save them all? He doubts it.

"I mean, I can get the guards off the ship," he answers just a bit tersely. "And give you an opening to free the slaves. If they wanted to, they could take the ship themselves to get somewhere safe. It's probably stocked up enough to last them the journey to another island."

He doesn't say how he'd get the guards away. Rook doesn't need to know how Ulysse lures his prey.

"And I can take care of the crew in town, afterwards."

"You're being ridiculous," Rook practically snarls between his teeth. "You can lure the guards away, I'll free the slaves and then we can take care of the rest."

He's loving the blood thirstiness of Ulysse but man is he stubborn about throwing himself at the wolves while trying to keep Rook from doing the same.

"Aye, you idiot, just wait for me and we'll do it together."

"And if they have mage hunters?" Ulysse shoots back, voice growing a bit sharper.

"I have dealt with those before," Rook hisses between his teeth. "And I still think you shouldn't dare that without a plan. Whatever you are, mage is the closest I can think of."

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