Welcome again! Well, this chapter... I must say... is quite a drawn out conflict that concentrates only on Peter. I am sure some of you were wondering when he was going to encounter Scarcosta. Here it is then. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. However I do own the plot, Scarcosta, and Morquin.
It was upon the fourth day on Captain Morquin's ship that Peter's encounter with Scarcosta came to a close call. Hesitation flickered over his maturing features for just a moment. His lips pulled at the corner ever so slightly before breaking into a wide, wry, trademark mischievous grin. The smile held more allure now, a touch of young man held within. He was a bit taller now, it was not that Peter had measured or knew how to do so; it was that he had judged himself against the other pirates. Now he reached the shoulders of some of them. There were no mirrors on the ship, save for the gold rimmed one in the captain's quarters, for pirates hardly cared for appearances. Thus, Peter had no knowledge of his slightly changed facial features. No matter the changes though, Peter would always hold the same glint of childishness that was brighter in the eternal boy than in anyone else.
"Well, of course I am coming, Morquin. I'd love to meet the captain of the 'Vixen's Revenge.' Rosaline did you say her name was?" he inquired. Peter had learned and acquired a certain modified pirate speak to use with the captain. The boy had always adored playing parts, and this was his favorite yet. Acting as a real, educated gentlemen pirate; a right hand man to the captain himself. Of course, Peter would prefer to be the captain, but for this purpose being the second in command was fine enough. This was not to say though, that Peter had lost the cockiness that came in line with his ego. Risks were his specialty, and meeting with Scarcosta again was a fairly large one. There was a broad chance that she could be able to recognize him. From experience Peter knew that this particular female captain could scarce be outwitted. She was not such a passenger to anger and annoyance as Hook. Rosaline could maintain composer long enough to think before rash actions. Still, at this broad chance, Peter was eager to leap into danger.
"Aye. Rosaline is her name, although she doesn't fancy being called that. I myself called her 'Rose' once and she got her britches in a tangle over it. Nearly tore my arm off! Well, I was hoping you would want to go. I could use a lad like you to impress her. Says she was to 'negotiate' something. An invasion, she says. Honestly, sometimes I has it set in my mind that woman is crazy." Morquin drawled. He grasped a thick, silver wine cup in his hand. He swirled the blood red contents for a few moments, before taking a gulp. "Alright then. We'll be headed on out soon. Just need to dock the ship at Crow's Harbor. We'll be meeting on her ship. Should be interesting."
For a wild moment Rosaline reconsidered her plans. Confusion twisted over her face, her mouth contorting into a leaning frown on her lips. Her cabin was set for the meeting, a broad red wood table set in the center of her large room, a plush red velvet chair on either end. A glimmering bottle of sweet wine and two fine curved glasses waited in the center of the table. The cabin was lit by lanterns placed in nooks along the wood paneled walls. A few plain wax candles offered more light on the table near the wine. The place was a faint glow of orange that seemed bright against the dim midnight sky that lingered outside the circular windows dotted along the west wall.
Slowly Rosaline's features became blank, then a smear of prowess scowled on her face. A professional in the ways of appearing of the nature of power, Rosaline composed herself, her shoulders held broad but relaxed. She had been taught by her father to appear at ease and completely in command of her domain. Strategically she had chosen her cabin to host the meeting with Morquin, in order to display her position.
The wooden door of the cabin opened quietly without so much as a creek. Rosaline Scarcosta smiled, her lips curving into something devious. She had oiled the door to be sure it wouldn't creek. The captain didn't want to appear dingy, and it was the smallest details that counted.
"Hello, Morquin." She greeted, unenthusiastically though you could hear the hint of her smile in her words.
The burly captain of the "Red Vanquish," sauntered in with his particularly laid back manner. "Well, hello there Scarcosta." He replied. Rosaline couldn't help the pang of ease she felt. He was alone. This was utterly fantastic. Alone, and with wine, this man would be even easier to manipulate into joining her.
Her ease suddenly vanished at the sight of a hand pressing on the door as it opened again. A thin arm came into view, then his face. Scarcosta scowled harshly. Her right hand clenched into a fist where it was rested against her thigh as she sat in her velvet chair.
A right hand man? Morquin had never had such a thing!
"Oh, and who may I ask is this fine young man?" she inquired, not a hint of her distain lingering behind her words.
Morquin smiled lightly as he settled into the other chair opposite of Rosaline. "Why this is Kieron. My right hand man. You know he came in from the west! Yes, and a squall tore his ship and crew. Lucky for me this lad was looking for a job in a crew."
"I see." Rosaline answered blankly. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the boy. He appeared a bit young for a former captain… and that name. She was sure she had heard it before. An old Indian word it was. She was sure of it. Of the many days she had spent on the island with her John, she knew such things.
Though many would not guess from her sharp temper and quick responses, Rosaline was extremely inquisitive. Each thing she learned was stored away in her cavern of a mind and used later on. She was ingenious in her plans and intricate in her schemes. She could even be considered similar to Hook himself, if only she was a little more coldhearted. Unlike Hook though, Rosaline did not consume her every waking and slumbering moment with Peter Pan. She maintained her sanity simply with her plans, soon to be revealed to Morquin.
Peter could feel her intense stare like a flame on his skin. A tinge of nervousness slithered up through his frame. However, this did not last for more than a moment. Peter Pan was never nervous. He feared no one's stare.
Peter's shoulders instinctively straightened. His eyes flickered to Rosaline for a moment, a devious flash of mild interest, and then to Morquin. He had been instructed not to sit. Right hand men didn't sit. At this, Peter took a position behind Morquin's plush chair.
Rosaline began by reaching out and pouring the fresh, cool wine into the glasses and sliding one to Morquin. The woman leaned slightly forward as she sat, her elbows rested on the table, her chin resting on her entwined fingers.
