Me Bonnie Light Stowaway
I. Morning at Sea
The morning air was crisp and clear. A slight breeze filled the air, accompanied by the salty, fishy smell of the sea. The water was calm this morning, and the gentle waves lapped against the old, rickety, anchored wooden ship, rocking it slowly back and forth. The deck of the ship, however, remained vacant, and there was no sign of life onboard.
Below the empty quarterdeck, through the old wooden door, the Captain sat on his chair in his small cabin, with a bottle of old, bitter rum in his hand.
His gaze darted about, surveying the old room. It was dusty, cluttered, yet comforting quarters. Wooden boxes, barrels, chests, books, papers, journals, artifacts, knickknacks-all his different possessions. Everything was strewn about in disarray. However, despite the disorganization, the captain knew where everything was.
An old, stained rug covered a small rectangular space on the dust wooden floors, an untidy book shelf rested against the wall across from him, and to his left, in a small corner was the old, gray-colored hammock he slept on. Above the hammock, mounted on the wall, was an old rifle, though it was free of dust and stuck out like a sore thumb because it was so well polished-directly juxtaposing the rest of the quarters. It was his most prized possession, for it was a souvenir from his first successful port sack. Underneath his hammock, there was some rope and a case of rum, as well as a small treasure chest underneath. The deep mahogany chair he sat on was old and dusty, and the padding was rough and an ugly floral pattern. His long crimson coat was hanging over the back, and his large, feather-adorned captain's hat was hanging off the short ear of the chair. His desk was just as untidy as the rest. A map was open with several navigation tools, including a compass, an hourglass, a stack of books, a candlestick, which currently had none of its candles lit, and a globe rested upon it. He also set the bottle of rum down on the middle of the map as well.
He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up and crossing his ankles on top of the desk and looked directly across from him, out the windows that covered one entire side of the cabin, gazing thoughtlessly at the seemingly endless expanse of water.
He sighed. He could hardly call himself a captain. He had a ship, yes, but he was completely alone. He had no crew. It was only him, himself, and he. "Poor ol' lonely Cap'n Foxy" was the phrase he often used. The crew he had once had had all either died or abandoned ship in port. He had been alone for a long time. How long exactly, he did not know. But he longed for the company of others. It was much too quiet. He wanted to hear the sounds of the crew talking to each other and scurrying about the deck to attend their duties. If he closed his eyes and thought very hard, he could sometimes imagine the presence of a crew. However, their movement and voices were distant and faraway-like ghosts calling to him from the next world, and when he opened his eyes and stopped imagining, everything would go quiet again. The only sound being the quiet lapping of the ocean waves, the eerie creaking of wood, or a flock of gulls flying overhead. It was a loathsome existence.
He adjusted his body position, and scratched the top of the shaggy, red hair on his head. Then, he blinked his amber-colored eyes, well ,eye, (for he had an eye patch over one of them), and drew in a deep breath. He began repeating some quiet, deep-toned phrase to himself, a little tune, per se, repeating the same pattern over and over again; Du du dum dum dum diddly dum dum diddly dum… It was a simple, slightly ludicrous tone, but it disrupted some of white noise that reverberated across the lonely water and off the walls of the solitary captain's cabin.
His belly rumbled, filling the quiet air, and he put a hand over it. He was in need of something to eat.
He sluggishly dragged himself off his chair, and went out the rickety wooden door, walking across the wooden floor, the heels of his boots clicking against it. They creaked every once in awhile when he stepped on a looser, older one.
He walked out towards the middle of the deck, opening the trapdoor that led to the dark, dank belowdecks. He held onto the railing as he climbed down the ladder, for the consumption of the rum had impaired his balance. The belowdecks smelled of wet, moldy wood, and the air felt damp. The ship rocked slightly stronger down here, and it was dark and dank, very gloomy. He hardly spent time down there due to the solemn mood.
He made his way down the creaky, narrow corridor towards the kitchen and the food stores.
He pushed open the door and entered the dark, dusty kitchen. For he hardly ever used it, so what was the point in keeping it tidy?
He walked over towards the small pantry and rummaged in it for something to eat. There was barely anything, for he had not restocked in awhile.
The only thing that seemed remotely appetizing was half of a stale loaf of bread and some jam. He cut the first slice, and spread the jam using an old butter knife, and set it on a chipped china plate. He sat down in the captain's chair at the end of the long, vacant table. It could have probably fit a dozen crew members, but now it remained nothing except for a vile reminder that he was alone. He took his time eating, finishing a slice before slowly cutting off another, one at a time and evenly spreading the jam on each individual one.
