Chapter Text
Clive nearly lost his footing as another shot of canon fire rocked the deck. They were about to be boarded, the pirate ship already swinging astride their own. It was a decrepit looking thing, ill maintained and old. But whoever was in charge clearly knew what they were doing, handily surprising and out maneuvering the smaller naval vessel. He grabbed for his sword, drawing it just as the first grappling hook shot across the deck.
“Drive them back!” Tiamat yelled from somewhere on the upper deck
Biast shot him a grin as he ran past, heading straight for the balustrade. With a slight roll of his eyes, Clive followed. He had a pistol tucked into his belt, loaded with a single shot. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it. Another line of hooks and rope blew past him, and he slipped easily between them.
The pirates were already swinging and jumping aboard, sailors meeting them in loud clashes all along the deck. Clive plunged headlong into the frey, striking out with his sword. He made quick work of a man who lost his footing over the railing, dispatching him easily. Two more rose to take his place, and Clive quickly found himself in a pitched battle.
Pistol shots boomed around him, smoke billowing. A sudden fire sprouted near the main mast, further compounding the situation. Loud shouts echoed in his ears, and Clive parried a heavy blow. He struck back just as hard, cutting under the man’s guard to deliver a crippling slash to his gut. Shoving him aside, Clive started running for the bow, away from the flames.
Pirates were everywhere on deck now, swarming. Clive watched a tide of them rip towards the forecastle door, bursting past to start flooding the lower decks. He fought off a few stranglers, cutting his way through with precise strokes. None of them seemed particularly well trained, or particularly motivated. All they had were their numbers, but that was enough. It didn’t take a tactician to see the sailors were rapidly being overwhelmed.
Clive kept going, prioritizing fending off blows to his chest and head. No individual man was a match for him, but as a group they were certainly dangerous. He had to watch his back, watch for pistols, or more grappling hooks. Blades swiped out at him from the smoke, some even from other sailors, out of their minds with fear.
No longer trying to wade through the brawl, Clive settled for simply trying to outlast the enemy. He moved with cold efficiency, drawing into a dark and calculating part of himself. Time passed in a rush, until his lungs and arms ached. But still he kept going. Kept fighting. Clive hadn't given up when his mother craftily sold him into naval service at fifteen. He hadn't given up when he was lashed bloody for refusing to follow orders. He certainly wasn’t going to give up now, in the face of a bunch of pirates.
A heavy breeze blew across the ship, suddenly clearing the smoke. And Clive realized with a sinking feeling that he was fighting completely alone. There wasn’t another sailor standing in sight. The pirates around him eyed him wearily, likewise understanding that he was a man with nothing left to lose. Inherently dangerous.
“What’s all this?” a loud voice rang out from the railing, a man having just made his way over from the pirate ship. “Can’t finish off a few stragglers?”
He jumped down onto the deck, and the men around Clive slunk back immediately. The newcomer walked through the newly formed space, until he was standing calmly a swords-length away.
“Fuck you,” Clive managed to say, chest heaving.
He was damn tired, and if nothing else this was a chance to catch his breath. The newcomer laughed easily, but his gaze was discerning and hard as it drew over Clive’s face. Some of the men around them laughed with him, and Clive understood immediately that this must be their captain. He cut an impressive figure, dressed mostly in leather, with his shirt laces open indecently over his chest. Two swords hung at his hip, one long, one short.
The wind gusted again, this time blowing smoke back towards them. The pirate captain lifted his hand, shielding his eyes. In that moment, Clive acted. He swung a deceptively casual thrust, but it was fully intended to be a killing blow. Moving with inhuman speed, the captain blocked the hit. Steel rang out on steel, and Clive nearly screamed his frustration.
“You know what,” the captain said, a grin painting over his features, “Think I’ll keep this one.”
Clive dropped his sword, stepping back and swinging up with his pistol. His hand was steady as he leveled it straight at the other man’s chest.
“Easy now,” the captain lowered his sword, the gesture placating.
All Clive had to do now was pull the trigger. At least he could rid the world of one last pirate, before they killed him. But something in the captain’s gaze stayed his hand. He looked calm, relaxed on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of something else. It was an expression Clive often saw reflected back at himself from goblets, still water, even the polished curve of a spyglass. An expression he was more than familiar with.
“You don’t particularly strike me as eager to die,” the captain said, sheathing his sword.
He pulled out a cigar from somewhere and lit it with a match, acting unfairly unconcerned. But he had a point. Clive hesitated. At the end of the day, he didn’t want to die here. Not on the ship he disliked, living a life he hated.
