Nobody Likes Fairytale Pirates (28 page)

He shrugged.  “I’m just a
convenient suspect, that’s all.  I was born mistrusted by society.”

“Maybe if you didn’t want to be
treated like a criminal, crime was the wrong career path for you.”

“Fine, throw
that
in my
face.”

She burst out laughing again,
almost choking on her booze.  She put her head down on the table and giggled
like she’d never heard anything funnier in her life.

He couldn’t help but smile.  “You,
Dove, are drunk.”

She shrugged, utterly unconcerned
about being locked in a room with a Grizzwoodian, despite her present
condition.

Which was sweet.  And
utterly
stupid.  If she knew anything about his people, she’d know that every moment he
was in this room, he was thinking about the things he’d like to do to her soft
body.

It took every ounce of his self-control
to hold himself back.

“So…”  He cleared his throat,
trying to keep talking since she’d asked him to.  “What should we buy once we
get our share of the money?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe… a cow.”

He frowned in confusion.  “Why on
earth would we want a cow?”

“I don’t know.”  She shrugged again
and took another swallow of brandy.  “A lot of people have cows and we don’t
have one yet.  It could like… walk around in our yard or whatever.”

He laughed, finding her simply
adorable.  “You’re really weird, you know that?”  He took the bottle from her,
deciding that she’d had enough.  “Would we eat it?”

“What else would we do with it?”

He made a face.  “To tell you the
truth, I’m getting rather sick of killing things.”

“Well, you can try eating it alive,
but getting it to sit still would probably be an issue.”

He grinned, delighted with her. 
What an amazing woman.

She motioned for the bottle again.

He shook his head.  “You are cut
off, Quartermaster.”

She held up her fist to play “rock,
paper, scissors” again and he immediately followed suit.

Dammit.  She’d picked scissors and
he’d picked paper.

He cleared his throat.  “Rock.”

She snorted in dismissal.  “Liar.”

“What?”  He defended, feigning
innocence.  “I picked rock!”

“You picked paper!”  She protested,
mimicking the hand signal and mouthing “You” while pointing at it.

“How do you know!?!”

“How do I know?”  She pointed at
him.  “Do it again.”  He did as commanded and she called out what he held up as
he did it.  “Scissors.”  He tried again.  “Paper.”  She snapped.  He kept
going.  “Rock.”  She sounded disgusted.  “Rock, again.”  She let out an annoyed
groan.  “Rock a
third
time.  Dammit, ‘Rai.  You’re a stubborn bastard,
you know that?”

His mouth hung open in amazement.  “How
are you doing that?”

“Because I understand the way your
mind works and you’re
utterly
predictable, ‘Rai.”  She waved her hand at
him, as if dismissing him completely.  “You’re the most predictable man I’ve
ever met.  I don’t need to be psychic, have magic powers, or even see, all I
need is…” she shifted in her chair uncomfortably, “you.”

He liked the sound of that.  He
liked the sound of that quite a bit.

“Well… you know…”  She paused,
sounding awkward and trying to backpedal.  “I mean that…”

“I know.”  He said softly, letting
her off the hook, then quietly tried the game again, just to see what would
happen.

She threw her arms out in
exasperation.  “Rock for the
fourth
time, followed by a rude hand
gesture.”

“Dammit!”  He laughed in wonder.  “That
is
amazing!
”

“Yeah, it’s thrilling.”  She
deadpanned, then grabbed for the bottle and finished it off.  “Can we do
something else now?”

“I’m too busy trying to figure out
a way we can use this to make money…”

“Yeah, we’d really clean up on the
professional ‘rock, paper, scissors’ circuit.”  She said sarcastically.  “You dope.”

“Jeez, you kinda strangled that one
in the crib, didn’t you?”  He chuckled, dismissing his plan.  “I guess I’m just
always amazed by how well we work together, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah.”  She nodded.  “We make
codependency sexy.”

“It’s a gift.”

“I think it’s just that we’re the
only ones we can count on.”  She began.

“Because everyone else is always
trying to kill me.”

“You know what?”  She sat
straighter in her chair.  “It’s not just you.”  She paused.  “Well, it mostly
is, I guess, until recently.”  She let out an amazed breath.  “A lot of fucking
people try to kill you, that’s for damn sure...”  She cleared her throat,
getting back to her point.  “But we’re a team, which means that when they hate
you, it’s the same as hating me.”  She tapped her finger against the tabletop. 
“They don’t like us.  They’re never going to like us.  And no matter what we
do, they’re going to be against us.  So I say: let’em.”  She shrugged
disinterestedly.  “Because they can’t change who we are and they can’t change
the fact that you and I go together, right?” 