He washed down the dry stale bread with the canteen of water that always hung on his chair, and had nearly finished off the rest of the loaf, before he decided to put it back in the pantry and that he needed to go back to his map to make himself a bearing to port.
II. Port Town
He steered his ship towards the dock, into the lively, old pirate port.
He tied the ship up at the dock, and stepped onto the old, creaky wooden boards and sauntered across into town. He surveyed and took in the familiar scene:
As usual, it was a disarray, and an all-day party.
The environment looked like a hurricane, with every sort of thing strewn throughout the streets and off on the sidewalks including wood barrels, empty booze bottles, glass, articles of clothing, food, (most likely a result of a food fight that Foxy himself was thankfully not present for), and ecetera.
Old, run down, but comfortable multi-story homes, pubs, shops, and the like were on either side of the narrow, dirty streets, which were filled with people and hustle and bustle. It smelled terrible, and it was quite loud, brimming with life. Music filled the foul-smelling air, accompanied by cheerful voices, and drunken laughter of the pirates and those unfortunate, yet fortunate enough to live there. The townspeople and passer-bys talked to one another, herded their animals, and tried to beg for and sell things. And from where he was, Foxy could also see people dancing drunkenly in the square.
There were women dressed in scanty, ragged dresses, some hanging up clothing, and others partaking in the daily "festivities', getting as drunk as some of the men. People were also shooting off pistols and moving quickly about. Curses rang freely, filling the air. Though there wasn't any sort of brawl this time around. It seemed that everyone was quite light in cheerful spirit today.
It was definitely a very chaotic, crowded, pirate-y atmosphere. To any civilized, pompous human being, it would be disgusting, disturbing, and cringe-worthy, but for a pirate, it was comfort and home.
Being around such a lot lifted Foxy's spirits as he made his way down the dirt streets, dodging an occasional flying object towards his favorite pub: Freddy's.
- xXx-
He crossed the street and pushed open the wooden door of the crowded, homely pub. It was just as chaotic as the outside, but once again, everyone seemed to be getting along fine, and there were no brawls. Which made sense, considering that the owner didn't tolerate brawls in his bar as well as he should have, working at a place like this.
He shrugged off some drunken, young woman with no concept of personal space, and crossed over to the bar. The stool at the end of the counter (his favorite spot) was open, so he made himself comfortable and called to the barattender.
"Hey Mikey." He greeted.
Mike Schmidt, the small, thin, frail young man, dressed in simple breeches, shirt, and vest, and sporting shaggy, messy, dark hair with doe-like eyes turned, a smile crossing his face.
"Cap'n Foxy! Haven't seen ye in these parts in a while. What brings ye' here?"
"Need t' restock me food stores. So I figures I'd stop by and get a drink at me favorite pub."
"Ye'll have the usual, I presume?"
"Aye. A pint a' ale."
"Yep! I knew it, I did."
He happily served the red-haired captain his drink.
"So where ye' been venturin' these days? Got yerself a crew yet?"
"Nay. It's still just me, myself, and I. Haven't been up t' much. I jus' go where the wind takes me. I dunno what venture I want t' endeavor yet. It'll come t' me though." He took a large swig of the drink, "Though I can't do much without a crew, ye know."
Mike nodded, "Well, there's plenty of able bodied sailors at this salty ol' sea port. Maybe make a castin' call. Happens all the time here."
Foxy sipped his drink.
"Thanks but It can't be jus' any ol' free-lance landlubber though. Needs t' be someone worthy, ye know. Someone that I can trust." He chuckled, "Ironic ain't it? I'm a pirate blabberin' on about trust."
"Aye, I get that."
"Ye know, me offer's still on the table. Ye thought of it yet?"
"I'm really flattered of yer offer...but the sea ain't for me. I get sick. And plus, ye know, the boss...he wouldn't be too keen on it either."
A simple 'Nay' woulda worked.
Foxy snorted, "Aye. Shoulda known. The sea ain't no place fer a sheltered, naive landlubber boy."
He took another long swig.
"Ye don't have t' b-be snappy..." Mike said softly, "Yer gonna find someone soon, ye will."
"Hmmph. We'll see 'bout that."
He took another drink of his ale.
