Windstorm
By Famira Damaris

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Skies of Arcadia.
Author's Note: Anyway, I'll keep this short. This isn't a fanfic devoted to Vyse, Aika or Fina. It's probably one of the few (only?) based on Domingo. Anyway, possible slash later. Mostly plot. Takes place about a year and half after the events of the game – I'm assuming that the world of Skies of Arcadia is much bigger than portrayed, so…er...new lands. . Centered around Domingo and Lawrence. cackles

Uh...yeah, this update is super late, since I update whenever the hell I feel like it. Anyway, things to look out for: Domingo's sets down the rules and he sets them down as they should be. Even if it means doing stupid things in the aftermath of a pirate attack.

Italics for thoughts, sounds, emphasis
Archive: I highly doubt anyone would ask, but sure, go ahead. Just ask.

==========
Windstorm
==========

[Setting Down Rules]

For as long as he could remember, Domingo had sworn to himself that he wouldn't let himself be pushed around. Not by anyone; not when he was a free spirit. Of course, that was before Vyse stepped into his life. Most men were swayed by Vyse's charismatic smile and Domingo wasn't any different. Acting as part of Vyse's crew had made Domingo particularly easy prey to Vyse's quirky little "gifts".

In this case, a sullen helmsman, who, Domingo swore, was giving him the evil eye right now.

Moons, Domingo grumbled mentally. It wasn't just his imagination – Lawrence really was giving him the evil eye. The purple-clad mercenary had found a crate once he went onto the Damascus and sat himself down on it promptly even as they began to leave the island. Domingo had ignored him at first and taken the helm. But as the minutes passed into the first uneventful hour, he was aware of the quiet glower on his back. Finally getting tired of that – and a spectacular view of nothing but a sea of clouds – Domingo turned impatiently:

"Look, what's the problem? Are you going to sit there all day or something?"

Lawrence shrugged. "Well, I got paid for a specific job and that was acting as your helmsman."

"And that requires you sitting around?"

"I can't do my job if you're doing it," Lawrence said mildly.

Domingo found his cheeks burning red at this. He wasn't going to be made a fool on his own ship. Turning quickly back toward the helm, he stared forward, trying to regain his composure. He didn't have to put up with this when he was traveling by himself, "You can take command of it later. Go patrol the deck or something."

Lawrence silently got up and left without another word of argument. Domingo sighed. Was his whole trip going to be like this? Just a matter of awkward silences and little smart remarks? Domingo glared at the view of the shifting sea of white wisps beyond the Damascus's prow. His fingers tightened around the smooth wood of the helm. Domingo normally counted himself as an easy-going man; it took a lot to anger him. But one of the things he valued above all was his privacy. Despite however much of an extrovert he appeared, his time alone meant a lot to him. Take that away from him and you had a very cranky Domingo.

He would've put up with anyone else from Vyse's crew; honestly, he would've. But Lawrence…dammit, the mercenary just rubbed him the wrong way. It felt like he was intruding, a noiseless shadow that had a habit of creeping up on him. It just bothered him to no end.

Still, I don't have a choice. Vyse had already paid for Lawrence's fees, which was rather generous considering the fact that the taciturn mercenary had hiked them up recently. Dumping Lawrence at the next port Domingo came to wasn't an option. Neither was just running back to Polly, not when that frying pan threat was still up in the air. This always happens when I let myself get pushed around.

Domingo blamed Polly above all others. If she hadn't chased him out in the first place, he wouldn't have gotten pushed around by Ramar into that favor, by Vyse into taking Lawrence as his helmsman.

I swear, once this is all over, I'm going to go on a real vacation. Alone. Without anyone to tell me what they think's good for me…

Elsewhere, Lawrence leaned against the railings of the Damascus, staring out at the sky..

He'd finished his patrol in a matter of minutes; it hadn't been hard to finish that quickly, considering just how small Domingo's ship was. It was little more than a boat – although Lawrence knew that the explorer would probably get all in his face if he dared to call it that. The size alone made it hard for Lawrence to keep busy and he'd even gone out of his way to appear so. He'd even scrapped off a few of the sky barnacles that'd attached themselves to the weathered hull with a small knife before giving up on that.