"Well, Morquin. I assume you will take this offer I am about to give, and I assure you it is well worth the take." She began.
Morquin took a hearty sip of his drink and sat back. "Mmm… an offer? Let's hear it then."
"Very well. I take it that you heard of John Kimorak's death. It spread wide over Crow's harbor."
"Of course. Fine lad. A bit strange though, always hanging round that island and making friends with the savages. Heh. Hook took quite a dislike to that lad. Said he was always in the way making it difficult to get to Pan."
"Yes." Rosaline's voice was a dark void. It seemed to hold no layered emotion, but in its blankness was a black grief that peeked out from under her straight tone. She must speak of her lover as if he was of no particular interest except to open the topic of the island. She must deny the grip of her heart that man always held, and stomp down her rising emotions; wash them away with her wine.
Peter peered on at Scarcosta, utterly disinterested. John Kimorak, he recalled, was that pirate he had killed on the beach instead of Hook. To the boy, that man was nothing more than another tick mark to his dagger. Peter, though he had forgotten, knew a secret about John Kimorak. Peter's eyes were a dim boredom. This conversation better get more interesting.
Rosaline, weary of Morquin's "right hand man," continued her conversation. "Well, Kimorak left behind a box in which I have in my possession. I recovered it on the island after making a deal with the Indians. I gave them my word that an Indian John had been friends with would not be harmed if he helped me recover the box-"
"Aye! You left him unharmed did you?! Making friends with those savages?" Morquin accused, appalled.
"It was part of the plan, Morquin." Rosaline said through her teeth. "I would appreciate it if you did not interrupt me. Well, from this I gained a sort of half trusting relation with the chief. His tribe member was not harmed and was returned safely just as I said he would be. This lowers suspicion of me as a pirate, therefore making infiltrating the island all the more smooth."
"Ah. So this is your plan eh? Claiming the island? Well, I don't agree Rosaline. This entire thing sounds like a Hook maneuver to me. That stingy man got himself killed, he did! He was even a genius and he got taken down by that boy Peter Pan!"
Rosaline placed her palms on the table and thrust herself up. Her chair slid back with a great screech across the wood floor. "Do not call me Rosaline! Now if you would kindly shut your babbling trap, I would be able to tell you what was in it for you! Tell me Morquin, what exactly do you plan to do with your fleet of ships, eh? We sit out here in the waters off shore of the island and age and die! For what?! Nothing at all. We rot out here with crews of drunken saps and hold tight to our pieces of gold and it's all for nothing. We leave no legacy behind because that boy will always kill us and demean us and undermine us! We have the power to take the island, and it starts with us! We are the strongest of the captains. We can take that island and never age another day. That infernal boy will die and we will be the new heart and soul of what they call 'Neverland!'" Her eyes were a blazing green, intense with her pale face and dark hair outlining them.
Morquin's eyes were wide, his expression that of dim shock. He had always known Rosaline to have a harsh temper, but had never heard her raise her voice to such a commanding octave. Her ideas were simply outlandish! To overtake the island! No one had ever attempted such a thing. The pirates and the island had always been a separate thing, keeping between them a balance of conflict in which the boy Peter Pan always triumphed.
"Ha. Ha! Oh, Scarcosta you are quite the dreamer. Truly I have no response. What would I say to such a plan?"
"You will say yes." Rosaline stated as if it was pure fact. Her frame had relaxed, the tension in her arms gone, though they still gripped the edge of the table. Her calm commanding demeanor, she had realized, had been stripped away when she went into her fit. She took a breath and began to plaster back her typical face.
"Oh, I will say yes? Really? I truly have no idea. Kieron. What do you take from all this, eh lad?" Moquin asked, turning in his chair to face the boy.
Peter had been uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes darted about for a moment before they settled straight on Scarcosta's. He smirked, a small laugh escaping him. This was fantastic. He knew of an invasion to his island and could now alter the circumstances.
"It's a great idea." He answered, smiling. His gaze met with Scarcosta's and locked there for a moment, as she scrutinized him.
Suddenly, with absolute horror, the female captain's eyes widened until all white was shown and then they narrowed as her brows creased. Her expression was indescribable. The shear, raw fury on her face was wonderful to Peter. His smirk broke as he laughed wildly, his childish laugh just a bit deeper than a few days ago. He smoothed his black pirate coat, adorned with gold buttons. Peter ruffled his white shirt and crossed his arms at his chest. His stance became smooth and lopsided as he leaned his weight slightly to his left foot.
"Recognize me, codfish?" he drawled teasingly. "Heh. I knew a secret about that John of yours." Yes, he had remebered. Perfect for the boy, he'd tease her indefinitely with it.
Rosaline's fury rose into an uncontainable impulse. In a flash quickness, her arm dropped to her right side and clasped her pistol. She pointed its barrel straight at the disguised boy, her finger poised on the trigger. "Pan." She spat, her face twisted in anger.
The shot rang out in a perfect pulse. Rosaline knew she had made her mark. A grin crossed her face, though only for a moment. It was swiped away by a gaping mouth as she stood shocked at the sight.
The shot had hit alright. Fatal to the captain of the "Red Vanquish."
Square between the brows it had hit him. Crimson blood dripped, sliding down the man's face. It slithered past his wide, shocked, dead eyes. Morquin slumped forward, his head crashing into the red wood table. The wine bottle swayed before falling, spilling the liquid across the table.
Rosaline stumbled back, her fury breaking beyond her walls of sanity. The woman screeched. Not because she had just killed Morquin and nearly ruined her plans, but because Pan was nowhere to be found.
I hope you like it! What will happen now? Will Peter reveal the secret? Please review with thoughts if you wish.