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

Rook needn't have worried.

Shortly after he's boarded the schooner, Ulysse is climbing back up out the hatch, looking mostly unruffled. The rouge on his lips has been smeared a bit, his hair is a bit messed, and he needs to adjust his shirt, but otherwise he seems unharmed.

His face though... is cold. Almost statue-esque and otherworldly in how still it is. The expression shifts and warms a bit on seeing Rook, at least, and Ulysse asks softly, "Did you free them?"

Cold and distant, that's exactly what Rook was afraid of. The knives are on one hand while he reaches for Ulysse with the other, patting over him, looking for injuries and upon finding none, he yanks the man close, kissing his forehead.

"What happened? You were supposed to just distract the one at the docks." Also where are the men?

Ulysse might smile but the expression is brittle and quick to vanish. He then shrugs, looking away. "I never said I would only take care of the one at the docks."

He doesn't say where the pirates are, now, because there's no point. "They won't be bothering anyone. Ready to go to the tavern?"

"You--" Rook sighs. There's frustrated anger in his eyes as he stares at Ulysse. "Are you planning to do the rest of this thing like this? Where you let me believe one thing while you do another? Because let me tell you right now.... Don't do that."

His expression is tight and careful.

"I told you I would distract and take care of the pirates," Ulysse retorts, voice just a tad flat, now. "Which is exactly what I did. I'm not letting a single one of their crewmen leave with their lives, tonight."

"I don't want them to leave with their lives," Rook spits out. "But I want you to leave with yours."

There's actual anger and fear now in his tone. Frustration a warm memory, this is real now.

"I mean it," he hisses, his one good eye glaring daggers at Ulysse. "I need to know you won't pull this shit at the tavern. I will clobber you right here and right now and tie you up and go take care of it by myself."

He's glancing towards the schooner's cabin at the back. They're all dead, aren't they? Something about that makes him shiver a little. This man he's holding here is dangerous. Very much so. But so are the people at the tavern. All of them are dangerous.

"Can I trust you?" he asks finally.

Ulysse just continues to meet Rook's glare, refusing to be cowed by it as he answers, "That's entirely up to you. I'm aware of the risks and know how to manage them."

Then his eyes narrow and his voice drops to a low murmur that could almost be seen as intimate, if it weren't for the undercurrent of danger lingering in the air.

"Just try raising your hand to me. Get the ropes. I dare you."

Infuriating. This man is just...

Rook has no word for it. But oh, it gets under his skin.

Usually it takes something drastic to get him so mad that his magic is swayed by it. He is a steady thing, on his own course, like a moon orbiting a planet. But there's something about this man that just ruins him.

The ocean roars into his call, wind picks up, gusting over the deck while a massive wave makes the ship shift restlessly. Rook is wet all over, but soon will Ulysse be as well because the small schooner is rushed and slammed against the docks, waves washing over the deck as if they were on deeper waters.

"I said," Rook grits out between his teeth, his arm tightening around Ulysse's waist. "Can I trust you? Because if I can't, what is the point of us going there together? You asked me time and time again if I will behave. What about you? Will you behave and not do something stupid?"

His jaw is tight and eyes narrowed, his whole body tense as he stares at Ulysse and demands answers.

Getting soaked is an unwelcome sensation at the moment, but Ulysse doesn't let himself be taken aback by it, only lifting his chin as he squarely stares into Rook's eyes. That now-familiar irritation from the afternoon in Grey's cabin is starting to rear it's head again, and Ulysse is only doubly annoyed at how easily Grey's working his hooks under his skin.

"I've yet to do anything stupid tonight. I was in control of the situation."

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The anger swells under the mage's chest and he lets go of Ulysse's waist, pushing him away. There's one long, utterly pissed off stare that he gives Ulysse before turning and stomping off the deck.

While he walks, he drops away his tools, makes sure his knives are at his sides, the sword where he knows it should be, his magic making the trees bend by the shore as he walks by.

This ridiculous fucking man... Rook doesn't know if he wants to fuck him or slap him. But right now, right now he wants to kill something. And he knows where the men are.

Ulysse stares after him, the faintest glare on his face as he watches Rook go further and further away... and the water just drains off of his clothes and hair, leaving him dry in seconds. Then it's his turn to head into town, having a moment to decide if he'd go to the brothel or tavern... but for as infuriating as Rook is being, Ulysse isn't going to let him just go off on his own and get into potential danger, so in the end, he follows the mage.

