An experiment in writing. Sorry for its shittyness.
The boys are 16 and are no longer on the boat. The ship is very quiet. Most of the crew has left in the past two years. Their captain no longer commands their respect. They haven't gone pillaging since then. Their way of life is dying. They left.
Arthur stares out at the ocean that he once ruled, the empty seas there for the taking. He looks older now, his emerald eyes seem clouded.
Francis is still there, and is coming up to him. He stands beside the blond captain, looking out over at the ocean before them.
"Why are you still here." Arthur states without shifting his gaze. It isn't a question. He doesn't care about the answer. He is only filling the silence with meaningless talk.
"I don't know." Francis replies honestly, leaning against the side of the ship. He doesn't mind the splinters that prickle at his naked fingers.
The response triggers an interest in the sea captain's head as he finally looks over at the nobleman. The fire within him has died too, his silken hair seems to lie flat. Francis notices his gaze, and returns it.
There is no animosity between them, no anger, no resent, no passion, only a wisp of sad regret is left.
"Do you want to go home?" Arthur asks after a moment, and he does ask this time, listening carefully for the response.
Francis wastes no time, "I have none. I lost it a long time ago, there isn't anything waiting for me back there."
Arthur seems taken a back, but there is no bitterness in the Frenchman's tone, just acceptance.
The pair stay there for a while, staring out at the deep blue sea as if there was nothing else to do. And there wasn't really, nothing worth their time.
It is only until the moon is reflected in the darkening waves that Francis again speaks up, echoing the captain's own thoughts, "I miss them."
"You're the one who made us give them away." Arthur snaps suddenly, and it is as if all that anger and animosity and bitterness came back in that one sentence. Francis doesn't react; he is too tired to do so.
Instead, he keeps looking out at the endless sea. Time passes and Arthur deflates, returning to his complacent state. "It was the right thing to do." Francis finally murmurs, standing up with a lazy, sad stretch.
"Where are you going?" Arthur asks, peering over at the other.
Francis has his back to him, "Going for a swim." He answers simply, with resignation.
The boys are 14 and are confused. They are being given away. Their parents are fighting amongst each other. The crew seems uneasy. Alfred and Matthew are unhappy with this new plan.
"But Papa we don't want to go to land! This is our home! We like the ship!" Alfred insists, stomping his foot on the wooden floor of the deck for good measure. But Francis doesn't waver in his decision.
The ship is sailing closer to shore. The crew goes back to readying for the incoming dock. Arthur is still in his cabin, most likely drinking. Francis hopes he stays there.
The boys are becoming more desperate. They plead, they beg, but Francis' face remains uncharacteristically steely and the kids make no leeway. Matthew is starting to tear up. His brother is close behind.
The ship rocks slightly as it anchors at the dock of the lively city. They are here. Francis grabs each boys hand, ready to take them down. Alfred retaliates, wrenching free from the grip and rushing toward the cabin. He pulls the door open and flings himself onto the captain desperately.
"Dad! Dad don't make us go! Please!" He begs, his blue eyes wide and the tears finally falling. The captain looks down on him, and his emerald eyes give a glint of sadness and regret and humanity. He flicks the gaze back up to Francis who remains steadfast.
"Get off o' me." Arthur orders, pushing the small surprised boy away. Alfred looks shocked and hurt, staring up at the man, "But Dad-"
"I'm not yer Dad. Now get off my ship! Playtime's over." He snaps, bending down to grab him by the collar of his neck and wrenching him up onto his feet. Alfred is limp in shock.
Arthur hands him over to Francis, who says nothing. They don't look at each other. The latter takes Alfred's hand again and meets little resistance. The trio descends down to the ship and into the crowds. Arthur watches them, punches the side of his door in a fit fury and downs another bottle of rum.
Francis knows where to go. He maneuvers through the city before he reaches the richer side, where he pads up the ways until he finds the particular house.
Matthew can't help feeling a certain familiarity that confuses him to the core. Alfred doesn't look around, but keeps his dejected glance at the ground. His tears continue to fall.
Francis takes the boys up to the doorstep, knocks quite loudly, and leaves them for the other side of the street. He watches as maid answers the door with surprise and calls for her mistress. The stately blond lady comes down and cries out, engulfing the twins in crushing hugs.
The boys do not reciprocate it, but are all the same ushered inside. The pair try to glance back for Francis but they don't know where exactly he went.
Francis comes out from behind a bush and begins walking back to the dock. It is the last time he sees the twins.