“I’ve certainly always thought so. 
Sometimes people disagree with that though.  They’ve told me so in no uncertain
terms.  With swords, and whips, and very hot irons.”

“Even so, we’ve done alright for
ourselves so far and I see no reason to change that.”  She raised the bottle to
him in toast.  “I don’t need gold or popularity.  I don’t need success in this
business and I sure as hell don’t need to see.  I just need…”  She swallowed,
looking unsure again.  “…you.”  She was silent for a moment, as if thinking
about it.  “I just need you.  And then I’m just fine.”

“Fuck the bastards.”  He agreed. 
“You’re all I’ll ever need.”

“Black flag forever.”  She tried to
take another swig of booze.

He couldn’t help but smile.  “You
realize that bottle is empty, right?”

She slowly placed it back on the
table.  “As soon as I picked it up, yeah, but I didn’t want to look like an
idiot.”  She made a face.  “I’ve done enough of that for one night.”

“You didn’t look like an idiot.” 
He assured her.  “You were just upset.  It’s perfectly understandable.  Anyone
would be upset in your position.  Haunted by the ghosts of past dreams.”

She scoffed and mockingly waggled
her fingers in the air.  “Oooooh, how profound and mysterious…”

He snorted in laughter.  “You’re so
mean, Dove.”  He praised.  “I don’t know why I find it as charming as I do.”

“Surely Maggie has some sort of
little proverb to explain it for you.”  She teased.

“Not really.”  He thought about
it.  “Just: ’Be nice to people and they might surprise you.  But always have a
plan to kill them, in case they try to surprise you.’”

She put her head back and laughed
in delight.  “I like that one.”

Her laughter faded and they sat in
silence for a moment, only the sound of the waves to fill the void.

She shifted in her chair awkwardly
again, apparently uncomfortable from the silence or her own thoughts.  “It’s
hot.”  She announced suddenly, needing to explain herself for some reason, then
she began to shrug off her poncho and succeeded only in falling out of her chair.

He jolted, reflexively trying to
grab for her but she was too far away.

“You okay?”  He peered under the
table at her, trying to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself.

“Fine.”  She made a face and got
back to her feet, absently tossing the familiar garment aside.  “Nothing hurt
but my pride.  But it’s been hurt so many times it’s calloused by now, so I’m
good.”  She flopped into her seat again.  “Being drunk and blind isn’t always a
good mix.”

“I can imagine.”

“Keeping your balance is pretty
hard when you’re tipsy and have nothing visual to guide yourself.  Particularly
if you’re at sea.”  She shrugged.  “My equip… ecwa… eeakwa…”  She snapped her
fingers, calling for the word because she was too intoxicated to pronounce it
correctly.

“’Equilibrium.’”  He supplied.

“Yeah that.”  She pointed at him,
claiming the word as her own.  “Yeah, that’s all messed up.”  She straightened
in her chair.  “But whatever.  I deal.”

“Uh-huh.”

His partner very rarely took off
her poncho like that.  She seemed to prefer keeping it on, like a security
blanket or something.

As such, he wasn’t entirely used to
see her without it.

Her dark hair spilled around her
shoulders, falling in an elegant wave which just made him want to run his
fingers through it so badly that it caused him physical pain.  It was so dark
and shiny, he began to think he’d be able to see his own reflection in it if he
were close enough.  It looked soft and thick and erotically feminine.

Her full breasts moved beneath her
loose white blouse and Uriah debated with himself if she was wearing a bra or
not.  She must have been, since his partner’s chest was not small, but he could
see no traces of it.  In fact, he thought he could see the darkened circles of
her erect nipples, straining against the fabric of the shirt, teasingly. 

Either she wasn’t wearing a bra,
she was wearing one constructed of sheer fabric, or she was simply so excited
that her nipples were just too much for any garment to hide from his appreciative
gaze. 

He wasn’t sure which option he
liked the most.  It was a three-way tie, in his mind.

The image of his partner taking off
her shirt for him filled his mind, pushing all other thoughts aside.  Her hands
moving over her soft skin, offering her flesh to him and telling him the things
he’d always wished she’d say.

“You’re not breathing.”  Ransom
observed calmly, resting her face in her hand.  “You having a heart attack or
something?”

“No.”

“Because if you’re having a heart
attack, I’m going to go back to drinking.”

He shook his head.  “I’m not having
a heart attack.”