The tavern is alight with laughter, screaming, music, talking, everything that a good harbour town tavern should be like. Rook walks in, his one good eye sweeping across the patronage, figuring out where his targets are. It doesn't take a genius to spot them, they still have a few slaves with them, chained and kneeling on the floor. Apparently there's been some bargaining happening for the lady with red hair.

Rook finds himself a spot at the bar and orders a pint. His anger is simmering under the surface right now, but it's not hard to see he's not welcoming any company. The barkeep simply gives him his ale and leaves him alone.

Ulysse enters shortly after Rook and spares the mage a quick glance before heading to the bar, pretending to be ignorant to his presence while ordering a drink. The way he leans against the bar accentuates the line of his back, the shift of his hips making the gold disks hanging over his ass glint eye-catchingly in the light.

Once he's got a mug of ale in hand, he turns to the pirates, smiling and sauntering up to them with catlike grace when the obvious captain grins and beckons for him.

"And how are we doing, gentlemen?" he asks, voice a warm purr with his usually barely noticeable accent deliberately thickened to add to the 'exotic' image. It doesn't take too long from there, aided with a few coy looks and suggestive dialogue before Ulysse is grabbed by the arm and dragged to perch on the captain's lap, which he does easily with a pleased little laugh.

Rook has barely begun to assess the situation when Ulysse springs to action and makes his way to the pirates table. Rook's jaw clenches tight again and he finds his ale so very interesting as he listens to the table, his foot tapping nervously.

It makes his stomach roil, his whole body tight as a string and breathing hard and thick through his flaring nostrils. These assholes, these slaving assholes with a ship full of children and women and defenceless idiots are touching something that is his, they're putting their grimy hands on something perfect and ruining it.

There's enough water in that ale that it's easy to encourage it to jump right from its pint when the captain goes for a gulp. Rook's eyes grow distant as he pours his attention on it, watching as the captain struggles to gulp it down, coughing and sputtering. Then someone slams a fist to the bar in front of him and his concentration is broken.

"I said do you want another pint, mister," the barkeep barks at him and behind him somewhere the captain manages to put his pint down without drowning on his ale. A fucking tragedy.

"Yes," he grits out between his teeth at the barkeep. "Give me a fucking pint."

"Yes, alright," the muttered asshole goes completely unnoticed by the mage as he squeezes the ceramic mug he was given in a tight fist.

He had been looking to wait until the pirates would walk out of the table on their own, one by one picking them up. But now he doesn't have that luxury to wait and take them out quietly. Ulysse is smack in the middle of it and Rook feels like it's getting out of his hands.

On seeing how Rook is already diving into action uninvited, Ulysse thinks fast and helps mop up the captain's ale from his beard, leaning in to murmur into his ear something about having a place and several 'friends' who'd be more than happy to host the captain and his crew for the night, even having a holding pen to put the slaves away in until they're ready to return to their ship.

Right as the captain's laughing with glee and giving Ulysse's ass a solid squeeze, there's more raucous noises from upstairs. A woman screeches indignantly and one of the captain's men comes stumbling down, drunk and flushed with a dopey grin on his fast. Ulysse is helping the captain to his feet when the drunk pirate approaches, leering at the pretty little thing.

He waits until the captain's gone to the bar to pay for the drinks before shoving Ulysse against the table, slurring out, "Hello darlin', you gonna show us a good time t'night?"

While Ulysse isn't thrilled about the position or how the man's wrapping his arms around to grope at his ass, he doesn't let it faze him, just smiling and giving him a playful little wink. "Of course. My friends and I will be more than happy to keep you lads a night to remember."

But as he's distracted, one of the crew has broken away, eyes focused on Grey as he senses traces of the magic that had nearly made the captain drown on his ale...

In a normal situation, Rook would have kept his eyes wider open. But he is distracted, he is so distracted by the way the pirate gropes Ulysse. He's half way onto his feet and about to do something really stupid, like slam that assholes head onto the table and nail him there with his dagger, something happens that changes everything.

All air is robbed out of his lungs as he feels a spell settle on him. And it's not a new kind of sensation. He knows what this is. Panic flashes on his face, the look he shoots at Ulysse is one of sheer fear and dread as his arms are locked against his sides and his feet refuse to listen. He snarls as he falls down to the ground face first and sure enough, there's someone above him in the next second, brushing aside his hair and laughing softly as he slips a collar around Rook's neck.