First, it wasn't in his contract to be doing anything aside from being the Damascus's helmsman. Technically he didn't have to do anything aside from that particular duty. Second, he'd damaged his knife on the last sky barnacle, which was really the last straw. Why damage his possessions if he wasn't even getting paid for that task? He probably couldn't expect to be reimbursed for the useless knife either. Wonderful.

So now he had nothing to do. Again. Lawrence stared out at the sea, wondering how to occupy himself.

Soft white puffs of cloud surrounded the small wooden ship in an unending expanse. A brisk breeze danced along the sides of the rails. Far off in the distance, the mercenary could spot the gleaming slivers of color swimming a few thousand feet above the Damascus. Probably a school of sardis, since they weren't flying at any extreme altitudes. Too far to tell without a telescope. Looking back, he could still see Crescent Isle in the distance, although it was little more than a black little splotch on the horizon at this point. For some reason, Lawrence found himself wishing that he could just turn the ship around and return.

It wasn't like this was a difficult job; on the contrary, it was almost ridiculously easy. There was no Valuan armada pursuing them, no Dark Rift threatening to tear the ship apart. In fact, this was probably the easiest job he'd had in a long time.

So why did he suddenly want to hurry up and finish it? This was a good deal; very little amount of work for a rather hefty sum.

Lawrence propped his chin in the palm of one gloved hand, staring out at the sea of clouds. He'd read the fine print of the contract that Vyse had presented to him: he was essentially stuck with Domingo until the explorer himself stated in specific terms otherwise. Of course Vyse hadn't told Domingo that and he trusted Lawrence to do the same. Considering how much Vyse gave him as incentive, there was no reason why he shouldn't keep his mouth shut.

Lawrence wasn't blind. He knew Domingo disliked him and that was fine. A lot of people did. This wasn't something out of the ordinary after all. But mercenary attitude or not, Lawrence finished the job he started. It was really too bad that Domingo was the one who really had the final say in everything – and he didn't even know it. Trust Vyse to pull something like that. Why exactly the Blue Rogue bothered was beyond Lawrence; he'd just taken the money without blinking. Still didn't mean he had to like it. But then again, it didn't matter if he liked it or not in the first place.

The sun was starting to near the mid-noon mark, judging from the way it was starting to hit the clouds. The fleecy white was quickly becoming a harsh sheet that blinded the eyes. Since he hadn't brought any tinted goggles with him, he decided it was time to go back inside. He stepped inside the cabin, past the narrow corridor lined with hung tools and rope and into the room he'd just left. Domingo hadn't moved yet from the helm.

"Huh, you're back," Domingo grunted. He turned away from the wheel, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, I figure we're stuck together, right?"

"That's the general idea," Lawrence shrugged.

"Well, I have some rules when you're on my ship. You're going to obey them since on my ship, I'm practically king."

"Fine."

"First: if I want to be at the helm, don't argue. My ship, my rules. Second, we all pull our weight around here. I know you're probably just signed up as a helmsman only, but you still have to help me with chores unless you want me pitching you over the side. Basically check up on the engines, stuff like that. Make sure it's not making any weird noises. Third, we do have to eat so we'll switch off every now and then on whose cooking. Got that?"

Lawrence raised an eyebrow. "I don't cook."

"I don't either. So long as it's remotely edible, I can handle it."

"Those terms are…acceptable," Lawrence said. He stepped up to the helm as Domingo headed down toward the stairs leading to the lower deck. "Anything else I should be aware of?"

"Don't go into my room and don't put in any holes in my ship."

Lawrence turned back to the helm as Domingo's voice drifted down the stairs. Like he'd bother to snoop. And he was one of the finest helmsmen in Arcadia; it was insulting to think he'd actually damage the Damascus. Even during against multiple Valuan warships, he'd faired well and he'd never sunk a ship he'd helmed in his entire career. But the mercenary bit his growing indignation back. He'd had worse employers and they'd asked for more, for far worse. But then again, he hadn't ever had to work with a former crewmate before. Especially one that he wasn't sure if he could tolerate or not.

