A/N My computer room is ant-infested, they're literally crawling up my leg... -.- Anyway: this chapter was contrived through about three hours of the story developing a mind of its own (I also blame Aoi's voice) and going 'hey, let's go on an adventure!' and dragging this reluctant writer (because the Plan. THE PLAN) along but luckily it was friendly this time and the plan still exists (phew).

Did I mention this was going to be updated frequently? *v*

whiteangel83 ahh thank you :)) I am definitely considering your suggestion. Initially I really wasn't sure where I wanted to take this story and just left it as M to be safe, but at the rate this is going, it's looking to be doubtful. Incredibly happy that you're enjoying my writing 33

fluffilydeep thank you :)) actually quite fortunate I'm writing this now as opposed to a couple of years ago - the protags wouldn't have met until pg 100 XD I'm honoured you think so highly of my writing - many thanks for the encouraging words!

guest thank you for the love~

./\_/\.
( o.o )

Firenight

Chapter 3

The perfect image.

Aoi pressed a lock of golden hair to glossed lips and smiled gently. He must admit, he'd absolutely outdone himself. The skirt was white, composed of crisp layered fabrics adorned with ornate frills. The hems were embroidered with a montage of hummingbirds with their beaks dipped in red threaded nectar. Exquisite, dainty, feminine.

It was perfect for where he was today. He stood out like a flower in a cesspit – the brilliant white and carefully applied perfume gave him an aura of untouchability in the jostling crowd of dirt and sweat-slicked bodies. Scowling at the mud coalescing in the uneven grooves of the ground, he lifted up the edge of his skirt and stepped hauntily around. He loved beauty, but above all, he valued practicality. His boots were of sturdy leather with thick soles. They were much like the ones the rest of the fishermen and the thugs and the ware-mongers used, but of an infinitely higher class.

It was a wonderful day, Aoi thought. He sighed through a smile. They so rarely docked in populated places – where there were actually people to appreciate him. Prancing aboard the deck of the ship to the ungrateful eyes of his companions got boring, fast. Fresh eyes, the look of adoration and ill concealed envy was what he thrived in. Where he was now, these side-long looks were abundant.

The docks had to be his favourite haunt, after all. Though many people were there for scrupulous practices, the whore-houses and body-sellers resided almost exclusively near the docks. Attracting otherwise occupied gazes was a refreshing experience, and gave Aoi the feeling of almost drunken glee.

He felt a cackle coming on and hastily quashed it. Gently, gently... I'm a young girl, not a witch.

A chance glance to the side netted him a wide-eyed stare from... a beautiful man. Aoi's eyes widened a small fraction in appreciation and candid acknowledgement of the glaring woman beside him, before quickly turning away to hide another snigger.

He thought mournfully back to the ship. Aw, maybe I can convince him to dock again, soon. But Capt'n was pretty grouchy yesterday. Damn it.

Though he really shouldn't have been surprised. It was that time of the year again. They had successfully unloaded their last Navigator just a few hours previously. A strapping young lad, who'd luckily gone home to his parents and the job hunting with all four limbs intact. And his organs. Can't forget the organs. Of course he couldn't forget. Aoi rubbed his nose. The last Navigator had seen more than he should of. Tried to hide it, of course, but Capt'n had always been a perceptive one, and caught him out on it by the nervous twitch of a moustache. He'd lost his tongue, to stop him from babbling. He'd almost lost his hands, to stop him from writing it all out anyway, and in fact the axe was already a fifth of the way through his wrist before somebody recalled that he hadn't been able to read the damn contract. Their contracts were simple affairs, because negotiation was difficult when you were stranded on a hostile ship in the middle of the ocean. If he couldn't read it fat chance he could actually write anything.

Aoi turned a corner, away from the main thoroughfare and into a quiet alley. Sighing, he ran a hand through curled blonde locks, patted down his skirt and fitted the wig more securely on his head. The street was paved, he noted in approval, and allowed the hem of the skirt to fall from his hands. Comfortable now, he hummed as he strode down the alley. Willow's Rest, number 20.

The brass digits inscribed on the face of each door were faded, some gone completely. One half of the street numbered 32, 3, 29, 7 ...

Willow's Rest, luckily, was a reputable inn. As there happened to be a shortage of reputable inns in those parts, it was also particularly popular.

Light spilled from rounded windows, and the voices of conversation drifted from underneath the doorjamb and from the air vents ringing the slated roof. The inn was constructed of quaint rosewood. Ivy climbed the walls from strategically positioned clay pots. Their tendrils crept through the windows, reaching for the firelight.

Aoi whisked open the door and strode boldly in. Conversation stopped. Dice clattered to stillness. All eyes drew to him.

Aoi basked. It wasn't a rare occurrence, but it still filled him with a happy golden glow to feel not one subtracted gaze from the roomful of people staring. They reveled in his beauty, as much as he did. It was an appreciation of art, an open appreciation of who he was. He loved it. He lived on it.

His aunt was a fool.

"Ah, Aoi!"

A young bar-maid with a full figure and voluminous red hair bustled from behind a set of curtains.