"You're a nice find sea mage," the hunter practically purrs. "I bet you already know what to do in a ship. We can sell you with double the usual price." He chuckles as he yanks Rook up by his hair and loosens up the spell enough that the mage can struggle up to his feet. "Look at your ugly mug," the man laughs warmly and slaps Rook on the cheek. "You're not going to be a kept pet. But I suppose not all tools are pretty."

"I'll kill you," he mage growls and spits the hunter straight in the face.

"Gosh, a feisty one," the man laughs while wiping his face. "We haven't had one like this for a while," he chats to someone in the group. "You'll have good time whipping him."

Ulysse does his best not to leap to Rook's defense, thinking as fast as possible on how best to get them out of this situation. He needn't have bothered, though, because the drunk that had been groping at him is grouching loudly, "We're not just goin' back to the ship already just 'cause of him, right? We got an invitation by this one."

Quietly thanking the man's dick for guiding his judgment, Ulysse lets out a light laugh and winks to the captain. "Please, my friends and I do have a holding cell for pets. Sometimes we get asked to help break in a couple of the newer toys brought into town, after all..."

That seems to convince the captain and he gets the crew moving, slapping Ulysse's ass loudly before holding him possessively to one side. The slaves are pulled along and Rook gets added onto the chain, forced to follow or risk just being physically dragged over the ground. Ulysse tries to ignore the rough treatment even as the spirit rages within him.

As he leads them down one of the quieter streets leading towards the now empty beach, though, the drunk from before reaches from behind, pulling at Ulysse's shirt as he 'croons', "Show us some good, sweetheart, we're mighty thirsty and need a taste on the way-"

But the fine fabric tears on a hard yank, exposing almost all of Ulysse's back and leaving those numerous pale scars on display. The drunk pirate doesn't quite realise what he's revealed, but one of his companions is quick on the uptake, pushing his lantern closer to make sure he's seeing what he's seeing. Then Ulysse's arm is being grabbed and pinned to his back, the sober pirate crowing, "We've got an old slave here! Probably used to be a pet whore, aye?"

"Get your filthy hands off me-" Ulysse begins with a vicious snarl, but then he's backhanded by the captain, his hair grabbed while he's stunned to yank his head back, rough fingers feeling over his tattooed throat to feel the hidden scars.

"Looks like we scored gold tonight," the captain leers, gripping Ulysse's jaw to examine his face anew. "Aye... you'll sell well to a whorehouse for sure... But I think you need a lesson in manners. I wager it's been a while since you've known your place."

Roaring with laughter, he waves for one of his men. "Bring a collar for this one!"

Fear strikes through Ulysse at those words and then cold iron is placed around his throat. He struggles as it's latched shut but then he's slapped again before being held up straight by his hair. Then the captain's dragging him by his hair off to the jungle bordering the beach, the crew following for some distance until the captain deems they've gone far enough, calling them to a halt. "Chain up the stock to those trees and stand guard. You three-" he begins, gesturing at the men in question with a cruel, excited grin. "We're gonna go break in this little bird."

The thing about slaving spells is that they're hard to break instantly. Almost impossible. Rook has never managed to buffer one right off himself if it managed to spring on him without any protections on his part being erected.

The cold metal around his throat brings memories that he doesn't want to think about but he pushes those aside in favour of keeping his cool, fighting panic and rage where it wants to cloud his judgement completely.

He's pulled along by a chain on his collar and he's on his knees more than a few times, the palms of his hands raw and broken by the time they get out to the streets. It takes a moment to fight his pride down and focus on breaking the spell. Because nothing else is going to get him out of this situation.

It's his milky white broken eye that finally lulls him back into that uncaring stage of mind that he sorely needs right now. It's like a rush of the ocean waves, nothing but the ebb and flow in his ears as they walk, his feet being dragged along. He has it by the time the drunkard starts to hassle with Ulysse. He's waiting for the right moment to break out. He lets it pass, the survivor inside him deciding that Ulysse can handle a bit of attention.

And then all hell breaks loose. Curiously, Rook can hear the ripping of that shirt clear as day. Then comes the ruckus that he understands on a basic level, the collar he sees and understands more. It's time, whether or not it's a good time.

He worms under the slaver's spell and rips it apart while the other men are rushing back with a collar for Ulysse. The hunter turns, surprise and dread in his eyes. He has time say: "What are--" before he has a hooked blade going viciously across his throat. Blood sprays, the last of that spell dissipating.

