Martina gave each man a long look, anticipation and a dash of excitement tinging her heart. The preparations were done he had said and then nothing, no elaboration from either side. What had they prepared? What was done? A surprise for them no doubt, perhaps they had more fighters brought in or a ploy with another family to try and bring them to heel. The suspense was killing her! And it finally got the best of her.
"Someone speak and tell me what's done!"
The words slipped out quickly and with a little whine added to it, curse her and her weakness for surprises. She waited for someone to say something, but not the man with a face like a chopping block or Lotta's boy uttered a word, just relaxing and lunging in his big chair like a kid with a new toy. Infuriating lot. Puma sensing her displeasure kneaded the boy's shoulder with his claws, making him squawk in surprise and raise a hand at her baby.
"You touch the cat and I put your head through the desk. Capisce?"
She said with a hand on a knife, the newcomer put his hand on the grip of his pistol and Nicolas half drew a sword. The room was suddenly charged with tension, everyone immobile and waiting for the pin to drop and set everyone into motion.
Lotta coughed loudly and drew all the attention towards him and with one motion of his hand everyone put down their weapons. Martina called Puma back to her and scratched its head while it sat on her lap.
"Forgive me I forgot myself for a second. It's just such a pleasant surprise when a chip falls into your hand."
Unamused, she rolled her eyes. This was dragging for too long, why, it felt like she had been waiting for the conclusion of this negotiation for months on end. Surprise or not, she would end this now.
"Then use it and let's be done with this, I'm growing thirsty."
"Absolutely, but I must say you have a lovely ship."
She blinked in confusion and then the coin fell through the slot.
"Thank you, we take good care of it."
Answered Nicolas, and she was unsure if he got the implied threat or not. Actually, everyone looked to be wondering the same but Lott- no, not boy. He proved himself- Coltello carried on.
"It certainly looks well cared for, a schooner with red flags and a wide crow's nest. It would be a pity if something were to happen to it."
With a gasp and a widening of the eyes Nicolas finally realized what he meant, and he whispered so that only her sharp ears heard him.
"My lemonies."
Martina gave Coltello an approving nod, and a slow clap. Ah, so he has it in him. There is some good iron in him, a worthy foe, a villain for her story.
"Excellent, you found the one thing we couldn't protect. The Beatriz. Now you have something of ours and we have all of yours, how do you say we carry on?"
"We give you the ship, you leave us alone. The story ends here and if we are lucky, we never see each other again for the rest of our lives."
She pushed the desk with the tip of her toes until her chair was balancing on the back legs as she thought. The Beatriz had everything they owned, clothes, weapons, supplies, gifts, but most importantly, their journals. In a sense it carried their lives from the before and the now. Their last refuge in this savage place, their only weakness.
But the terms weren't to her satisfaction, they climbed all the way up to this place, they trampled over so many just to leave with their tails between their legs? No! She came for everything; she would leave with something!
"That's not how negotiations are done, we have expenses too. I tell you what I have and what I need to pay for what you made us waste and then we come to an agreement, that is how this works."
She threw his father's words right back at him while masking a snort. Coltello's eye began to twitch furiously, a thousand ticks a second even. Men did the most stupid things when their egos came boiled, and she didn't want the Beatriz to be sunk for it. So, she did what anyone else did when the water was too hot, throw some ice in it.
So, with her best smile she began to speak, making sure that
"Coltello, love, I believe you forgot something when you started this, if our ship is sunk we will lose a lot of things we hold dear- that much is true- but we will be land locked with your family. You will be locked with us. And we will have nothing left to do but make sure that your people suffer our presence every single day. Every single minute of our stay."
Puma rumbled as she found his sweet spot and she smiled at the little furball; he was a great anti-stress measure. And gods she needed it; this was a gamble with a whole lot on the stakes now. It wasn't just the ship at stake but also their agenda, even a week missed could throw every single plan they had for the monkey's crew and their treasures.