I'm being paid well, Lawrence reminded himself for what was the tenth time today. He couldn't expect a job to only have perks. …I wonder if this ship has any weapons?

-------------------------

It was nearing night before they had made any real progress – the Damascus had continued up north from Crescent Isle and a few hours ago they passed Daccat's Island. Like all good sailors, Lawrence held his breath as he passed the dark blob in the dusk light. The old superstition was that Daccat's Island (among several other locations) was still haunted by the ghosts of the pirates who'd died there. If you breathed while passing such a place, it was generally believed that one of the pirates would see you with your mouth open and, taking that as open invitation, would jump right in, therefore possessing you. Not that Lawrence actually believed that those old tales, but it was hard to drop a habit once you picked it up.

After Daccat's Island, there wasn't really a whole lot of landmarks to rely on. Lawrence glanced over at the steel compass sitting next to the helm, against the glass of the window. Still north, although the needle was starting to lean north-west. The Damascus sailed forward at a leisurely speed of a few knots. By now, the yellow moon was starting to rise, casting the world in a faint amber glow. Outside the mercenary could see the lower clouds turning a violet tinge as the sun fully sank out of view.

Behind him, he heard a sound. Domingo had come and gone a few times since the last time they'd talked. Now he was back and bearing two trays, each with a wooden spoon and a steaming bowl.

"Again, I never said I could cook. But I've been eating my cooking for years and I haven't died yet, so I figure it's safe."

Lawrence nodded and took the tray, leaning on a stack of crates against the wall. The mercenary prodded the food with the spoon for a moment, inspecting it. It looked like some kind of gray-blue porridge, with thick lumps of meat and loaded down with vegetables. But it didn't smell like any porridge he'd ever eaten before. He tasted a spoonful of it experimentally, watching as Domingo did the same from where he'd sat down on the only chair in the cabin. It didn't taste horrible, but it wasn't good either. Bordering on tasteless, although it left an unpleasant aftertaste. Still, food was food.

Lawrence finished the bowl and set it aside before he spoke up.

"So where're we headed?"

Domingo spoke around his food, carved spoon still in his mouth, "Don't know, don't care. I just can't go back to Sailors' Island."

"So we're just wandering?"

"Pretty much."

"Without any particular destination?"

"Nope."

Great. I'm getting paid to wander. Lawrence glanced out the window – purple clouds in the distance, and beyond that, a dark smudge far off that was probably still part of Valua's mainland. They were going to hit the minor reefs in the morning at their moderate pace, but after that, there was several places they could go from there. But Lawrence could see it was going to be frustrating working with Domingo's methods; especially when he didn't seem to have anything whatsoever planned out.

"I guess we need to figure out a destination some time soon," Lawrence turned back to Domingo. "I need to know where I'm going."

Domingo scowled. "Look, I don't know yet. You'll know when I know - "

It was then that there was suddenly a flash of color. Domingo rocketed to his feet, the luckily-empty bowl clattering onto the wood floor and rolling to a stop harmlessly. Something was sailing over the Damascus as he crowded near the window with Lawrence not far behind him. It was like a tiny comet flying overhead, leaving a smoking yellow trail that crackled after the brilliantly glowing sphere. A moment of dumb staring before recognition hit.

Yellow moonstone flares. Domingo's jaw dropped:

"Someone's firing flares at me!" Domingo exploded. He whirled from the helm. His eyes narrowed. "They think I'm just going to pull over because they're shooting up my nose!"

He bristled as another yellow flare crackled overhead, fizzled, dropped closer this time toward the ship's prow. Domingo huffed at this and reached into one of the compartments built into the cabin's wall. Lawrence glanced out through one of the port windows:

"Can't tell if it's a Blue Rogue or not from their flags. Too dark to tell. But they've got their cannons out. We're too far to make use of any windfall from Valua and as far as I know, there're no major air currents we can reach."

"So we can't cut and run?"

"It's doubtful."