Rook lets out a small groan, satisfied. Then he looks at the other guards, other pirates. One of his hands are still locked together with the dead hunter, there's no way he has time to go for the keys. His magic is null because of the collar. And there's too many of them.

But he grins, feral and soaked in blood. Let's do this lads. If someone manages to get their dick shoved in Ulysse before he slaughters these assholes, they will get their fucking weener fed to them before they get to die...

Rook's slaughtering of the hunter causes some distraction as the pirates notice and begin shouting, drawing their swords. The ones that are attempting to strip Ulysse stop for a moment, looking over to the noise, giving him an opening to reach for the dagger tucked in his boot. The blade flashes as it stabs into one of his attackers in the gut, making the pirate shout and collapse with a wet gurgling in his throat.

Ulysse rolls to his feet, dagger slashing at the captain and his men and getting a few good slices in. He sees the men rushing for Rook and momentarily loses his head, not even trying to get the spirit to help and relying on his blade. Unfortunately, as Rook noted there's just too many men. The captain grabs Ulysse by the back of his collar, slamming him against a tree face-first and pinning him there, sword held to the struggling man's throat. One of the other men rush in to grab the dagger from Ulysse, very nearly breaking his fingers to get it away from him.

"Maybe you're too much trouble," the captain snarls, clearly enraged that one of his crew has been killed. "Not a mage and more likely to bite a cock off than suck it, aye? Maybe you're worthless."

It's a dirty fight and Rook has surprisingly all the odds to win it. If he wasn't dead set on saving Ulysse as well. The hunter is light, like most mages, and Rook has him dragged up by his collar to take on the first swords that lash at his way. He shoves the dead man at them and lets the weight propel him forward, slashing down low at an unprotected thigh, going deep and cutting hard. An artery pops open and the owner of said thigh stumbles and falls down with a scream, holding his leg that's been hacked almost in half. He's not going to stand again and will bleed out in minutes.

The next man is wiser, backing away several steps to consider the mage who is licking the blood off of his lips and advancing seemingly without a care, dragging the bloody corpse on a chain behind him.

This is the moment when everything goes haywire. Ulysse is shoved against a tree and all Rook sees is blood red rage. He drops his dagger, pulls out his sword and charges at the men. He doesn't shout or scream, he just rushes them, slashing the first one across the chest, parried, fainted, another go, stab, forward, slash, and there, an opening, he runs the man through right at the soft spot of his throat, the tip of his blade crunching against bone, sinking in and--

Fuck. There it is and there it will stay, stuck in the spine of the man. Rook growls as he tries in vain to yank his weapon out.

Then he feels a sting against his side and grunts as he steps aside, hand grabbing at the blade that has sunk into his flesh. He yanks it out of the pirate's hand, flesh cutting open at his palm. But that makes him unable to react to the foot that swipes him out of his feet. And then there's a boot right at his temple. Pain blooming across his face and world going dark for a moment.

Ulysse turns his head, slicing a bit of his neck against the sword and just barely sees Rook go down, eyes widening when the pirate kicks at the mage's head. All he hears is the roar of the ocean in his ears and then he's being forcibly overtaken by the spirit in him.

The ocean spirit's enraged cry is like the crash of waves in the middle of a hurricane at sea. Rook's eyes glow an intense turquoise blue, his lips curled back to bare his teeth, and then the spirit's magic goes surging out from his body, swamping over all the pirates surrounding them. In a matter of seconds, they're choking on their own saliva, incapacitated for a prolonged, agonising moment... and then they just wither, the water of their cells splitting leaving them abruptly, leaving only dried, virtually mummified corpses, their organs giving out as all fluids leave them. Their shrieks are reedy and terrified, fading away as their bodies fail them.

The spirit straightens from the tree, Ulysse's long hair and torn clothes floating around his body as though he's underwater, and as he walks towards Rook, there are puddles left behind as footprints. He crouches by Rook, staring over the fallen mage's face, a cool, ocean-scented hand stroking over his brow, the other gently touching the cut palm, coaxing the wound to knit itself together.

Not too far from them, the still tethered slaves are staring at the two men with clear terror, though they're hopeful... After all, mages are the most likely to understand their plight, right?

Rook gasps awake when his palm is knit back together. His eyes squint back close and he lets out a pained groan as he reaches up blindly to grab at Ulysse's shirt and drags him closer. There's that scent of deep ocean that floats about him again, it's reassuring, good.