Clive threw down his pistol with a snarl, and the pirates were suddenly collapsing on him like a wave. Hands pulled and ripped, rope coiling brutally around his wrists. On instinct, he tried to lash out, but unarmed as he was, there was no chance at fighting them off. Someone managed to shove a dirty rag in his mouth, tying it roughly back before he could spit it out. In seconds, Clive was being lifted up and carried roughly towards their ship. He kicked out helplessly with his legs, only for them to be tied as well.
“In my cabin,” the captain called loudly as he passed by, “And not a hand on him, understood?”
There was a chorus of agreement, though Clive didn’t trust a single one of them to keep it. He would just have to get through whatever happened next, like he always did. As they passed across the boarding lines, the wind caught at the pirate’s flag. And Clive finally got a good, clear look. A skull and a lightning bolt. He stiffened, eyes going wide.
This was Cid the Outlaw’s ship. It had to be. A fearsome and bloodthirsty pirate, responsible for countless raids up and down the Empire's coast. Not to mention the right hand of the Black King himself. Of all things, Clive had to cross paths with him. To add to the insanity, it looked like he might just live to tell the tale. Despite almost shooting the man! Almost but not quite, of course, which was rapidly seemingly like a mistake. The perfect ending to his perfectly shitty career in the Sanbreqois navy.
The men around him made a quick pace to the captain’s cabin. Some peeled off as they went, going about other business once Clive stopped making such a fuss. Until finally he was being dropped rather roughly on a narrow bed, the last of the pirates disappearing out the door. Almost immediately, he set to work trying to free himself. Of course, being that these were shipmen’s knots, even if the shipmen were pirates, he didn’t have much hope.
Clive made exactly no progress by the time the cabin door opened again. The captain, Cid, was still smoking a cigar. Though it wasn’t much more than a stub between his lips. Clive glared at him above the gag, trying to convey rage, discomfort, and impatience all at once.
Quietly, Cid stubbed out his cigar. He set something down on the table nearby. It looked to be a roll of parchment, and not a small one either. Then he stripped off his jacket, tossing it casually aside. Clive got an eyeful of a nasty burn scar, curling up his forearm, before his shirtsleeve fell to cover it. Still not saying anything, Cid pulled out a heavy-looking chair, and carried it in front of the bed. He set it down gently, before finally looking over at Clive.
“Play along,” he mouthed.
Clive furrowed his brow, confused. The expression on Cid’s face wasn’t quite the same as earlier. It was softer, more mischievous. Certainly not the look of a man about to torture or maim. In and of itself that seemed dangerous. Unpredictable.
Cid suddenly lifted up the chair and dropped it back down. A slam echoed around the room, and Clive flinched.
“Pretty thing, aren’t you,” Cid said, voice entirely too loud.
He dropped the chair again, and Clive wriggled back a little in the sheets, completely bamboozled. Just what was going on–
“Behave sweetheart.”
Cid propped his boot up on the chair, before smacking across his own thigh with an echoing crack. They made eye contact after he did, green meeting blue, and he motioned for Clive expectantly.
“Go ahead,” Cid mouthed.
Clive shook his head quickly. He had no intention in participating in… whatever this was. Cid looked disappointed, but that was his own problem. Clive was the one, still bound by the way, on an unfamiliar ship, in an unfamiliar bed. His wrists were hurting, chaffing from where he’d tried to slip free of the bonds. And the cloth in his mouth was beyond annoying, spit sticking to it wetly.
Abruptly, Cid let out an absolutely debauched groan. It sounded like pure sex, deep and grating. He slammed his hand on the wall next to the bed, punctuating the noise.
“That’s right,” Cid called, a wicked grin on his face, “Let daddy take care of you.”
Something dark and hot passed through Clive’s body for a second, before subsiding just as quickly.
“Just like that sweetheart,” Cid said, winking down at him.
He started slamming the wall at regular intervals, occasionally slapping his thigh. Clive could only watch, realization finally taking grip in his thoughts, as Cid continued his one man show. The merits of trying to fight, trying to do something other than lie there, trickled through Clive’s mind rapidly. Cid was near the bed, probably close enough to kick. The problem was after that. Would he be able to incapacitate the pirate, bound as he was?
“Still trying to keep quiet, are you?” Cid’s voice was loud, but his eyes were drilling into Clive’s.
Clive met his gaze pound for pound, channeling every once of disdain he could muster. But for some reason, Cid only grinned again. What followed was an absolute symphony of the most perverted and wicked noises Clive had ever heard. It would’ve put any whore to shame, even the highest paid courtesans in Oriflamme. And all the while Cid only stared at him, looking more and more like a barely constrained beast.
At some point Clive had to look away, a faint blush on his cheeks. The victory only made Cid bolder, only made him slam the wall louder.
“Come for daddy, sweetheart,” Cid growled.