Masking her worry she looked at the two heads of the family and saw nothing, they were fucking good hiding their feelings. Nicolas was behind everyone in the game as his face went through a hundred expressions while they spoke, he was an open book with the biggest font ever seen.
Trying to drive the nail in just a tiny bit, she added.
"Would you two fancy meeting us every day. Every single day we will come to your house, to eat, to sleep, to- well I'm sure we will find more things to do when- or if- the time comes."
The Lottas shared a shudder at the thought of having these two breaking into their house every single day, they would be more comfortable living in the filth of the slums than with them. Mondo could imagine the woman would keep anything that caught her fancy, before things could derail once more he spoke up. This meeting was shaving years off his life, better end it now and be done with it.
"We will pay the difference after deducting the cost of your ship and the devil fruit in our possession. Eight hundred thousand bellies, that is all we can afford."
"Excellent, but don't forget the Child's Bane. I want ten crates, waterproofed mind you."
He simply nodded and signalled for Petro to go and flag the storehouse to move the merchandise to the moors, he couldn't wait for this to end. He needed to rest before he sorted out the headache that would be to cover everything that was broken; houses, streets, furniture, people, they would have to pay for it all. If he wasn't so very tired of it all he would have cuffed his son for making them bleed so much money, but a warm spot rose in his chest as he remembered how he had handled the aftermath. He had covered a million- give or take- of the fallout he had caused, mind you the total tally would be far more but still, he had behaved adequately.
Just some more nudges and he would be able to retire without too many a worry, just a few more hard lessons and he would be ready. If he lived. He hoped to still be around to see him take care of the family.
Seas be damned, he was tired of it all. When had he become so old?
[O.o]
From behind a door that melded itself against the walls, the slave listened to them. He stood with his ear planted against the wood, shaggy clothes plastered against his back and arms folded around himself.
It was ending, he thought gloomily to himself, they were leaving and with them their songs would go back to the seas where he couldn't reach them. He reached towards the doorknob and stopped, the chains of his orders pulling him back to the spot where he was told to wait.
He tighten his arms around himself and squeezed, it was comforting and it made the pain ease a little; but it also made his wounds bleed until the back of his shirt was soaked, it didn't matter, pain was his companion and far better than what would be done to him if he disobeyed.
And so the slave hugged himself and listened with his eyes closed, drinking the melody he could never replicate. The drum and the trumpet played as they negotiated, and he now knew it was trumpet that could make those sounds; he had found out when coming back from his last mission, a player had set up near one of the moors with a little hat in front of him.
It had been beautiful; it had broken his chains a little and made him dance in his head and made him remember. Remember his island and the trees, the trees he used to hang from, and people. He thought of people without faces but with arms just like him, people that hadn't called him slave or monster but friend and son. Son!
He hugged himself tighter as he remembered, he couldn't move! He had been ordered not to!
A warm little drop run down his face and he cleaned his cheek with his shoulder, he couldn't let go. He squeezed tighter until it hurt, if he let go he would disobey and then- and then. Then he would be locked in his damp cell, he would be starved, he would be hit. He would be punished.
Yet he felt his arms trying to let go. He wrestled with himself, his breath quickened as he realized what he was going to do, he was lightheaded already from his nerves. But his fingers still found the brass of the knob, they gripped it tightly not letting him retreat into his fear- into his chains.
His head was full of cruel futures as he slowly turned his hand, but they didn't weigh as much as the present. He had lived in fear as far as he could remember, in fear of the whip and the scissors, in fear of not eating, but even then, he moved! He moved because a life of fear has no strength before a moment of courage. And before his moment ended, he pushed the door open and froze as five sets of eyes turned to stare at him.
Oh.
Oh, no.
His courage quickly shrivelled up. His arms surrounded him in an instant and his head retreated to the safety of his hug.
Oh how he regretted it now, he shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have moved at all!
Why did he do it!
But at the bottom of his heart he knew the answer.