"You sound awfully concerned," Domingo said sarcastically. Lawrence had to admit he was impressed when he caught a glimpse of the compartment the explorer had just opened: a rack of different weapons had been hidden by a back panel that he'd pushed aside, dumping maps on the floor. Rows of small flintlock pistols, a three sabers, a small horde of knives of assorted lengths and makes, two scimitars, one with a red moonstone in its hilt, a cutlass, an anti-ship cannon and one large, strangely built rifle.

But upon closer inspection, Lawrence could see that few of the weapons in the miniature arsenal were in good shape. Their best bet was the anti-ship cannon, but it looked so ancient that he doubted it would even fire. In fact, the firing wick was missing. The flintlocks were dusty and he couldn't see if they even had ammunition. From the way they were arranged, they might as well be for show. The two sabers were chipped and badly needed to be sharpened. One of the scimitars was in the same shape. The cutlass looked in better condition, along with the rifle. The knives were too small to really bother with.

"If they're Blue Rogues, they're not going to start shooting for no reason," Domingo said. "But if they're not…well, I don't want them on my ship."

"You don't have cannons?" Lawrence asked, for once incredulous.

Domingo picked up the rifle, holding it out and staring down Angler's sights as another flare fizzled past the window, casting the room in a harsh yellow glow, "Are you kidding? I haven't had cannons since my last ship went down and I decided to stick to running. I didn't think Black Pirates – assuming we're not dealing with Blue Rogues – would attack us so close to Crescent Isle."

Lawrence glanced out the window again. The dark, angular shape of the larger ship trailing after them had closed the distance by a few yards. He could actually see the crew scurrying about the deck like little ants under the stars.

Domingo glanced at the weapons. "Most of this stuff is junk I was planning to sell. Don't know what you prefer to use."

"Cutlass but I left it in our quarters."

"No time to get it. Here," Domingo held out the cutlass. As an afterthought, he added the jeweled scimitar. "Take these."

Lawrence accepted them after another glance out the port window. The cannons were definitely pointed at the Damascus but they weren't firing. Definitely not a Blue Rogue ship – the sails were pure black, flapping in the wind. "I can see their flags – black ones. They're not firing."

" 'Course not. They can see I don't have cannons. And if they fire, we go down in a glorious fireball of flaming death with whatever loot they think I have; they know that this ship's too small to take any round of sustained fire. They're probably going to try to board us rather than risk anything."

Domingo finished his preparations, stuffing extra ammunition for his large rifle into his array of pouches at his hip. He reached over and punched one of the switches next to the helm. The Damascus jolted as more moonstone energy was fed to the engines and it jumped in speed, the violet clouds speeding past the hull like rushing water. Lawrence nearly lost his footing at the sudden jerk. Domingo braced himself. But the Black Pirate ship responded by increasing her speed as well.

"Gonna try to hit the reefs; this's the Damascus's top speed, so we need about a couple of hours until we hit them."

"Do you even have anything valuable on your ship?"

"Ha! I wish – I would be dumping it overboard right now so they could chase it down to the lower altitudes," Domingo automatically ducked as there was an explosion to their starboard side. Rolling thunder rocked the night air. A puff of thick smoke erupted just ahead of the ship and came billowing past, "Okay, now they're shooting at us."

Trying to slow us down. Lawrence hefted the cutlass. Good balance. Not as refined as his own weapon, but it'd work. The Black Pirates had to know what Domingo's plan was – they'd get boarded pretty soon. The Damascus was practically leaping through the sky, racing forward through the waves of clouds. At this speed, the Black Pirates' vessel probably couldn't keep up by the time they reached the reefs, although she was certainly trying. But that was assuming they wouldn't be boarding before then.

Glints of silver were arcing in the air even as he eyed the larger ship. Grappling hooks, followed by lengths of reinforcing wire to make the passage between ships safer. Domingo muttered an impressive epithet as he slammed the compartment shut and stalked out of the cabin. Lawrence followed. The explorer jammed the heavy door closed and locked it. He locked all the doors in the narrow corridor before leading the way up to the deck. The wind had increased drastically since Lawrence had been last up there.

