Written by: ChloeBee and AlexisPrime
Francis would admit to anyone that asked that he felt his privileged life lacked true excitement. He was young and unmarried, and so there was some thrill in attending balls filled with ladies of all ages that he could coax away from the party. Or sitting around the card table with a glass of wine in one hand, a pouch of cash to bet with in the other. But even so, it wasn't quite the adventure he was looking for. Instead, he wished for something extraordinary to strike in his life to wash it clean of boring habits gentlemen had to partake in. Of course, when excitement found its place in his life, he would often wonder if it was truly what he wanted.
It came suddenly one night at one of the large balls he had been forced into attending as the heir to the Bonnefoy fortune just waiting for him. Women clung to him at the scent of said fortune, allowing him to at least pretend he was enjoying the crowds and company. The heat and stench of the room eventually forced him to slip away unnoticed by even Gilbert, one of his closest friends, and out into the starlit night.
The moon casted a soft white glow onto the water nearby, and he was mesmerized by the calm waves rolling into the shore. It was chilly that night but he hardly noticed his sapphire eyes locked on what he thought looked to be a ship heading towards the shore. He dismissed it as nothing more than an illusion created by his wandering mind.
But his first thoughts were right. It was indeed a ship heading for the shore; fifty cannons, triple-masted and triple-decked. A masterpiece to behold. But it was heading straight for the shore where Francis was stood and showed no signs of stopping.
It made his brow furrow in confusion as he stepped back, suddenly alarmed by the thick black flag fluttering in the weak wind. His heart jumped to his throat and he felt an intense desire to at least warn the other innocent people who were blissfully unaware, but his feet felt like lead and would not move.
There were lanterns lit along the top deck of the ship and from where he was stood Francis could see the thick blotted outlines of people scurrying back and forth across the deck. Orders were barked out across the ship by a single, foreign-sounding voice and the owner of said voice could not be seen against the inky-blackness of the night sky.
And still, Francis did not move, not even when the large ship came to a halt at the beach and anchors were tossed into the sea to keep it from returning to the waters.
A lone man jumped from the bow of the ship, landing neatly on the beach as he drew a cutlass. That alone was enough to set alarm bells ringing in Francis' mind but still he didn't move. Not even when the numerous amounts of what appeared to be pirates came running towards him, grinning maliciously as their captain had ordered them to kidnap the closest thing nearby and pillage the outside stalls.
A pirate roughly grasped his arm as others ran past him, charging into the town to do as they were ordered. Francis kept his eyes on the obvious captain of the boat with growing fear. Not a sound came from his mouth as a new voice rang out clearly from above.
"We must be quick, Captain. Or the townsfolk will be alerted to our presence, and you know as well as I that isn't acceptable."
The captain nodded to the lookout in the Crow's nest.
"Aye, Williams." he said, stalking closer to Francis, "A mightily good catch we've got ourselves lads..." he said, his tone sleek and British as bright blonde hair peeked out from under his hat and one of his bottle-green eyes was covered with an eye patch.
"We gonna bring 'm?" The pirate holding his arm asked the captain eagerly, an accent to his voice that Francis couldn't place. The Frenchman finally attempted to find his misplaced voice.
"What are you doing?" He questioned in French, fear and anger slipping into his voice. The captain laughed at the Frenchman, gripping Francis' chin and spoke softly yet harshly.
"Speak English, frog." he spat.
"Parlez-vous Anglais?" The previous voice called from over them, making Francis glance up into time with the pirate beside him. He watched a new man jump down from the deck. The captain glared.
"Williams. You know I bloody hate French-speakers. Speak English for crap's sake!" he snapped, glaring deeply at the Canadian lookout.
"My name is Williams, this is Captain Arthur Kirkland. If you did speak English, we would greatly appreciate it," the newcomer continued in French. He stooped into a bow, making Francis wonder how the man was able to move beneath the countless layers draped over an obviously thin frame. He could not see the man's face for it was coated in darkness thanks to a wide brimmed pirate hat. Captain Kirkland glared at both Williams and Francis, his hand resting on his cutlass handle.
"Tell him to move his arse onto my ship or so help me I'll have his guts for garters!"
The captain was surprised when Francis winced without having Williams translate a word of it. The Canadian revealed azure eyes for a moment to Arthur that twinkled in delight.
"Aye, Cap'in," he replied.
"Good. Now shift!" he snapped, dragging the Frenchman onto the ship by his hair. Francis finally began to protest for the first time, speaking broken English as a result of both burning panic and chilling fear as well as trying to avoid using French. Arthur turned around and slapped Francis hard across the cheek, snarling at him.
"You'd do well to remember that I AM A CAPTAIN! An' a feared one at that! I pillage the seven seas an' I drill fear into everyone's hearts! So you will listen to me!"
"Y-yes sir," Francis was able to reply weakly. He gingerly touched the angry skin that was already turning a bright red against his pale skin.
"Captain..." Williams spoke up softly, approaching the short pirate. Arthur looked up, anger in his eyes.