"Erika! You haven't changed at all, the bar's still as busy as ever." Bitterness briefly forgotten, Aoi hopped onto a stool and grabbed the drink Erika slid to him.

Erika laughed. "I would say the same, but I think you've grown even prettier, you cutey. The salt air must have been doing wonders."

Aoi took a deep breath and tipped the glass down. Mm, pepper fruit. It filled him with a pleasant heat that stole into his bones and made his entire body feel like a furnace. When the temperature died down, he felt himself visibly relax and smiled warmly at Erika. Conversation had also started up in the meantime, and Aoi raised his voice to speak over the din.

"Ha! I wouldn't say so. Hinata's been grumbling about 'salted fish for lunch, salted fish for dinner, salted fish for breakfast' all week. Last I saw him he looked pretty miserable. I think that's partly why Capt'n stopped so early in the season, just to restock on stuff that isn't salt-preserved. Breathing in the salt air and eating salt, it's like you've been preserved yourself. Sucked dry." Aoi flipped his hair smugly. "Well, only some people."

Erika laughed and reached over to pinch Aoi's cheek. "Firm and perfectly moisturized. No indication of salt-sickness at all." Aoi pouted.

"So, how have you been?" Aoi asked, twirling the glass around idly with his fingers.

"How have I been?" Erika repeated thoughtfully. "Hm, I do believe it's getting more civilized around here. We haven't had to hire bouncers in months. I don't know how much of it is because of the rowdy ones being drafted to the army though, but I'm happy for the inn." She smiled fondly at the glittering counter. "We've built a good place," she said with quiet pride.

Aoi frowned. "Drafted? Aren't we at peace now? We get the news about half a year behind everyone else, in the middle of the ocean and all."

Erika shrugged helplessly. "It's all been very confusing," she mused. "I think it's part of the negotiations – we're giving away some of our military power as our part of the penalty. But who knows how the war started in the first place. Everyone was shocked when it ended –in our defeat no less. No casualties were reported, the country seemed intact. It just... ended. Bah, politics. It's too long winded and knotted up for ordinary folks. But Aoi, tell me something. You're not here just to talk aren't you?"

Aoi sighed. "Aye, it's dangerous for us to dock too long," he said, and regretfully slid the empty glass back over the counter. He stood, letting the skirts tumble prettily back into natural pleats. "I'm already overdue. So, Erika, where is out little Navigator?"

Eriki lifted up a finger as a gesture for patience. She slipped away to whisper into another girl's ear, who nodded and took up station behind the bar. Erika bent her head in Aoi's direction.

Aoi weaved through the crowd and followed Erika's lead.

She moved to the back of the inn, a small alcove that was hung with smoked meats and the carcasses of hunting birds. Aoi wrinkled his nose as they ducked under the bright pink snout of a whole suckling pig, rejoining a patient Erika beside a low door.

"He's a little nervous," she whispered to Aoi. "Try not to frighten him, okay?"

Aoi nodded.

Erika knocked softly on the door. "Misato-kun, I'm coming in."

Aoi's first impression of Misato Kuretaka fretted over the utter lack of sexual interest present in his fierce gaze. Impossible! Aoi's jaw dropped. A boy in puberty... he's staring right at me. And he's not blushing! Enraged, Aoi was about to stalk right up to this anomaly of nature and poke him several times fiercely in the chest to demand what plane he could possibly have come from before noticing a singularly important thing.

The boy – in defiance to his slim build – had hefted a chair up to his shoulder. The gleam in his eye suggested he was prepared to use it as a sledgehammer if provoked. Aoi did a double-take and forced a smile on his face. He hoped it didn't look as contrived as it felt.

He extended a hand. Civility, remember, be civilised. "My name is Aoi, and you're our new Navigator?"

Misato slowly put down his chair. He eyed Aoi's hand as if it was going to bite him. Aoi was just about tired of keeping up the pretense of the smile when Misaki said bluntly, "You're a guy."

Aoi did a double-take, the second one in the day and within a minute no less, he must be getting infirm. What! The only one who'd realised so quickly before was Capt'n, and his perception is legendary. "What does it matter?" he huffed.

Surprisingly, a hot flush rose in Misato's cheeks. Huh, maybe he's not as unaffected as I thought. "I'm sorry, it just surprised me. Erika?" Misato looked at the red-haired barmaid wide eyed.

"Yes?" Erika returned it with a kind gaze.

"He's my contact?"

"Mhm. He's a crew member, the Master of maps. You're to be his Navigator."

"Alright."

Misato took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself. He stuck out his hand. "I'll sign the contract."

Aoi cocked his head. Misato really was a shy one, his face was sheet white. Though it was understandable he supposed. He remembered when he first signed on board – the prospect of never touching land in weeks frightened him. Leaving home filled him with a stubborn apprehension. He was free – but with freedom came a distinct sensation of displacement. He'd felt lost. The world was too broad and had borders that stretched beyond any visible horizon. Now it was all open to him, ripe for exploration. Ripe for finding himself.

With that in mind, he offered a genuine smile. "We'll help you. Everyone's friendly on the ship. Except maybe the Capt'n. He's a bastard. But you'll be working under me anyway. Still, tell me a few things..."