Clive huffed and rolled his eyes, and Cid almost chuckled for a second before cutting it off with a long, loud moan. He dropped his leg off the chair, one final thud. Then, business-like, he quietly moved it back to its original place at the table. Clive watched him walk over to the door, noting the way he paused just before it to tousle his hair, flick some color into his cheeks.
Cid opened the door a crack, carefully keeping his lower body hidden behind it.
“Alright you lot, back to work!” he called. “There'll be whores aplenty in Stonhyrr.”
There was an actual chorus of groans and grumbles, even audible through the door. Cid slammed it authoritatively, before turning back to Clive. The hubbub outside slowly wound down, Cid stepping forward again once it had fully abated.
“Now then,” he said quietly, looming over the bed, “Let’s you and I have a chat.”
Clive shifted in his bonds, tried and failed to spit out the gag for what had to be the tenth time. Cid’s eyes were all business now, lacking the charming mirth they’d held earlier.
“Did you know about the mission?”
Mission? What was he talking about? Clive didn’t know anything about any mission. He’d been woken up in the dead of night by Biast, letting him know they were shipping out. It was well in advance of when their shore leave was supposed to end, so Clive had been understandably irritated about the whole thing. Once onboard he didn’t ask any questions. Just went about his duties as usual.
Cid pulled out a knife, from somewhere, and spun it easily in his hand. Clive knew he should’ve been afraid, but for whatever reason the feeling wouldn’t rise.
“Did you know?” Cid asked again.
Clive shook his head. The knife continued to twirl.
“Are you an officer?”
With a pointed look at his uniform, which revealed him as most decidedly not an officer, Clive shook his head again. Cid’s gaze draped over it appraisingly, no doubt noting the sorry, dirty, state of it. But he looked satisfied at the answer.
“Are you going to try to kill me, if I cut you loose?”
Clive hesitated, and Cid chuckled. He stopped playing with the knife, snapping it into his palm with a solid motion.
“Honest to a fault, aren’t you sweetheart.”
Moving at a preternatural speed, Cid started slicing at the ropes around his legs. Once they were cut, Clive rotated obligingly onto his shoulder, giving access to his pinned wrists. Those were taken care of quickly, and he flopped gratefully onto his back. Blood pulsed into the appendages painfully, and he rubbed at them to ease the sting. A careful hand eased the knife between the gag and his cheek, slicing through it cleanly. Cid lingered for a second, before gently pulling it out.
Clive inhaled greedily through his mouth, letting his chest fill with air. There was a foul taste on his tongue, and the corners of his lips ached, but at least he was free to breathe.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got to run. Ship won’t sail itself.”
Cid stashed the knife again, and walked over to his discarded jacket. He started putting it on, leaving Clive gobsmacked on the bed. It was getting difficult to wrap his head around the situation. This man, whose very name sent sailors running in fear, was not at all what he expected.
“What do you mean to do with me?” Clive asked, clearing his throat a little.
“That’s for me to know, sweetheart.”
Clive scoffed, finally sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed. Cid paused, just before the door. He looked back over his shoulder, making sure Clive was listening before he spoke.
“So long as you stay in my cabin you won’t be harmed. The crew knows they can’t do anything until I throw you out. And despite your piss-poor acting,” Cid looked at him pointedly. “They’re all thinking I won’t be doing that for a while.”
The indignant noise Clive made was swallowed by the door, opening and closing loudly. A slight shudder ran down his spine at the thought of being tossed to the pirate crew. No doubt they’d enjoy tormenting him. With a heavy breath, he suppressed the feeling. At least this cleared up a few things about Cid’s actions. Although it revealed nothing about his motivations. Clive stood up, resolving to find a weapon if nothing else.
The cabin was sparse, the first few cabinets he opened were all empty. Clive was starting to suspect they hadn’t had this ship very long. For one, no one ever whispered about Cid the Outlaw sailing around in a battered ship. For another, what kind of self-respecting pirate captain didn’t even keep alcohol in his cabin?
Clive sighed, leaning against the wall for a second. His eyes fell over the table, covered scattered notes, an overflowing ashtray, and the large parchment Cid left there earlier. The parchment roll was inherently interesting, but one of the notes caught Clive’s eye as he went over. It was a detailed description of the ship Clive came from, down to the number of crew. He tilted his head at it curiously, noticing it was signed “Mid” at the bottom.
It stood to reason the pirates had spies in the navy. Clive sighed again. He started unrolling the large parchment absent-mindedly, noticing how weathered and tattered it was as he did. Being a spot more careful, Clive watched curiously as it unfurled into a map. Well, half a map, to be precise. The other half was missing, torn away.
There were a few marks across the surface, drawings and etchings that were difficult to read. Clive trailed his fingers towards the bottom, passing over a few letters inked there.
“U… L… T…” he read quietly to himself. “What's that supposed to mean?”