Author's Preface
Year 765 Manuk Soulstone
Cid did not hold back. Weight, height, or sobriety meant nothing to him in this barrier. He lunges
at her. She dodges right; he got her by the shirt end to stop her from escaping. His quick reflexes are new to her. He tosses her to the side then she rolls with it to avoid getting caught amid recovery. That is partially quick thinking on her drunken stupor since Cid is already looming over her for a punch. Rhea rolls away from the punch, having him land his fist on the dust-covered rugs. The dust cloud on the carpet made her skin pimple.
“Blimey!? ’e is gonna kill her!”
Oof, he really means to fight me. This rang some dull alarms in her head, her physical defense nonexistent when her focus is agility. However, instead of being smart, she uses that little anxiety to fuel her into running straight on. His reaction is to reach for her. She drops to her side to slide between his legs. The crust of the carpet made her skin crawl, though she still ignores the disgust.
Time is against her; this drink is impeding on her speed. She latches onto his back, holding onto his neck from behind. Cid tries to get her, finding any part of her to grab. She kept herself out of reach every time, constricting the necklace around his neck. His neck is even too thick for her to really strangle; this man is dense even to his own eyeballs. If this were a real fight with weapons, she would have dominated easily. Maybe if she had been sober, she can take him down by picking at his defenses.
The attempt didn’t slow him; she didn’t pay enough attention and felt his large hand grab her leg. He tugs her off; she had nothing to cling onto making it easier for him to slam her onto the ground. The air escapes her from the impact, and the ringing of her ears drowns out the noise of the crowd. Rhea’s painful breaths fill up with the dust instead of clean air, her recovery is very delayed.
Delayed enough for the half giant to loom over her again to go for another punch. Rhea hops away, coughing up the wads of dust in her aching lungs. With her drunken stupor and slow reaction, she can’t see how she can win against someone so terrifyingly large.
“Rhea…do ye belay that?” Cid approaches her, questioning her fighting spirit.
In a real fight, she will use every dirty tactic that she can muster to survive. Erathea never cares about how you do it. This fight is for their entertainment. There is nothing to gain from this by being foolish. She’s strong in other ways.
Yet her stinking pride got the best of her again, no thanks to that gross swill in her stomach. “I- hick -still have some fight in me!”
“ I like yer fightin’ spirit, matey!” Cid grins, this time there is something different she senses from the comment. Trying to remember what ‘matey’ meant from all of the captain’s tutelage.
Does it mean-?
Rhea bounces away from another swing, her rear touches the barrier of the arena. The cheers and jeers made her head pound, distracting her exactly right to not move when the half giant swings at her again.
She will have gotten hit straight in the face. That’s exactly what should have happen in the next breath. But instead, she felt her body being lifted out of the way by the waist in one arm. It happens so fast her drunken mind can’t register who got in the way of their match.
All she saw is Cid’s fist smashing into a barrel, spraying the grain in it everywhere.
The crowd are the ones to clarify the dire situation. “CAPT’N!?”
Oh… berushk. The arm she felt belongs to the captain. It made sense as the breath of time passes. There aren’t many people who can pick her up without her losing her mind. She should be losing her mind… this drink is making me complacent.
“Why- hick -did you get- hick- in the way?” Rhea is the only one to weakly throw a tantrum.
while everyone else is cowering to either bow down or kneel in front of the captain.
The new face this captain wear is pure hostile energy with obvious corporal punishment in mind. He won’t even acknowledge her weak tantrums going straight to the punishment. “Find your excuses-”
“Capt’n I am t’ blame.” Cid shrinks as best as he can with his large body, forehead plants on the dusty rug.
“I don’t care…To me you’re all guilty for abusing my leniency.” Connor’s voice drips with the venom of his rage; he had this aura that is intimidating to the point that it suffocates a person. It shows that. These people are all lost and quiet, like weak prey.
“Capt’n…’twas a poor bondin’ choice on our part.” Jerold slides up from the knelt groveling.
“Better. However, I just nearly saw my boatswain punch a hole through a barrel. I wonder what might’ve happened if I just stood back.” Connor had a way to twist this around anyone that spoke up, it meant no excuse is good enough to change his standings against the spar club.
I WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE! Rhea tried to wriggle out of his hold, glaring at him with half-casted eyelids.
“I be sorry, cap’n. She was dodgin’ ’n I thought she would dodge this one-“ Cid found his voice, though muffled from still planting his head on the carpet.
“Again Cid. I don’t care. Point is that you were all being a bunch of restless drunk idiots. I gave you too much time in your hands. Starting tomorrow, you will all swab the ship clean until Manuk sees his own face on the reflection. No alcohol till you’ve accomplished the task” The downcast ‘aye, ayes’ stirs annoyance right out of her frowning mouth. No inhibitions meant nothing is sacred.