"'Ey Mikey lad?"
"Aye?"
"Where be the boss?"
"In the back. Ye wanna talk to 'im?"
"If 'E ain't busy, I wanna by some more booze from 'im."
"Aye. Be back." Mike walked to the other end of the bar and went behind the hastily rigged up curtain through a small wooden door. He returned moments later with a tall man in his thirties. He had piercing ocean-blue eyes, with a bit of stubble on his chin and jawline, and messy brown hair.
He smiled brightly when he saw the pirate captain.
"Hey Cap' how ye doin these days?" Freddy smiled and slapped him on the back.
"Eh. I'm goin'. Could be better, ye know."
"Ahh, yes, Mike told me yer lookin' fer a crew. Yer gonna find 'em soon enough, don't ye worry."
Foxy shrugged, feeling irritation brimming up inside him. "You'll find em soon enough" was the same thing that the few people he knew always told him, but not once did any of them offer themselves. It told him they didn't care enough about him to be bothered with the "burden" of sailing on a pirate ship under his command.
"Anyway? What can I do ye fer?" Freddy asked.
"Usual." Foxy replied coldly, "A barrel a' somethin'. Surprise me. I ain't got nary a care what it is."
"Hey, what's wrong, ol' boy?" Freddy asked, blue eyes filled with concern.
Foxy bristled, "It's ye! All a' ye's! Ye always say the same d**n thing!" He mimicked Freddy, "Yer gonna find 'em soon enough, don't ye worry". Ye say it habitually, like it's supposed t' make me feel better! Well it ain't! In case ye forgot, half me crew died and a bunch a' 'em ditched me! And a group a' 'em tried t' mutiny. Cuz they thought I were too young t' captain a ship! They ne'er cared! And ye don't neither! I been out a crew fer three years! And ev'ry'time I asked ye t' join me so I didn't have t' be alone I received the same answer, "The sea ain't for me". Bollocks if the sea ain't for ye! Ye coulda joined me cuz ye wanna help a mate out! But nay! Ye don't! Ye'd rather stay on land with these filthy landlubbers and this garbage patch ye call home! And all ye say is "you'll find 'em" like ye don't give a rat's a*s 'bout me! Yer my only friends! At least I thought ye were! But ye clearly don't care enough, do ye!? Do ye'?"
Both Freddy and Mike looked completely taken aback.
"Of course we care 'bout ye, Cap'n." Freddy replied, "We care 'bout ye a lot."
"Then ye should show it more often." Foxy replied bitterly.
"We'll always be here for ye, Captain." Mike said, "Even though we ain't gonna join ye at sea, ye always have a place here with us."
"Aye. Yer always welcome here. If ye ever need an ol' pint or need t' talk, rant, er yell, ye can come to us. If ye need a place to stay when yer on land, ye can come stay with us ye know. We're yer home away from home." Freddy added.
Foxy sighed deeply. He was still angry but he would get over himself soon enough. "Fine." He said lamely, "Thanks I guess." He got off the stool, "Thanks fer the pint, mateys. I'll pay me tab next time. Ye can forget the barrel. See ye. There's always a place fer ye on me ship, if ye ever feel a change in the winds, ye know." He started out the door before they could stop him, "Adieu, ye landlubbers. See ye later." And he was gone.
III. A Chance Encounter
The teenager burst out of the shop and sped down the narrow, crowded streets with a loaf of bread under his arm. His long violet hair was falling partially out of his ponytail, billowing behind him. The baker cursed after him, brandishing a rolling pin as he followed him out the dinky shop at the end of the street.
"That's me bread d****t! Come back here, boy! Ye little son of a b***!" The baker yelled.
Adrenaline and slight fear rushed through the boy's veins as he ran down the widing streets. He dodged, ducked, pushed and shoved as he made his way, apologizing and exclaiming, "Excuse me! Pardon me! Sorry! Comin' through!"
He wove his way through the winding streets, leaping and veering, ignoring the curses and insults spat at him. He was quite fast, very much like the hare from the classic fable.
"Stop that d**n kid! He stole me bread!" The baker called. Though no one really seemed to listen. They were too drunk and distracted by the daily festivities that they paid no mind. A couple of less drunken townspeople tried to intercept him, but their hand-eye coordination was poor, and he could easily dodge them. And he did just that, smiling in spite himself.