When he enters the boat he knows he is in danger. Half the crew is surprised he bothered to come back. They're preparing to depart and try not to pay him any attention. Arthur bursts out of his cabin, smelling of alcohol and depression.
He grabs Francis roughly by the hair and drags him into his quarters, the French nobleman allows him. He is flung at the wall, and he hits it with a grunt.
Arthur is furious and his eyes are bloodshot. But Francis can tell some of the reddish tint is due to salty tears and not just the red liquid.
"Why!? Why did we have to give them back you fucking frog!" Arthur shouts, and he punches him right in the face. Francis cringes, covering his stricken visage, and crumples down to the floor.
"It's not safe for them here. It wasn't right. To keep them here. It wasn't right!" He reiterates, glaring at the captain. Arthur kicks him in response, but for once it doesn't make it better. Because Francis is already defeated and doesn't put up a fight, he simply lays there on the ground. Arthur can tell he's started to cry and a part of him wants to lie down next to him and cry too but he doesn't. He gives him one last kick before finishing off his rum bottle and stumbling to get another.
"Why did you even come back?" He mutters, sitting back down at his desk. He doesn't expect an answer.
"I have no where else to go."
The boys are 13 and their ship is under siege. Arthur orders them to hide below deck and keep out of trouble. Francis grabs the pair by the hand and forces them down below where he stays with them
Matthew is happy to stay out of harms way, nestled in the hold of his Papa's arms. Alfred is much more restless, itching for a fight. Francis has a hard time keeping him settled.
Above deck, the sounds of cannons firing and swords clashing mix with the victorious and dying cries of men. Francis doesn't know whom to root for.
Arthur is leading his crew, easily keeping their assailants at bay with his skill. He revels in the bloodshed that Francis utterly despises. It is one of his favorite aspects of the pirate life, second only to the gold.
"Is Dad going to be ok?" Matthew asks quietly, worriedly, from within Francis' arms as the battle rages on above. The Frenchman quickly comforts, "Dad we'll be just fine. Don't worry." He whispers with a reassuring smile. Of course inside he doesn't know whether he wants that to be true.
This pirate parenting just felt so sick and twisted and wrong.
"He'll be fine cause I'm gonna help him!" Alfred declared, suddenly wrenching free from the Frenchman's grip to storm up the stairs. Francis is taken aback and hardly has time to react before the boy is long gone. He quickly stands up, ordering Matthew to stay, before rushing after his brother.
He pokes his head out to see the battle subsiding, with Arthur's crew victorious. Nevertheless, the opposing side remains as dangerous as ever, and as Alfred stumbles across the carnage, one of them swoops him up.
Francis sees it, "Alfred!" He cries out in distress, watching as the poor boy is held up by his hair. His shriek makes Arthur whirl around and see the display. He tenses, and fueled with anger leaps right back into battle.
He defeats his rival skillfully but not before the man could give a lasting blow. Not to him, however; no, to the young boy by the means of a gash down his arm. Alfred cries out in pain and Francis quickly rushes to get him and pull him away from the ending battle. Arthur is seething but lets him go.
The battle is over and Francis is tending to the young boy's wound, wrapping it up as best as he can. Arthur watches him like a hawk, still furious of having his precious things damaged. Francis' hands are shaky. It slows him down.
Finally, Alfred is patched up and sent to bed with his brother and out of sight. Francis is ordered to Arthur's cabin. Francis knows what's coming.
"You were supposed to be watching him!" Arthur flares, taking off his hat.
"I was! He got away!" He defends rapidly, putting up his hands to shield his face out of instinct. "This isn't right Arthur!" He continues even as he cowers, "They shouldn't be exposed to this kind of danger! They're good boys…they should go home."
Arthur slaps him for the comment but does no more. Francis doesn't know whether to be confused or relieved. He takes a moment to catch his breath. Arthur has his back turned to him, drinking some of his rum. Silence reigns in the cabin.
Hesitantly, Francis begins stripping off his clothes. Arthur hears the familiar crinkling of clothing, "Not tonight. Put them back on." He orders quickly, Francis obeys.
Arthur isn't in the mood because he knows Francis is right.
The boys are 10 and the pirate life is good. Francis dotes on them constantly which the twins think unnecessary but secretly don't mind. However, they are growing restless of learning from Francis boring domestic things.
"Daaaaad!" Alfred whines, grabbing at Arthur's red sleeve. The captain looks down, slightly annoyed. He has long given up correcting the boy and is resigned to being their 'dad' figure. He doesn't really care either way.
