Hi, I know it's been forever since I last updated anything. Close to two years for this particular story. I won't bore you with the details (I might write something on tumblr if I ever get around to blogging again), but the short story is I've been focusing on myself and improving my situation, something at which I've had some success. I'd like to give a huge thank you to everyone who's kept reading and commenting on my stories despite the lack of updates: I may not have had the time, or even energy sometimes, to respond, but know that your comments, and knowing there are people out there who care about what I make, have given me a lot of comfort and motivated me to keep pushing forward. So, thank you.
I haven't dropped any of my stories, nor do I intend to. I'm slowly getting back on the writing wagon, and for Being Human in particular I have two more chapters written aside from this one. With this chapter, we officially enter the last part of Being Human. It's going to be a long last part, though, we still have plot for a while.
Chapter 46: The Request
Thatch doesn't handle boredom well, he never has. From a young age, whenever he started to feel bored, he'd snoop around town and either plot or attempt to steal a meal, a blanket, or other unattended necessities.
He's tried snooping around the ship, but there is nothing interesting. Empty store rooms, provisions, and ship supplies make up most of what can be found. Thatch doesn't need to steal food because he's allowed to come and go into the kitchen as he wishes, though that hasn't stopped him from sneaking a few rations off to the storeroom he's taken over. The Captain bought Thatch more clothes than he's ever owned, and there's an actual linen closet from which Thatch has managed to steal a pillow and two whole ass blankets without anyone noticing. Marco has a room full of maps and books, but Thatch's never learnt to read and he can't tell a map's orientation to save his life.
It takes Thatch until that freakout in the kitchen to realize he should get Marco to teach him to fight. Thatch's been training himself the same as he's ever done, debating if he should approach the Captain or Jozu for some lessons but ultimately discarding the idea because those two are too large and fight with more strength than Thatch'll ever have. There's no way they know how a scrawny street rat like him could best handle himself in a fight.
Once the original fright passes though –and damn if it doesn't piss Thatch off to have been afraid at all, but those were metal handles getting crushed like bread– Thatch realizes Marco is his best choice. He's got to know how to fight if he can pull shit like that, and he's around three, maybe four years older than Thatch and not a giant.
Which is why, the day after he chose to retreat from the kitchen, Thatch corners Marco up at the crow's nest. Marco glances up from his book and gives Thatch a quizzical look, but doesn't say anything.
Thatch hesitates, not sure how to start his request, and Marco eventually goes back to reading. He does that a lot, just sit somewhere with a book in his hands and spend hours there, and every time it reminds Thatch of the kids who could attend school, who could waste hours doing nothing because their next meal was guaranteed and they had a bed and a roof over their heads.
"Fight me," Thatch finally says.
"No." Marco doesn't even look up from his book this time. He doesn't pay Thatch any attention.
Thatch bares his teeth and lunges forward, intent on grabbing the book and make Marco focus on him. He doesn't expect Marco to lean sideways and roll off the bench, and Thatch faceplants on the wooden seat. He scrambles to his feet on the bench, towering over Marco since he's now standing on a bench built with the Captain in mind and Marco is standing on the floor of the crow's nest, book finally closed and held at his side.
"I need to fight better," Thatch pushes out through gritted teeth. He doesn't like to admit it, but Marco'll have to know he's teaching Thatch if they're gonna get somewhere.
"Ask Pops," Marco tells him immediately. And there that nickname is again, 'Pops'. How nice it must be to have been taken in by a man who thinks the world of you.
"He won't do. You work better for this."
Marco stands up straighter, face going serious and very reminiscent of yesterday. Thatch's instinctive impulse is to take a step back, but instead he steels himself and leans forward to loom over Marco better. He doesn't get to be the tall one often, he's well taking advantage of it while it lasts.
"What's wrong? It's not like you ever train with the others or anything," Thatch starts. He grins, knowing his next argument will throw Marco off. It's Thatch's trump card. "You gotta pull your weight on a pirate ship, y'know? Be useful. There's only so much your daddy'll let you get away with before he realizes we're better off without a spoiled brat like you."
For a moment, Thatch thinks he may have overdone it a bit with the mocking. Marco is standing ramrod straight, his lips pressed into a thin line, and pale as a baby's ass. His gaze has changed, too, though Thatch wouldn't know how to describe it well if asked. Instead of the anger Thatch expected, it feels as though Marco's eyes have gone empty.
There's something about that gaze that sends a chill down Thatch's back.
Thatch readies himself for a fight, certain Marco is going to lunge at him. Thatch'll take it, a practical lesson to begin with, and with some luck they'll bond a bit over it and Marco will be easier to convince next time.
Instead of attacking Thatch, Marco turns in place and jumps, disappearing over the edge of the crow's nest railing. A crow's nest on a ship built on scale for the Captain. It took Thatch almost five minutes to climb up that rigging.
Thatch screams.