The scenery flew passed him as he made his way out towards the docks where all the ships were tied up. His stomach churned loudly with hunger, but he ignored it, trying to get as far away from the baker as possible. He didn't like to steal, but for a young, orphaned lad on the streets, he had to do what it took to take care of himself.
The longer he ran, the more he felt his body getting winded, and the more it started to ache and drag in protest due to the exertion the retreat was causing.
He glanced behind him. The small, plump, red-faced baker was lagging. So he stopped for a brief moment to catch his breath.
"Stay where ye are, brat!" The baker demanded.
The adolescent froze and glanced over his shoulder. The baker was turning corner and gaining on him. He snapped his gaze around, looking for the quickest escape route, or hiding place even-but preferably an escape. He realized his best chance of escape was one of the docked ships, several yards in front of him. He made a dash for the nearest one, not paying attention to his surroundings. One can only imagine his rude awakening when his body slammed, full force, into another. He staggered back and lost his balance.
The man was heading towards the docks, carrying a few boxes of food. When he felt the force of the adolescent's weight, the items crashed to the ground, spilling out fruits, and meats. and amber colored eyes glared down at him.
"Watch where yer goin!" He snapped, dropping to his knees and beginning to gather all of the food. He had a fox-like face, pointed at both the nose and jaw, fiery, unkempt ginger hair that nearly brushed his shoulders, and a long crimson coat. He also had a hook for one of his hands.
"I'm so sorry!" The adolescent yelped. He scrambled to try and help the man clean up the mess he had made.
"Stop that kid! He be a thief!" The baker was yelling at the fox-faced man.
The man finished gathering his food, stood up, and looked towards the approaching baker. He grabbed the violet-haired teen by his wrist and pulled him off the ground.
Afraid, he tried to pull his wrist out of his grip. The red-head looked over his shoulder and then back into the teen's light red eyes. They were wide with fear.
"Please don't turn me in! Please! I have to eat somethin'! I haven't fer two days and I have no money! If he catches me he's just gonna beat me! Please! I really am so so sorry fer crashin' into you like I did!" He was begging now, and his sweet voice was brimming with emotion.
Foxy pondered for a moment, giving the boy a look over. He looked about sixteen. He was quite thin and frail, pale and dirty. His clothes, which consisted of trousers, boots, a simple shirt, with a loose red bow, and a violet vest were worn, torn and old, and they hung loosely about his small frame. His violet hair was long and unkempt, extending passed his shoulders, and he had large eyes that reminded him of a rabbit's. He looked so naive and young, innocent, fragile.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Foxy pitied the boy. And he supposed that was what ellicited a small degree of compassion, buried beneath all the hate, anger, and sorrow.
"Go behind that corner there." He pointed to his left at the street next to the houses closest to the dock. "Ye best run now if ye know what's good fer ye! Don't want him catchin' ye." He snipped, releasing his tight grip on the small wrist.
"Thank you sir! Thank you!"
He dipped his head before flying around and vanishing behind the corner.
The baker stopped in front of Foxy, bending forward and trying to catch his breath.
"Where'd the little brat go?" He asked.
"Got away." Foxy replied, "Went that way I think." He pointed to his right, sending the baker in the opposite direction.
"Thank ye." The baker nodded briefly, before shouting, "Stay where ye' are, brat!" And heading the opposite way, turning the corner.
Foxy chuckled in spite of himself, and then returned to his ship to briefly deposit the items, before turning and heading back into town to get more groceries.
IV. Stowaway
Bonnie waited until he heard the voices of the fox-faced man and the baker vanished, and was sure everything was clear, before slinking back around the corner, his body pressed against the wall, keeping a sharp, weather eye.
Once he reached the open again, he darted towards the docks and jumped onto the deck of the nearest ship. He made his way quickly across the deck, opening the trapdoor to the belowdecks. He climbed down the ladder and went into an isolated cabin that must have once been the crew's sleeping quarters. It was dusty and cold down here. The only light streamed in through a small window, casting a dim, eerie glow into the room. Barrels and wooden boxes were stacked every which where, and old canvas hammocks hung off the ceiling. A few of them hung by only three, two, or even one corner, and he heard a small rodent scuttle along the beams. There was no crew, nor anyone for that matter, the ship was completely vacated. It was old and creaky, and it was dark and musty belowdecks. It was a little freaky, but Bonnie felt much safer here. He entered the crew's quarters and sat on one of the wooden boxes. His stomach churned and growled, begging for food. So he started to eat the loaf of bread, quickly and quietly. A couple of crumbs fell at his feet and a mouse or two cautiously scuttled forward, grabbing the crumbs, before speeding off again, little feet pattering against the floorboards.