"What?"
Warning flashed across Williams'. He put his hand on Francis' arm. Arthur scowled, throwing Francis onto the deck and kicking him once in the crotch before going back into his cabin to wait for the other members of his crew to return with their hoards for the night.
"Kirkland, I will need to speak to you later," Williams called after him. He then turned his attention to the poor Frenchman who was fighting to regain his breath from the blow.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever Williams..." Arthur called behind him, growling to himself. Williams turned his attention to the poor Frenchman they had abducted with a curious grin.
"Now, there are a couple of rules you need to learn, eh," he said slowly in careful English to make sure Francis could understand. He decided to be polite for once and offer the downed man a gloved hand. Francis looked up, taking the outstretched hand and hauling himself up. He nodded and gestured for the Canadian to continue.
"You're part of the crew now so long as you're onboard. You answer to Captain Kirkland or myself without protest. The rest of the crew knows to be... gentle with you, since this ain't exactly a place for gentlemen such as you. You'll sleep with the crew, eat with the crew, and act like the well behaved part of the crew. Act out of line... and Kirkland will be out for your blood."
Francis gave a slight nod, his eyes shining with fear. "O-Oui..." he mumbled. He stumbled forward some when Williams suddenly gave him a rough pat on the back.
"Now, I'd introduce ya to the crew, but since they're a little busy, I'll show you to where you'll be staying," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the obvious grin in his voice. There was something strange about his voice, but Francis had no time to dwell on it for his tour guide began to walk.
Francis went with Williams swiftly, wondering silently and absently what it was about his voice that made it so... odd. But he couldn't put a finger on it and was forced to push those thoughts down when they arrived in the crew's cabins. Once more, Williams turned his attention to the Frenchman.
"When the others get back they'll show you exactly where you'll sleep, since I don't know what's open down here. I'm usually not down here. Oh, and a warning. Stay outta Captain Kirkland's way. He doesn't exactly like the French, as you've probably noticed. You seem smart enough."
"Oui..." Francis said meekly, taking the last comment as a compliment since he wasn't fond of insults. Williams tipped his hat back some so Francis could see his pale face and the gentler smile currently present.
"Now, Mr Bonnefoy, no need to be so scared. We're sparing you."
"Oui..." he repeated again, standing a little straighter at the comment. Williams chuckled then, a sound that was soothing but at the time enough to make a chill run down Francis' spine.
"You'll earn your place and work for your food, but we could be simply robbing you of your gold and life. It'll get to the point you're beggin' to see the land. Where you're just desperate for the finer things of a life on land, but trust me. You'll never escape this. You'll learn to love it."
Francis nodded, silent. His mind was whirring rapidly as Williams was essentially offering, no, TELLING him to become a pirate. He was given time to think as William watched him, piercing blue eyes studying him as if he were trying to learn his thoughts.
"Fine..." he said in English, his accent a strong French one. He was rewarded with a genuine smile.
"What a good lad," he laughed, realizing after he'd said it that he had been spending way too much time with Arthur. "You won't regret it."
"I hope not..." Francis said quietly, keeping his speaking to minimum in the hopes not to get into trouble.
All Williams did, much to his relief, was look him over, tip his hat back into its previous position and ask, "How good are you in a kitchen? We don't always have a lot to work with, and we have a lot of people."
"I'm very good... I regularly cook good meals for people where I work..." he said slowly, making sure his English was correct since he had barely used his second language much after learning it.
"Good. That's where you'll work then. Our last cook is no longer around," Williams said as he began to the kitchen. Francis felt himself pale as he followed, his over-active imagination thinking up all sorts of horrific scenarios where the previous cook had suffered a gruesome death.
"It's really too bad," Williams continued, "Good help that Arthur will accept an' trust is hard to find. Did you ever think of becoming a pirate before this, Bonnefoy?"
"Non..." he said shakily, "N-Never..."
"You alright? You're looking a bit ill."
"F-Fine..."
"You're not going to die," Williams said gently, putting a hand on Francis' shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"O-Ok..." Francis said, managing a slight smile.
"The only things you'll have to worry about are Arthur, the Navy, storms, doin' your job, and my temper," Williams said. He gave Francis' shoulder one last pat before his hand fell. "The crew shouldn't bother you, and if they do they'll be answering to me and Kirkland."
Francis nodded again. "Understood…"
He was led to the kitchen to be shown his station, Williams finally falling silent. Francis looked around the sorry state for a kitchen and sighed, it looked like his work was cut out for him.
"Not to your standard?" Williams asked in amusement.
"Not really... But I've worked with worse before..." Francis said, taking a look around. Williams chuckled.
"We could probably do some work on it, but for now you'll have to deal with it. I'll talk to Kirkland about it."
"I see..." was all Francis said before going and inspecting the kitchen closely, a grimace on his face. He was able to ignore William's gaze as he focused on the task at hand. It wasn't long before he was able to entirely tune the other man out. Williams, taking that as his cue to leave Francis to work, went to seek out Arthur.