He trusted Erika, but it never hurt to do his own tests. Recalling a particularly interesting collision of weather patterns and political skirmishes near the southern Tasman he'd read in the ship logs, he rattled off data, statistics, coordinates. Misato listened with intent eyes, he felt as if he could see the information being shifted, reorganised and filtered with the precision of a peanut sheller.

When he'd finished, Misato followed with his answer without breaking a pause. Aoi listened to the rapid fire of his confident voice with satisfaction.

When Misato'd finished, he turned to Erika. "Perfect," he said with genuine admiration.

Erika gave an enigmatic smile. "When have I ever failed you, cute Aoi?"

Ha, Aoi scoffed inwardly, remembering a dismembered tongue. Outwardly, he gave Erika a mysterious look and said nothing more.

"Um. So. The ship."

"What? Oh, you'll need to sign the contract first."

He produced a paper and a quill from the numerous folds of his skirt. When Misato was done, Aoi watched impatiently as Erika showered the boy with gifts and bottles of pepper juice. The crew was going to be senseless for days.

Misato's ineffectual protests in the background, Aoi glanced at the sky and winced. The time, the time. Capt'n was going to kill him.

The girl who was really a boy had been walking faster and faster ever since they'd left the inn. Misa picked up her pace, wincing at the weight of bottles and hampers strapped to her back by the over-enthusiastic Erika. Has it only been a month? Just three weeks earlier, Satsuki had thrown an unsteady pile of books into her room, and insisted she would not unlock the door until Misa had finished reading and memorizing the contents.

"All of it?" she'd asked.

"Yes!" Satsuki had shouted. "Even the damn punctuation."

Something about becoming a 'Navigator'. She'd been weary, and needed something to channel the frustration of inaction. So she'd thrown herself into the books, devoured the pages, ingrained the words until she could name the exact page and volume they'd come from. When Satsuki checked on her a week later, she'd declared her ready and before Misa could dissolve back into her depressive funk, whisked her away to an isolated old hut on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea.

An old man lived there, so withered that he'd needed Misa to carry him bodily up the two shallow steps to his own home. Take care of him for two weeks, was Satsuki's cheerful instructions. It turned out the old man used to be a famous seiko diver back in the day. He'd insist on only cooking food Misa had obtained herself, from diving off the treacherous rocks. It was frightening, and both mentally and physically exhausting. The oceans were choppy with strong currents that obeyed the random whims of the wind. Rips occurred in misleading calm patches that stole death still over the wildness of safer waters. She'd learn to read the tides, experienced the brunt of the weather and how they entwined in a complex ecosystem. After several days of hunger and failure, she finally understood. The sea cucumbers clinging to the sand beneath the labyrinth of currents were the sweet reward of this knowledge.

She'd never harvested enough for the both of them in the end, but gave most of her portion to the old man out of both pity and nostalgia to the shared moments by the table with her grandpa. The revival of those memories soured her heart.

She emerged gaunt, skin and bones. Tossed immediately into Erika's fold, she'd ate herself sick and drunk herself stupid.

"Here we are."

And here she was.

The hull of the ship loomed, black and imposing. No sign of red, but paint could be easily reapplied. She imagined the ship was layered in blacks and reds like an onion, alternating deception and truth.

Aoi was already up the gangplank. Swallowing a lump, Misa followed, hefting the bundle on her back higher.

"Where were you Aoi?"

"God, we were worried sick. Capt'n was talking about casting off without you, and you know how hard it is to tell if he's jokin'."

Aoi huffed. He waved his perfume laden wrist around ineffectually. The crew was obviously already immune.

"Who's the kid?"

"The new nav," Aoi said proudly.

Misa felt herself being prodded forward, into the ring of eyes.

"Oh? A cute one. Might outmatch you Aoi."

"How good is he though? Last one almost ran us into a reef."

"He's good, good enough," Aoi replied breezily. He cast a longing gaze back to the shore.

Misa took a breath. They talked about her as if she wasn't there. She needed to gain their trust. "My name is Misato," she said firmly. "I'm-"

"The new navigator, and it's going to be nightfall before you lot satisfy your curiosity and decide to cast off," a relaxed voice interjected. It was smooth and languid. It stirred a familiar memory, a flash of green eyes and blond hair cast red by fire. The red of blood. Misa felt her breathing speed up, and she clenched her fists. Not now. She inhaled deeply, subtly, tasting the salt of the air mixed with the frightening phantom scent of ash and smoke.

"I'm the captain, by the way. Of this vessel. If it weren't clear enough." The faint sarcasm in his tone was offset by the richness of the black coat he'd donned. Beneath it he wore an entire ensemble of black, with brief flashes of silver in the ornate buckles running down the length of his shirt. It was a garb more suited for nobility, but lacking the gaudy baubles and trinkets that was in fashion. Rather, it was the garb of one so assured in wealth that they did not need to display it through extravagance.

A murderer masquerading as a pirate. A pirate masquerading as a noble. There's no limit to his facade.

A moment of bated breath. She couldn't - wouldn't - show any signs of weakness, not when she was this close.

"Captain," she acknowledged steadily, and raised hazel eyes to meet amused green.