Foxy was carrying the last load of food towards his ship. He walked across the wooden boards of the dock, and stepped onto his deck, nearly falling forward onto his face. However, he caught his balance just in time. Then, he set the heavy load down beside the trap door, which, for some reason, he noticed, was slightly adjar. He eyed it suspiciously, he did not remember leaving it open. He shrugged, figuring it was nothing. He pulled it wide open, and then hoisted the two crates he had so he was carrying them once more. Then, he cautiously climbed down the ladder to the belowdecks, and carried the food into the kitchen, depositing the crates into the pantry. He wiped his good hand on his pants, and then looked around suspiciously. He had this strange feeling that he wasn't alone.
He went down the corridor, peering briefly into each of the rooms, seeing nothing. He even went insofar as to search the old, withering brig. But there was still nothing. He shrugged, chuckling at his foolishness. No doubt it was his lonely mind giving him these feelings.
Satisfied with this reasoning, he found himself going back up to the main deck.
He hoisted the sails, pulled the anchor in, and then untied it from the dock. He climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and then carefully, meticulously steered off from the port, back out towards the sea.
As the port faded off into the distance, he felt a slight sorrow. For he was alone again, left with no companions but the ocean and his old, creaky girl.
The ship rocked and groaned as it moved with slightly choppy water. Bonnie found himself having to hang onto the wall, and his stomach was fluttering slightly, as he had not been out on the ocean in awhile. It had been at least half of a year.
He considered himself a bit of a freelance. Stowing away was nothing new. He quite frequently jumped from ship to ship, port to port, going on adventures without being noticed. He had grown accustomed to spending his days slinking about in the shadows when the crew or the captain was not watching, and he was able observe and analyze their movements. He learned quite a bit aboard the ships, and traveling abroad, including the cultures and customs of different types of people and other countries, how to man the ship, calculate bearings and headings and, lastly, he learned how to play the guitar. And when the time came that the adventures were over, he would quietly get off the ship when it made port and they would never know.
He never got caught, and had only nearly been once or twice. Yet, he was always quick enough and smart enough to hide away before anyone could find him.
Stowing away could be fun, but it made him a bit sad. He could never partake in the festivities aboard, and he was always unnoticed, so he couldn't help but feel lonely and left out. He sometimes wished he could reveal himself, and actually be part of the crew and the adventure, but he was and always much too afraid of what they would do if they actually found him. So he just remained a stowaway. Maybe one day he'd put that to the test. But that day was not today.
He sighed and sat down against the wall near the window. It was late afternoon at least and soon the sun would start to sink into the horizon.
He surveyed the dark, empty room. It was odd that it remained vacant and the air was dead silent when the ship was moving. He didn't understand why that was. Surely there'd be a crew right? But yet, it appeared that there was not. He debated with himself on whether or not to go and investigate. He was curious now why the environment was so quiet.
His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself making his way out of the safety of the crew's cabin and into the main corridor towards the ladder that would lead him to the main deck.
He climbed slowly, nearly losing his footing on the old, worn wood. When he reached the door, he pushed it up a crack, and stood on the ladder, just enough for him to poke his head out and look around.
Empty. He was very confused. He continued to dart his light red eyes about, when he caught sight of a single person on the quarterdeck. He was standing up, steering the helm with a single, hooked hand. He was wearing torn dark brown trousers and black boots, with a flowy shirt that had been yellowed with age and wear. He had a thick belt on his waist, with the butt of a pistol poking out of it. There was a sash across his body, with a rapier hanging off of it, completed with a long crimson captain's coat, and a large captain's hat to go along with it. He was tanned from sun exposure, and wild red hair was prominent on his head. Bonnie recognized the fox-faced man immediately.
He lazily steered the helm, lonely eyes glued to the horizon, distant wandering, so it seemed. It was as if he were in a completely different world. His expression was blank, yet solemn some how.
Bonnie pitied him, his heart went out to him, and he almost blew his cover when he about jumped out of the door and greeted the man. However, he held back. Based on their first meeting, Bonnie inferred that the fox-faced man was quite the grouch and he didn't think he would take to kindly to some teenaged stowaway.