"There's only one way into the rest of the Damascus!" Domingo shouted over the whistling wind. He jerked a thumb back at the door he'd left open behind them – it'd give them so place to retreat to, but in a fight, there wouldn't be time to unlock the doors. "Okay, I'm going to try to take out their hooks, so cover me!"

Lawrence nodded and headed toward the closest of the grabbling hooks imbedded into the Damascus.

The first of the pirates was already making his way between the two creaking ships, easily straddling the swaying wires. Behind him, Domingo turned and aimed toward the Black Pirates' vessel. Most ships big enough to have automated grappling hooks used machines to propel them, but they were still man-powered. He'd have to find the man responsible and take him down. Domingo didn't like killing, but he liked being killed even less. So it was when, staring into the sight of the rifle, he found the first man at the grapple-machine's pump, he pulled on the trigger without hesitation. The first shot missed because Angler's sight was off, but he managed to readjust before the shadow at the pump could duck or realize what direction the shot had come from.

The second shot dropped him. Without a man operating the machine's pump, the reinforcing wires slackened and the make-shift "bridge" between ships suddenly jerked violently. The pirates clung onto the supports as one of the cables fell off from the Damascus and drifted under the Black Pirate's vessel, no more than a silver thread. Lawrence succeeded in sawing through one of the ropes and the bridge teetered again, dipped drunkenly to the side as Domingo's ship started to pull forcefully ahead.

Lawrence was there to meet the first man across the bridge. A shot ran out overhead and suddenly the pirate, grimacing, clutched his shoulder and tumbled backward over the railing and into the lower altitudes of the sky. Lawrence glanced over his shoulder to hiss that he could take care of these just fine, but Domingo was already pointing that oversized rifle of his back at the enemy ship.

When we get out of this, I'm asking for a bonus, Lawrence vowed as the second pirate evaded his slash and scampered onto the deck. A big bonus, the darkly-haired mercenary decided as the bearded opponent weaved around his next slash and met his third with a clash of steel against steel. I didn't get paid to fight scum like this.

Lawrence swung around with the scimitar and caught the hapless pirate in the side. Dropping the scimitar, the mercenary hurriedly grabbed hold of the other's grimy shirt and pitched him over the side without remorse. A low wail that quickly trailed off as the wounded man disappeared through the clouds. Lawrence set back to work sawing at another of the large cables but had to pull back before the next man came across the bridge.

Domingo had begun picking off the unfortunates still within range of Angler, but he had to duck back into the doorway behind him when they started firing back at him. Giving up on sniping at the enemy ship, he began focusing on covering Lawrence's back. He could still see the bridge stretched out taut between the Black Pirates' ship that was starting to fall behind. A shot rang out and one of the men clinging onto the cables dropped into the night.

But more were starting to swarm over and he couldn't pick them all off. And that was before the small canister fell from the enemy ship's direction and began spewing a foul gray gas after rolling to a stop near the door. Coughing, lungs burning, Domingo scrambled out. A few shots exploded far too close to him for comfort – luckily for him, the gas cloud that drove him out from his hiding place was also making it difficult for the other sharpshooters to get a fix on him. He had to hurry up and help Lawrence.

Lawrence was too busy fending off two of the boarding party to finish sawing at the main rope. Removing the dagger from his belt, Domingo began sawing ferociously at the rope, cursing its thickness, cursing the fact that he hadn't brought a bigger blade and cursing all pirates in existence and wishing he could kick them all down to Deep Sky. In fact, I'm going to kill Polly after all this, he decided irately. The smoke cloud was drifting over from the cabin, but the shots from the pirates were beginning to get too close for his liking.

Domingo managed to get more than half way through the main rope tethering the two ships together. The Damascus strained forward, engines humming through the deck. The air was alive with gunfire, the awful smell of the gas, the creaking of the two ships, jeering shouts from the pirates across the sky and the sharp clangs of swords against one another. In fact, throughout the chaos erupting around him, it took the explorer a long moment to realize when he'd actually been shot.

It wasn't like he hadn't heard it. A roar closer than all the others. But he'd focused so much on his work that he hadn't realized immediately that he was starting to bleed from his thigh. Pain began blossoming out from the wound as blood did the same through his brown trousers. Distracted, the explorer almost stopped cutting at the main tether. He'd only been shot once before and that'd been an accident, when he'd been a kid. Somehow he didn't remember it hurting so damn much. His vision began to whirl sickeningly but he attacked the ropes with more energy than before.

If he looked down at the wound again, he probably was going to either pass out like an idiot or throw up. Both of which weren't particularly appealing scenarios.

To his right he heard the sound of someone dropping heavily to the deck with a thud. Hoping that it hadn't been Lawrence, he continued to saw at the tether but his fingers were fumbling clumsily and he almost dropped the knife.

Footsteps behind him.

Someone's hand covered his and helped Domingo cut through the last bits of the rope.

The Damascus bucked again as the main cable slithered away; the force of the smaller ship lunging forward snapped the remaining cables, sending them whipping about every which way and tossing sailors left and right. Domingo fell backward onto his rear as his ship fled from the Black Pirates. Finally. His ship wouldn't have any problems navigating the reef. Watching as the Damascus began to pull merrily away from the ebony vessel, he tried to lever himself up to his legs. Someone had to unlock the doors so Lawrence could go back and do that stupid job that Domingo could do on his own, except Vyse had to be a meddling idiot and try to play matchmaker, not that he liked Lawrence in that way, but…

Well, assuming he liked guys, which was really up in the air considering that fact that his romantic relations were pretty much nonexistent despite whatever rumors Polly and Amelia were spreading...

His legs trembled but held, although the wounded one was screaming in agony whenever he put weight on it. Domingo caught Lawrence staring with mild concern at him, but he just tried to shoo the mercenary away. Probably checking me out or something…Moons, this hurts, dammit. Stupid Vyse. Stupid Black Pirates. Stupid Lawrence, stupid Amelia and stupid Polly for getting him shot. He hadn't ever gotten shot when he'd moped around in the safety of Sailor's Island…

"You're not gettin' paid to stare," Domingo gritted through clenched teeth to Lawrence, one gloved hand pressed down on his thigh.

"Where's the key?"

"Keep your pants on, I'll…I'll get them," Domingo reached and felt about his pockets. It seemed to take a long time to find it since he apparently forgot where he put the thing. That and what with his vision tunneling in and out to annoy him, it wasn't fun. "..Here."

He held out the key. But his vision blacked out for a second and he realized, startled, that Lawrence had suddenly materialized in front of him since then. Frowning in irritation, Domingo handed the tall mercenary his key. Satisfied with that, Domingo hobbled over to the cabin's entrance and sat himself down against its outer wall. It'd take a decade for Lawrence to open up all those doors. He didn't want to wait for him to get to the bandages or whatever they were called or something since those stupid, thrice-damned pirates had made his cabin interior smell like an interesting mix of wet huskra and rotten eggs.

He wasn't aware that Lawrence was kneeling before him and shaking his shoulder until his vision suddenly swam back into focus for a brief second.

"Stop shakin' me…I'm not a dog!"

"You can't just sit out here."

"…I can damn well sit out here if I want to," Domingo muttered. "Leave me alone. Jus' go downstairs…get the aid kit thing."

"You're not sitting out here and bleeding all over the place."

"I'm not bleedin' all over my ship. Don't tell me what I'm doin'. I know what I'm doin'…" Domingo trailed off, intending to take a nap but Lawrence kept being a jerk and shaking him like he was some child's toy. "…Stop feelin' me up, I'm fine!"

"Get up. You're not staying out here while those pirates're still behind us."

"I can do whatever I want, Lawrence," Domingo tried to glare. "…My rules, remember?... If I wanna pass out right here, I can. 'Cause it's my ship an' not yours so my rules an' I say I wanna pass out here."

"You're not passing out here, dammit."

"Yes I am," Domingo said and promptly passed out.



To be continued
------------------------- Whoo plot. Had to throw in some dorky references. If you caught the Spaceballs reference, you get a cookie. Of air. Yep. Congrats. Anyway, I write this on and off so...yeah, I update whenever. ; And plot comes before slash, so...yep. Might do some SoA fanart later.