A/N: Well, I was going to put this fic off for a while, but then rayemars's bio said something about wanting to see a YuGiOh pirate fic. And so this little AU-idea which had been happy to sit idly, sprang up and threatened to break my fingers. Try to reason that I haven't read a pirate story since I was nine, and does it listen? No-oo.... But enjoy it! Even though right now it's raw and unbeta'd, until I can loop Llyxius or Borath into it...*grins at betas*
Disclaimer: Plot is mine. Characters aren't. Both facts are sad.
Yami Bakura:
I feel shackles, cold and wet, gritty with salt. Pain jolts me awake when, with an air of finality, one of my captors jerks on my chains, testing to see if I really am locked up. The cuffs are slightly bigger than a 'perfect fit', so my wrists slide around. I hope if I just twist my fingers right the metal will fall off.
But no. And now a tanned, dark-haired crew member is coming over-feels strange, calling him a 'pirate' when I'm a thief and a murderer, which is almost the same thing.
Wind blasts against me, waves rocking the boat in a terrible, constant rhythm...but I won't cry out...I won't....
Moaning from somewhere close by. Not me, thankfully.
There are two other prisoners, both smaller than me. One has bizarre, multi-colored hair, and he looks young. He must be a child. I've heard before pirates take child prisoners, and I'm not horribly surprised to see it's true.
What surprises me is the other one. His eyes are wide in a terrified expression, but he looks...he looks just like me. At a younger and kinder age, around fourteen maybe. I'm only nineteen now.... Hell, everyone seems younger than me now that I look around.
Abducted by infants. This day can only get worse.
The other prisoner, the one that resembles me, is bleeding. Shiny red ribbons stream down from a nasty gash on his cheek, joining other stains on the deck.
I'm bleeding, too; I've just noticed. My arm is slick and uncomfortable as blood slides down from a hole in my hand to slip under the loose sleeve of my shirt. It gathers in the hollow of my shoulder and my armpit.
Clarity is starting to build up in my head again. That's good; maybe the coherence has brought a plan for escape with it. Hopefully one that won't require the use of my hand. Or hands, actually. I don't think I can do much with my upper body right now, suspended as I am. Unfortunately, that will make unchaining myself a chore.
Thumping against the soft wooden boards that make up the deck; shouting and grunting, the sounds of a fight. I know those sounds better than is probably healthy; maybe when I escape I'll back off the brawling, though. I certainly wouldn't be here if I hadn't challenged a rather obvious pirate.
The fight has moved over here a bit, and I think they're going to trample the little ones. The spike-headed boy thinks so, too, because he grabs my look-alike and wriggles back as far as he can get.
A blond pirate, wearing the same clothes as his shipmates and only a bit taller than me and a few years younger, is tied and dropped next to me. He's bloody and swelling already from the beating his crewmates have just given him. They don't bother to secure him; they want another excuse to attack him, and if he moves so much as an inch they're likely to spring on him again.
I wonder what he did. He seems to be pretty well-endowed, wearing more jewelry on him than I've seen on most noblewomen, so it's odd that he hasn't been robbed.
The burly guy I challenged in the bar speaks around his split lips. I can't help but feel smug about the pained expression he takes at just opening his mouth. "To betray the Captain is slow death. Let Malik's torture be a lesson to any other mutineers. Get back to work now."
Not very surprising. "Captain" hides away and hires ugly thugs to do his work. No wonder the kid mutinied.
There are reasons I work alone, betrayal being only one of them.
My hand is cold now. That isn't good. I really think if I don't do something about that hole, I'm going to end up with only one hand to work with.
I try to move it, to get blood flowing back to my fingers, and can't suppress the almost-sob of agony. I can see bone, shining and sparkling white, poking out of dark red drying gore.
It should hurt more than it does. It's odd to say that, because having your bones stabbing through your hand is agony. It's just not as bad as I thought it would be.
Yugi Mutou:
I really don't know how long I've been here.
Everyday since I can remember, I've awakened with the same question burning loudly through someone else's voice, always echoing in my mind-"How long?". As if it really matters anymore. As if somehow I'll have gained a sense of time overnight.
I wonder if it's the same for these new people. Have they started to forget their lives beyond the planks of this ship?
Wow. They must be brothers, twins even. Their hair is white, like the ashes of a dying volcano, and while they both have dark brown eyes one is aloof, his face hateful and intimidating. The other is scared.
I'm scared.
This is the first time we've been to shore, that I can remember anyway, and we're surely going to be caught. I know we are. And God have mercy on the poor men who would dare to oppose this ship.
I look over at Katsuya and Tristan, who are preparing to fit the brothers with working shackles, now that Malik is subdued. Seto Kaiba, who will probably be our new first mate, glares at me, orders me back to work. I scramble to my feet and, bucket in hand, run over to the fishing nets. Time to clean out our supper. Again.
Ryou Bakura:
He looks like me. And I'm no ordinary looking Joe.
Well, I do wish I had his face. I'm willing to bet that no one would threaten me if I looked like that. I inch closer to him, but slip on my blood-and his-and the pirates laugh scornfully. The other me ignores all of this, either too dazed from the fact that there are bones poking through the top of his hand, or embarrassed.
I hope he's embarrassed instead of in shock. Maybe I should help him? I doubt the pirates know about 'shock'. Mother always told me that sometimes people die from their injuries, not because the devil enters them through the wound, but because their bodies can't handle the stress of being so badly hurt. The other me looks very injured. Mum also said you need to keep the person warm, and you need to treat the wound. That was before the townspeople burned her.
I wonder what she'd think of this?