He quietly observed him. He stood so tall, and confident...in all but his face. It made Bonnie wonder what he would be like if his face wore that same confidence. He wondered what he would look like if he wore a smile instead of a solemn frown. He was young and handsome, Bonnie observed, and he thought he would have quite a nice smile.
The Captain's gaze wandered about, looking every which where for a few moments, before fixing it again on the horizon.
Bonnie shuffled his feet and a loud creak filled the air as his weight was pushed against the old board of the ladder. He froze. The captain's gaze also froze, and his head snapped towards the source of the sound just after Bonnie ducked back into the belowdecks, closing the trap door with a powerful clank.
Figuring he might get caught, he climbed rapidly down the ladder and darted towards the nearest door. It opened to a dusty storage room. He closed the door behind him and sunk into the shadows in one of the corners, in the shelter of some wood crates and old, worn, torn sails. He pressed himself against the dusty floor, covering himself with one of the sails. And he held his breath, hoping that the captain wouldn't find him here. He heard movement about the deck, before he heard the loud noise of the trap door opening. Heavy bootsteps started to echo across the old, creaky floorboards and he heard the voice of the captain carry across the corridors.
"Hello? Anyone thar? Where are ye eh? Show yerself! Ye d**n stowaway."
Bonnie pressed himself further against the ground. Not a sound. Not a single sound. Do not make a single sound.
The door of the storage room flew open with a gust of cold air. He heard the bootsteps getting closer and louder. He didn't move a muscle. He felt that he was a huntee, and the man was the hunter. Nerves bubbled up inside and he started to think of all the terrible things that could possibly happen to him if he was found. Keel hauled. Thrown overboard. Beaten. Killed. Ripped to shreds with that polished metal hook. He had no idea was this pirate would do. And his fear of the unknown was overpowering his senses.
"Where are ye, huh!?" The man sounded very harsh. The bootsteps grew slightly louder and then softer as he passed the sail. Bonnie cautiously peaked out from underneath. The pirate was pacing the room, searching, surveying it, amber eyes flashing. He was like a prowling predator, ready to snatch Bonnie up to be his prey. He covered himself with the sail again.
The noise fluctuation of the boots continued as the pirate paced about. Suddenly, he stopped. Directly in front of the sail. Bonnie held his breath. Trying not to move, think, breathe. He felt those amber eyes burning into it as the pirate scrutinized the canvas thing. It was as if he was contemplating on whether or not to lift it up.
"Hmm..." He said thoughtfully. He stared and stared. It seemed like years passed before he finally gave up. "Ahh! God d***it all!" The pirate gave up, flustered. "There ain't nobody here! It'd be pointless fer me t' be lookin'. There ain't no one here." Bonnie heard him sink down onto a box with a deep sigh. "Am I really that lonely I be havin' hallucinations now...I am such a fool. I be nothin' but a bloody fool. There ain't no one and there ain't ne'er gonna be. I be alone. I was always alone and I'll continue to be."
Bonnie's heart sunk. This captain was lonely. All he wanted was to be in the company of others. He longed to be. Bonnie knew how painful loneliness could be. How painful isolation could be. He was orphaned, foolish. Stuck roaming the streets with no one to talk to, to be around. Unnoticed. It was like being trapped in a cage with nothing but emptiness and cold. And it was loathsome and terrible. He felt his eyes mist up. He started to lift himself off the ground, about ready to reveal himself. He almost did.
That was until he heard the captain let out almost a growl of frustration. It was strained and painful. It was followed by the sound of wood breaking and snapping as he tore his hook through one of the metal crates. The splinters flew up, and a few of them hit Bonnie's back. He winced and shrunk back down as the dreadful sounds continued.
The pirate continued to growl, raking the hook and knocking boxes and things about, letting out all his pent up anger and sorrow. Bonnie shrunk back against the wall, hoping that nothing hit him.
"God d**n it all!" The redhead yelled. He knocked over one of the crates near the sail, and it toppled over, breaking and splintering, landing on Bonnie's back.
He heard the fox-faced man drop to the ground, sinking to his hands and knees, balling his fist and striking the floor.
"God d***it!" His pent up emotions were let out again, this time in the form hot, pooling tears and strangled sobs.