His eyes crack open to stare at the turquoise gaze above him, the floating hair and clothes and he croaks something, words trying to form on his lips. "I knew it..."

What he knew? He honestly isn't sure himself. Because this isn't some normal mage bullshit right here. But somehow it's so familiar, like coming home. And while this is what attracted him to Ulysse first of all, it isn't what kept him interested in the man. He knew however that it was there, somewhere in there. Under the cat-like grace and quick smiles, under the almond shaped eyes and full lips.

Rook's magic is still null and quiet, he can't make heads or tails about the creature above him, but he knows it's not Ulysse. Yet it is.

"Thank you," he croaks out. Without looking he knows they're no longer in danger. The scent of deep deep ocean is all around them, the scent of bodies died in that deep deep ocean. This is a scent he knows well.

"Now, give him back," he says as he nudges on Ulysse's shirt again. "I need him." Incoherent talk from a half conscious man but oh it rings true.

Those turquoise eyes stare down possessively at Rook, a cool thumb stroking under the blind eye. There's a lingering quiet fury to the spirit's aura, as turbulent as the sea, ready to sweep through in a wave of destruction and just barely held back.

"You are both mine," the spirit growls, the crashing of waves echoing through it's voice, and then leans in dangerously close, staring deep into Rook's eye. "Be more careful."

Then it cuts off any response Rook might have with a kiss, demanding his reciprocation. Teeth drag unchecked over the mage's lips, cold fingers gripping his face almost bruisingly tight.

Just as abruptly as the kiss was started, it's broken, and then the spirit draws back, staring down at Rook before finally withdrawing into it's host's body, letting Ulysse awaken once more. The blue fades from his eyes, his hair and clothes settling over his body once more, and then the man's blinking rapidly, staring around him with confusion before refocusing on Rook.

"Are you all right?" he asks, voice strained and quiet, frown puckering his brow as he runs now warm fingers over Rook's head, checking to see if maybe he'd been injured from the kick Ulysse had seen before going under.

The kiss from the spirit curls the mage's insides, and not in the best way. It's a raw kind of pleasure that's too much, too fucking much. A cold breath right into his lungs, freezing, clawing at him from the inside. It's like drowning again, unable to breathe, his body feeling heavy and light at the same time, too tired to react to anything.

But oh he kisses back, because he knows he must. This is his mistress who takes what she wants.

When she's gone, Rook tightens his hold on that ripped shirt to bring Ulysse closer, pull him down until he can kiss the man's mouth, his cheeks and his brows.

"Dun care," he croaks. "C'mere."

They're both alive. They're both fucking alive and no one...

Fuck.

Rook's arm is around Ulysse's neck, holding him tight against himself as he strokes a hand through the man's hair, pulls back just enough to look at him, nose against nose.

"Did you... Are you alright?"

Ulysse shudders hard with relief at the rough embrace, eyes momentarily squeezed shut as he's pressed in against Rook for all those desperate little kisses. At the question, he mutely nods, feeling the blood drying on his neck from where the sword had left the shallow slice, lip throbbing from being cut against his teeth on being struck multiple times.

All that pales in comparison to the collar still around his throat and he reaches for Rook's neck, feeling the iron still locked there, too. "We need to get these off-" he begins, trying to straighten and reach for the corpse of the hunter Rook had been dragging around, knowing at least one set of keys would be in the pockets somewhere.

He sees the slaves watching them and calls over, "Search the-" oh, that's what the spirit did, that's... brutal... "-the bodies. Someone must have the keys..."

After all, the slaves had been brought out for trade. To transfer ownership, the pirates must've brought the keys with them.

The slaves move together, dragging the withered corpses of the pirates closer to search their pockets, ignoring the valuables for the moment in favor of finding the keys. With so many hands searching, it doesn't take long at all, and then they're freeing themselves, some openly weeping on feeling the hated metal fall away from their limbs. The red-head that had almost been sold back at the tavern darts over, whispering 'thank you' in a mantra as she helps Ulysse and Rook get out of their own collars, grabbing their weak, tired hands and pressing their knuckles to her brow as she bows her head.

Ulysse is honestly not at all concerned for this behavior, choosing instead to wraps his arms tight around Rook, breathing shallowly into the crook of his neck as he mutters, "That was too close- Damn it all, you almost-"

The woman retreats to her friends, helping them drag the bodies into the bushes to be disguised by the plant-life, stripped of their goods (and clothes) for good measure.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject