For a little more than a week, the only real trouble that had fallen upon the two of them had been a single spring rainstorm. But the worst that had dropped on Nicolas had been how to cook a moray, oh the woe he had felt, he had to cut off that filmy skin of it and that had been a task on itself. Scales shouldn't be that bloody slippery. And in the end, he had chosen to deep fry everything, there was simply no way to go wrong with that, with seasoned flour and oil and butter the whole thing had gone down everyone's gullet easy as it had swum from the deep.

Even the cat had eaten. And that thought made him grip the wheel harder, rubbing the polished wood in barely held anger. He had put apart scraps for it, cooked them just as fine as he had cooked for his sister and him and she still fed it off her plate. It was an insult, an insult to his effort to give it to the animal but if there was something she could do without even trying was tick him off. Annoy the good out of him and have him strangling whatever he could grip, just like she was doing right now.

She was singing, just that. But she kept messing the notes and going high when it should have been low and going off key as she peeked from the edge of her hammock and smiled through the net at him.

Ringaroo, musharoo

The sails were made of whore house bed sheets

Masts stood tall like sailors' loin meat

She sang with a fire every piece of it and her hammock swung wildly from in between the sail's wood and the crow's nest. As dangerous a place to be hanging by as any, but she still chose that spot and hugged her cat as she drunk and drunk. He couldn't tell her to stop either, today was her free day, they had made the rule, a week of dry law to a day of rest from it. She said she needed it, needed it just like he needed his smokes, that were dwindling to nothing by the day, and he didn't have anything to counter.

"Here comes the choir. Nicolas, sing with me!"

"No,"

"Come on! You know the verse,"

"Not going to sing that,"

"Boo!"

Her voice was high in protest, just like it was the last time she had asked and the last before that. Boredom was an enemy she just couldn't deal with, and the worst of it she dragged him into that fight every single time.

Abraham's son had small cocks they say

He eyed her from the roof of the aft castle and then eyed the sails she was hanging off, as dangerous a spot as any.

Ringaroo, musharoo

Dangerous because if, for one reason or another, the clothe were to take a wind head on it would start convulsing worse than an addict on Red Bull. His hands slowly turned the ship to larboard, so very slowly she didn't realize and just kept shouting the verses.

Fornicated anyway

The left of the sail began to flap uncertainly as their ship started to take the wind wrong.

Ringaroo, musha- fuck!

Wind caressed it with the tact of a child passing by a fence with a stick in hand, each flapping spasm of the wood shook her hammock like someone trying to wake up a drunk and she quaked with each one.

"Nicolas! Fuck you! Turn the ship!"

"Aye, Captain!"

The wind couldn't drown the mirth in his voice as she held for dear life to the edges of the net, Loco nailed to her chest by his claws and he was sure it was hissing a storm up there from the scare. Ah, vengeance, he though contentedly as he pushed a butter cookie into his mouth, almost as sweet as my cooking. Martina stared at him with a fury, teeth bared in a wavering snarl as the fright still held her and he waved at her and thought about how he had changed, never in his life would he have joked like that. Not when she could have fallen, could have hurt herself, but now he knew for a fact she could jump from the crow nest and walk away with nigh a bother.

A piece of him was still bothered by the prank, she could have hurt herself, it told him with the ice of recrimination, what would you have done then? The query made the sweet banish and seem stale and sick. Damn him and his conscience. The happiness just didn't last in him and he took a cigar from his polished case and set to light it, the smoke more in tune with the taste of regret and a bad conscience.

Now the ship sat in silence save for the mewling of the wind and the snatches of music of the waves being cut. He took a long drag and let it go through his nose, drowning his mouth and neck in a scarf of sad grey smoke. But just as the mire of his thoughts kept dragging him ever downwards Martina shouted with a burning excitement.

"A seagull! We are near land!"

He raised his head and eyed the bird uncertainly, their course was set and they shouldn't be meeting any ground for another couple of days, had the animal been blown away or had they cut the time on their trip for some strange reason. As it drew closer he could see a bright red strip hanging from its neck and a little later he could distinguish that it wasn't a big headed animal as he had first thought, wouldn't surprise him any if it were, but that it had a white hat instead and his sister saw it too as she blew a sigh and waved at it to draw closer.

"A News Gull, then. Think it has something of note?"

He still liked to call them News Coo, but that was how people called them everywhere else but not in the North, here it was News Gull because somehow the press had broken off from the World Government and refused to even call their deliveries the same. Or at least that was how people said it was, but they had trouble believing that when the leader of it was that Miss Stussy.

"Just hoping it doesn't have the Monkey's photo yet,"

"Right. Pray that he hasn't butted head with the axe hand yet,"

"You could try doing too,"

"And risk bursting in flames? No thank you,"

Shaking his head he took another drag just as the bird started setting on their rail, it squawked something miserable and took to the air when it saw Loco staring at it from behind Martina. She chided it and pushed him away with her leg before standing before the news delivery, who kept stealing glances at the big cat, it looked mighty worried about the cat and Nicolas couldn't shake the feeling that it would pounce on it any second now.

"Puma,"

He warned with a hiss that had the feline staring back at him, its eyes narrowing in challenge. There was no doubt that the damn thing could understand him and just like Martina it loved to see him rage. It took a slow step forward and his teeth bit into the cigar a bit.

"Stop bothering him, he might get it right this time and run you through,"

Was all Martina had to say and the cat sniffed condescendingly, as if his chances of getting him were nil and worth nothing. He wanted to flicker to its side and grab it, just to see it scared again, but he was the helmsman right now and he wasn't about to abandon his post just for that. His sister took the paper it offered and turned around, the bird making every noise it could and twisting its wing to point at the little bag on its chest in alarm and righteous outrage.

"Nico, please pay him,"

Rolling his eyes to the sky and beyond he fished a thousand berries bill and waved it, the bird turned its too big eyes towards him and flew, picking the bill with its beak, settling on the sail's wood and pocketing it before climbing up the sky and going on its way. His sister kept looking at it fly and he wasn't sure if she was looking at it with envy or just measuring the shot to get the money back, he tried to take her attention before she did the latter.

"And? What does it say?"

"Nothing much. A freighter was lost in the West Blue, a pirate called Red Cap Jon stole a merchant's wife, oh. Oh! Hear this, the island of Goral was readying itself for the execution of high time criminal Baron when the pirate upstart Trafalgar Law decided to interfere. The rookie took down the two Marine Captains assigned to the garrison in a head on confrontation before freeing the killer and taking to sea with him,"

"That's a big oh,"

"Right it is, think we will meet with the Flamingo Hunter? He is cute in the photo,"

"Martina, you might have the worst taste in men I have ever seen. The man is called the Surgeon of Death and all hung up on killing and revenge,"

She barked a short laugh at that.

"As if you never struck it with one a few players short in the head. And you can't deny he has that tough guy attitude going for him. Even if he is all frown, I know I can get him to smile if you get my meaning?"

"I do, and I hope I didn't,"

"Prude,"

"Brat,"

"Cue ball head,"

"Melon chest,"

"Why, thank you,"

He just hoped they would pick up someone shortly, being confined to a floating tub alone with his sister was testing at the best of times and torture at the worst.

[O.o]

The vanilla fell one drop at a time, one burst of sweet aroma after another, right into the fluffy mix of butter and sugar and eggs. It was more sugar than anything but that was how he liked it, and the cat couldn't take that much sugar so all the better. That was how he relaxed, the moments that let him stay clear of his nerves and everything besides, it was in the smells that fluttered what put him in a spell that had him breathing slow and steady and without a worry in the world. It was his country, his family, and his kin that he was honoring with every plate, with every part of tradition and dedication he poured over them.

This was his altar, and nothing disturbed him here.

"Nicolas!"

Nothing disturbed him here.

"Nicooolas!"

Nothing.

The door almost flew from its hinges as Martina kicked it open, it slammed against the wall when they held themselves fast and he looked at the almost finished dough sadly. There was no mistake she was about to ask him to do something that would take him away from putting the finishing touches. And he sighed at that.

"What?"

He asked, resigned to his fate of being the man of the ship and thus the one that did the lifting.

"You shat a storm! I can't go the bath because you murdered it!"

"Come again?"

"Stop! Eating! Spicy! Things! I had to shoot myself in the nose after I opened the door!"

"Well, open a window,"

There wasn't much to do for that business and he felt himself smile at that, he could finish his dough it seemed.

"There are no fucking windows here. Not unless I start hacking at the wood and I don't want us making water so do something,"

"Use vinegar and lemon and it will go away,"

He gave her his back as he fetched a big bottle of vinegar and another of lemon juice, turning around he put them forward for her to grab. But she only looked at them, her eye twitching funnily.

"You messed it up, you go clean it up,"

"I'm busy,"

"You can come back to cooking after cleaning. I am about to pee myself!"

He was going to put a lock on the kitchen's door and he was going to lock the place every single time he had to cook so that no one could bother him or burst in. Cleaning will have to do for now, he thought sullenly.


Hallo! A bonus chapter, though it should have been last sundays. The song is real enough and called Ringaroo at Cooper's inn by The Banished Privateers

Also, last chapter's song was a rough translation I did from Mas Atorrante Que Nunca by Cacho CastaƱa -my favourite singer-

Cheerios