"Oh...please don't cry..." Bonnie squeaked inaudibly. He forced down his own tears. He took a deep breath. Hiding was no longer and option. He lifted the old sheet of canvas up, and wriggled free from the empty, broken crate. Then, he slowly, cautiously crawled out of his hiding and stood up, making his way over towards the huddled form of the sobbing fox-faced man. He was bent over in a shaft of light from a window in the rafters, and it cast and unearthly glow onto his hunched form. He took no notice of Bonnie as he sunk to his knees beside him.
The adolescent lifted a hand, hovering it over his shoulder, before taking a deep breath and setting it down.
The fox-faced man stiffened immediately. He jerked his body up, whipping his head around, tearful expression icy. He loomed over Bonnie in a predatory manner, causing the violet-haired teen to jump back and step backwards, shrinking.
He grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him roughly, pressing his glinting hook against the soft flesh of his pale throat. He looked down upon him, glaring through one blazing amber eye. The other was covered with an old, worn eye patch. Bonnie could see part of a jagged, old scar that the patch covered. His face was weather beaten, and tear-stained.
"Yer the kid from the port." He growled, "The bread thief. Just because I saved yer sorry arse back there don't mean ye have rights t' stowaway on me ship! Why ye here, huh? T' steal from me too!? T' mock me? Huh!? Huh!? Spit it out boy!"
Bonnie was silent for a moment, eyes wide with fear, at a loss for words.
The man shook him again and applied more pressure on the hook. Bonnie tried not to swallow, in fear of the sharp object puncturing his flesh.
"N-no sir. I-I didn't know this was your ship, I'm sorry. It's just...I don't have anywhere else to go and I-i've been stuck on that port for a long time and I wanted to get away! I don't mean no harm Captain, I promise! And Wh-when I saw ye break down like that I...I realized y-you were lonely like me! I wanted t' comfort ye! I don't like when people are upset! I don't mean no harm! I don't wanna steal from ye...I just wanna go on an adventure...and I want t' be yer companion! Please don't throw me overboard or drop me off on an island or-" he was spluttering out a mess of muddled sentences that was the entire truth, and a majority of the feelings Bonnie felt.
Foxy studied deep into the wide pink eyes of the violet-haired adolescent. He saw no lie within them, and the expression read complete sincerity. They were misty, and there was a small tear in the corner of one of them. However, Foxy still remained unsure. This teenager was a stranger, and the red-head had extreme trust issues because of all the pain and betrayals the past had dealt him.
However, he had come to a point where he was so desperate for a companion, so high in emotion, that the longing for company was too much to bear. And he was too far out from port that going back to dump the boy would be a foolish thing to do.
He removed the hook, and slowly loosened his grip. "Fine. Ye can stay." He let go of his shirt and took a couple of steps back, "But ye betray me and I'll send me sword through yer gut, aye?"
He nodded, "Aye Captain."
Foxy took a deep breath, then he said, "What's yer name, kid?"
"Bonnie. My name is Bonnie."
"Means pretty. And it be a girl's name."
Bonnie flushed bright red, "Aye."
"Suits ye." Foxy said lamely.
"Oh...th-thanks, I guess? Ummm...what's yer name, Captain?"
"It's Foxy."
"Oh. That suits you too."
Foxy shrugged. They stood for a moment in silence before Foxy said, "Well, come on then, on deck ye landlubber." Bonnie eagerly followed the red-head as he made his way up to the deck. The pirate effortlessly climbed up, gripping only one-handedly. Bonnie, meanwhile, almost tripped, slipping on the old, creaky wood. Foxy steadied him with his good hand, helping him up the rest of the way. "Don't fall and break yer neck, ye idiot." He said.
"S-sorry..."
Foxy shrugged. Bonnie closed the trap door while the captain climbed up to the helm.
-xXx-
Once out in the later afternoon sun, the violet-haired teen stood for a moment, surveying the main deck. It was clean and well polished, much different from the belowdecks.
"Well, whadaya just standin' thar fer, huh? Yer part of me crew now so weigh anchor and hoist the main sail why don't ye?"
"Oh! Sorry! Aye!" He started to move quickly about the deck to follow the simple orders.
And soon, they were underway.
"What's our heading, Captain?" Bonnie asked.
Foxy smiled briefly, "Wherever the wind takes us."
"Okay!" With that, he walked over to the bow of the ship and propped one leg up, holding onto the ropes near him for leverage. He smiled and closed his eyes, pulling out his ponytail, letting the wind freely billow through his long, violet hair. He felt quite calm now, and a single thought ran through his head: He does have a nice smile.