“The symptoms of a heart attack are
often misdiagnosed or ignored by the…”

He let out a frustrated groan.  “Another
night filled with the drunken medical advice of my quartermaster.  Hurray.”

“Fine.  Be all pissy about it.” 
She made a face at him.  “You big baby.” 

He was finding it harder and harder
not to look at her breasts.  In their entire history together, he was never
gotten such a clear view of them.  Still, it was unfair and
completely
reprehensible behavior on his part, since she had no hope of recognizing the
fact that he could
almost
see through the fabric.  As far as she knew,
she was covered.

Uriah found that his guilt over
taking advantage of his partner’s disability was no match for his lust and his
eyes took in every small movement of her body, studying how those spectacular
globes of flesh bounced when she moved, gently rubbing against the fabric with
each breath of her beautiful little body.

He’d always wanted her so badly. 
But at the moment, it was a genuine struggle to keep himself from acting on
that overpowering desire.

“I think you should go back to
sleep now.”  He announced, his control close to breaking.  He needed to get out
of this room.  Right now.  Or there was going to be a problem.

She waved off that idea.  “Nah.” 
She swallowed, looking uncertain.  “I… I don’t want to.”

She was afraid she’d dream again. 
She didn’t want to risk having that nightmare, so she fully intended to stay
awake all night.

“It’ll be okay.”  He promised her. 
“You won’t…”

“Don’t.”  She whispered, cutting
him off.  “I can’t go through that again tonight, Uriah.  Please don’t make
me.”

“Okay.”  He nodded.  “Whatever you
want.”

“Do you…”  She began, then
stopped.  “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Do you have your concertina
thing?”  She asked, sounding almost hopeful for some reason.  “Can you play?”

“Most claim the instrument
gives
them
nightmares, Dove.”

“Not me.”  She told him softly,
biting her lower lip.  “I… I want to hear something.”

He nodded and walked back towards
the door to retrieve his bag from the hall.

“You’re… you’re leaving?”  She
asked, sounding horrified.

“Fuck.”  He winced.  “I’m sorry.  I
nodded, Dove, didn’t I?”  He grabbed the bag, then immediately shut and locked
the door again.  “I know better than that.  After all this time, I know you
can’t see that.”

“It’s okay.”  She let out a breath
in relief.  “Don’t worry about it.”

He sat back in his chair and began
to play the first thing which sprang to mind, closing his eyes and losing
himself in the familiar tune and lyrics.  Words he hadn’t heard spoken in a
long long time.

When the song ended, he opened his
eyes again to find Ransom looking enthralled.

“That’s a new one.”  She decided
after a moment.  “I mean, I obviously know the tune, since you play it all the
time, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it in that key or at that speed
before.”

“That’s what it’s actually supposed
to sound like, to tell the truth.”  He put the instrument away.  “It’s
technically a lullaby.  I just usually prefer making it sound like a jig.”

“And I’m guessing it’s not about
booze and whores today, right?”  She rested her face in her hands again,
leaning on the table.  “What’s it mean?  I can’t understand it.”

“That’s the old Grizzwoodian.  You
don’t… you don’t hear it spoken much anymore.  People find it frightening. 
Full of harsh and nasty sounds.  Too guttural.”

“I think it’s pretty.”  She
whispered.

“Aw, aren’t you sweet.”  He smiled
in amusement.  “And obviously drunk.”

She held up two fingers in a
pinching motion.  “Just barely.”

He shrugged.  “Well, no matter.”

She didn’t appear to want to let
the issue drop though.  “So, seriously, what’s it about?”

“Well…”  He moved in his chair,
suddenly feeling very awkward.  “When I was a boy, my mother used to sing us
that lullaby at bedtime.”  He leaned forward in his chair.  “The lyrics say that
before time began, the Grizzwood was ruled by a benevolent king.  And his lands
were the most beautiful spot in the world, a gift from the gods for his loyalty
and strength.  But his sister was jealous, because everyone loved him and not
her.  So she cast a spell on all of the people who lived in the Grizzwood,
which turned their hearts into birds so that they’d fly far away from the
people.  Without their hearts, they couldn’t love her brother.  But the spell
backfired on her, as all magic does.  Instead of weakening the people, she
ended up making the Grizzwood folk the world’s most ferocious fighters.  Beings
without the complications of love or mercy, because they were no longer capable
of it.  And no one could ever love something like that, so the world isolated
the Grizzwood folk.  But, the song says, it should be the goal or every man and
woman of the Grizzwood to find their heart.  To discover where his or her heart
had flown to.  And to reclaim it.  So that they could be whole once more.”