“No- hick -one here is- hick -child, capt!? I am- hick -the one drunk and stupid! Leave them be-“ That’s when he drops her, she lands on her side without cushion. Drunkenly expecting that he will never be the type to be this cruel. She misjudges their relationship from that earlier conversation entirely.
“Call yourself blessed . I will ignore your insurrectional comment only this time. Now clean this mess up.” Connor’s cold tone can freeze the fire in her if she had not been so drunkenly angry to begin with. He glides back to the steps, not a glance spared their way, the tail end of his coat whipping with his sharp gait. Rhea pulls herself onto her knees, glaring at the carpet.
“Lass... I am sorry. I shant ’ave involved ya in the first galleon.” Jerold crawls to her, noticing that she is the only one not moving from the ground. She can hear the whispering from the others.
“Cap’n be only this severe ‘cause o’ the lass.”
“O’ course, he had t’ show off t’ some proud beauty.”
Her fury never felt so hot in her. Rhea can’t control the drunken rage much longer, getting onto her heels and charging towards the stairs and up it. If Jerold tries to call her it never reaches her ears, all she can hear is all the comments painting her as some sort of privileged woman. This is the very first time she has ever been on this side of misconception, scary how she has grown more used to being treated like a dirty insect than a pampered princess. Now she really wants to confront the captain.
Somewhere in her angsty pacing she decides it is best to follow up the stairs all the way to the deck. Nothing stops her from walking over to the door and ripping it open, even the two crescent moons showing the time of hour didn’t keep her away from her impulsive actions.
The door opens and at the other side she saw Connor right about to remove his coat, the expression paints with shock, then an authoritative frown replaces it. “Rhea. Get…out.”
Too drunk to care, she did the opposite of what he commands. “Listen here, captain-or was it mister?-Whatever! You are making things - hick -real difficult! I was trying to- hick- get to know the crew, but they kept thinking we are some kind of couple and saying weird stuff! I am sick of it!”
“Rhea…you are drunk.” Connor held down her fierce gaze, fixing his coat back on which hints he is no longer trying to rest for the night. “How many…?”
“I do not remember. Two too many? Bah!” Rhea saunters over to his bed and lays down on it, sinking right into it. She hadn’t lain into something so cushioned in her entire life. “With all the- hick -chest huffing you did; it just paints me as some kind of privileged woman. I hate that!”
“Rhea…get off my bed.” Connor didn’t feed into her tyrannical comments, handling her patiently even though his brow furrows so deep.
“Eh!? Pretty sure this is my bed and room…where is Ruffin?” There is somewhere in her pointless chatter that erases some of her instant memories, it includes the part that she knowingly burst into his room a few breaths ago.
“This is not your…” Captain sighs away what must’ve been built-up anger, slumping down on his anchored sofa instead. “It might be best that you sobered up here, instead of waking Ruffin. Try to sleep.”
“Sleeping? I feel ready- hick -to take on four Cid’s!”
“You won’t be saying that tomorrow.” Mutters the captain as he spreads out on the couch, his tall frame barely supports by it because his boots hung off the armrest.
Rhea didn’t know where she musters up the courage to be here with Connor, or even the rationale why they are sharing a room for the night. All she impulsively wants to do is talk to him. “You know- hick -they respect you so much.”
“Hm. Less talking. More sleeping.” He tries to convince her to stop talking based on how he rolls onto his side to keep his face hidden.
His pressing got her to just change the subject, shifting around the bed till she finds the comfiest way to lay on it. “You are a very grumpy person- hick -and you forgot what a smile is. But I always thought how warm your eyes are around the people you care about. You are lucky to have such eyes that are lustrous with Erathea’s stones.”
“I…can never agree.” Connor finally humors her; she is on her side to study the tenseness of his body. His comment intrigues her, hiding something within such strangled words.
Is he...ashamed? “Why…?” She pries right after a big yawn that escapes her chatterbox maw. This bed is so comfortable, she is forgetting all about her desire to find out more about the captain of this ship.
“A curse may look astounding to some, but it doesn’t change it for what it is, just because the outsider views it differently.”
“Are you cursed?” Rhea yawns out this question, finding the bed sheet and slipping underneath it. The warmth of it invites her further into rest. Curses are actual real-life afflictions that arcane wielders can do, like what her father would tell her back in the day.
Connor remains silent for some time before answering her again. “It’s only a metaphor. Now go to bed.”
“Okay… Chathalic-whenris …captain.”
“Hmph…You as well.” More words are added to his usual one sound answer. If she isn’t drunk and tired, then there will be more questions. Few yet understand her Kraxxian salutations, hearing him respond to them and so quickly. It births more questions than answers in her mind. She is just too drunk to make sure to ask, already her eyelids won’t slide back open. The darkness of sleep sweeps over her own consciousness.