"What?" He asks, busy looking out at the horizon for the landmass they should be drawing near. Alfred is persistent, however, "Can't you teach me how to fight? Please! I wanna use a sword!"
And Arthur pauses a moment before finally agreeing for the first time. Alfred is elated and Matthew hurriedly rushes over to join in lest he be forgotten. Francis hangs back, watching worriedly. He doesn't like violence. Arthur seems to live for it.
Arthur gives the two boys a sword each and orders them to mimic his motions. Their attempts are sloppy yet determined and Arthur can't help but smile as he shows them the proper ways to kill.
Francis looks away and decides to clean up Arthur's cabin room. He's much more subdued now a days. He doesn't want to incite the other's wrath no longer. He has something to lose now.
Still…this is no place for those children to grow up.
The boys are 4 and they are scared. They scream as men ransack their home. They watch as their father is shot repeatedly. They hear the screams of their mother reverberate in their ears.
They are both crying when they are suddenly lifted by the scruff of their necks and stuffed into a bag. They struggle and scream but to no avail. They can feel themselves being hefted onto a shoulder and carried away.
The next time they see light they are on a ship in the middle of a large gathering. They don't know what is happening.
A blond man in a glimmering red coat looks furiously at his crew and shouts, "Who's idea was it to steal the bloody children? Who's?" He demands to know his question and the crew quickly offers up a sacrifice. "I think you know where yer going." The man continues, shooting the man straight in the head.
Alfred and Matthew flinch, hugging each other close and whimpering. They don't know what's happening. They don't know where they are. They don't know anything.
One of the crewmembers shoves the body into the sea. It leaves some blood on the deck. "Now what to do with these brats.." The pirate thinks outloud, though he seems to have already made up his mind as he aims the gun at Alfred's little head.
"Non!" Comes a loud shriek, and Francis is suddenly there, in front of the gun.
"Get out of my way, you French whore!" Arthur orders, hitting the man with the barrel. Francis lets out a pained noise, covering his wounded face but remains standing. "Non. I will not let you kill these poor kids!"
"Then what do you suppose we do with 'em?"
"…L-Let me take care of them! I will keep them out of trouble."
The boys are 2 and safely tucked away in their crib. Francis is still stuck on this god-forsaken ship with the monster of a cabin. He longs for home, but it almost seems as a distant memory.
Arthur comes toward him, ordering him up. Francis sneers at him. He is not close to losing his fire. Arthur doesn't mind. It gives him a use to be more violent then he needs to, to teach the French frog a lesson.
He forces the man up, shoving him into his cabin and snapping at his crew to keep to their own business.
Inside, Francis knows what's coming. It's the same thing every time. He will be undressed and fucked and called filthy names hissed into his ear by a drunken breath. It isn't what he had imagined his life would become.
Even though it is inevitable, it doesn't stop Francis from fighting every moment of it, if only for the sake of his sanity.
The boys don't even exist yet, and Francis's home is burned down. He lived in the richer side of the country; with everything he could ever want or need guaranteed to him since birth. He watches as it all burns around them.
He snaps back to reality as he hears a crash, and quickly rushes out to look for his sister and mother. The pirates are everywhere, laughing and shouting, and breaking and pillaging everything in sight. He finds his sister with a bullet in her head.
He has no time for grief, he feels a sudden grip on his long silky hair, and it forces him to turn his head. He stares straight in the glowering emerald eyes of the infamous captain.
Francis isn't afraid, he realizes it suddenly. He has nothing to lose. His sister is dead. His stuff is gone. His mother is most likely dead as well. There is nothing left for him here. Instead he is angry. He is filled with rage for the perpetrator.
And Arthur sees the fury in the nobleman's icy blue eyes. And suddenly this mission for quick gold and more infamy turns into a kidnapping as he orders one of his men to give him some rope.
Francis struggles the entire time as a number of the crew aid their captain in wrapping up his prize. Everything is a blur as the French noble is forced outside and dragged back to the ship.
Even as the ship begins to leave the harbor, Francis is still fighting to be free. Only the smooth icy feeling of a gun barrel to his head finally stops him.
"Yer askin' for a death sentence if you keep strugglin' like that." The captain growls, close to his ear, "Do y'know what we do with those who have a death sentence?"
Francis is silent, glaring at the ground as Arthur presses the gun harder into his skull. He closes his eyes tightly as he feels the other mans lips close to his ear. "We take 'em out for a swim."
Wasn't that shit
sorry you had to read that
i was just having fun torturing all the characters I like and trying some new weird style.
ignore me
review if you'd like!