A/N EXAMS ARE DONE I AM FREE (for... a few weeks) but yes, perfect timing as well as the second major event will start soon next chap. :) Looking forward to sharing it with you all! To avoid bloating this part too much, I'm responding to your lovely comments via PM c: but I do think there is something that should be said here.
I believe this is only a problem with some fandoms, but what I think should be acknowledged is the fact that fanfic is self-indulgence. If half of what happens in fandom occurs in canon... well... it'll be a very strange place up to but not including tentacle fetishes. And because it is self indulgence, enforcing any kind of standard upon the authors or the story doesn't really make sense, because fandom literally encompasses everything. Everything. *points to AUs*
Firenight
Chapter 7
They traded anecdotes with each other well into the night. The Captain returned some time later, a violin in hand. Misa lounged by the lantern, stuck in sleepy haze. At the Captain's arrival, a scatter of applause and cat-calls rose from the crew. The Captain responded with a vicious grin and hefted the body of the violin. He drew the bow roughly across in challenge, and the crew let out a collective groan at the distressed screech that emerged.
"Stop teasing us Capt'n," Kuuga muttered with a pained wince."It kills me when you do that to an instrument."
The Captain gave a small hum. "All awake now, Kuuga?" He set the bow to the strings and drew it carefully down. The crew let out a collective sigh at the sweet, constant note that followed. Misa felt her eyes flutter close.
The Captain played for them until well into the night, coaxing lullaby after lullaby out of his instrument. They were sad tunes, low and melancholy. Yet, some had distinct moments of sweetness – where the night itself appeared to give way to spring and Misa could feel a darkness retreating from his expression. They felt like folk tunes, some remnant of a familiar past, except with none of their characteristic simplicity. Rather, a music that felt like the Captain's voice wove into the tunes, turning simple riffs into wild things that rose and crashed in emotional crescendos like a wave.
Too soon, the Captain set his bow to the strings and drew out a final firm note before untucking his chin. The crew had mostly fallen asleep by then, lured by the calm seas and the Captain's music. Misa's eyes had opened a slit at the end of the music, and that was the only reason that she caught the fond smile that stole briefly over the Captain's lips.
"That was beautiful," she murmured.
The Captain's eyes fell on her in a flash. He gave a rueful quirk of his lip as he approached. "It served its purpose," he said, crouching down beside where Misa lay. Misa watched sharp green eyes survey the sleeping crew. "The first night is always the easiest."
"Aoi said that." Misa acknowledged. She glanced at the Captain.
The Captain laughed quietly. "Another one of your not questions? What were we again – oh that's right – pirates. I don't know, I seem to recall pirates were rather wanted people. Not even for their irresistible gallantry. What was it? Wanted for the appropriation of capital goods, and the murder of innocent civilians. That hardly lends itself to an easy life."
Misa scowled. "And you accuse me of not answering questions."
The Captain gave a triumphant grin. "But you never ask, Misato."
The music, the stories and the alcohol must have been getting to her because she reached out a hand and punched him lightly on the arm. It was a gesture she'd used often with her friends, whenever they said something plain dumb. At that moment, the Captain reminded her clearly of an obstinate child who didn't possess the emotional maturity to concede an argument.
"So, what will we be doing? Running? Also, as your Navigator, you're serious about that rock? I had a look at it with Aoi and Hinata over dinner, and we agree that it's a stupid place to sail to – beg your pardon Captain – not only because there's literally nothing there, but the currents are unpredictable at this time of the year."
The Captain leaned back, folding his hands together. "Very professional Misato. You could almost deceive me. But I am deadly serious." He fell silent for a moment, staring at Misa. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly. "I've often thought about rulership. Why do we need hierarchies? Why are there kings, and lords, and serfs? Why must there be a Captain to every vessel?"
Misa tilted her head to one side, and considered the question. "We need a leader, Otherwise people will just do their own individual thing, and it'll never amount to anything lasting in the end."
The Captain nodded. He stared pensively at the lanterns, the flames reflected in red flecks outlined against the green of his eyes. "Perhaps," he said evasively. "Then, as Captain of this vessel, you'll have to trust me to go to this rock and not get you killed."
"Can I?"
"What?"
"Trust you."
"Do you have a choice?"
"Now when I'm asking a real question who's the one not answering?"
The Captain leveled her a stare that she returned with force.
He gave a snort. "You can trust me. For now."
He got up as if to leave, but Misa interrupted with another question. "What do you mean, 'for now'? Why should I trust someone who could back-stab me at any moment?"
The Captain gave a mirthless smile. "Isn't that the question you should be asking yourself? But I won't betray you, or any of them. You are, what can I say, a form of family." He wrung out the word, as if it didn't feel quite right on his tongue.
"What do you mean?" Misa said in a tight voice. She wasn't talking about the family part.
The Captain seemed to know, appeared to have seen it coming. The night was quiet, the crew was sound asleep, and the lantern wick was burning low. The final dredges of flame licked up the glass and winked out. Even in the darkness, Misa could feel the Captain's presence as he leaned down and drew closer. She could hear each inhale, feel each warm brush of air against the shell of her ear. He cupped his hand there, pressing the edge of his palm into the soft hair beside her ear, and drawing his lips close. He told Misa her secret.
"Are you going to kill me, Misato?"
Misa sat still, the words stuck in her throat. "No," she said. Misato won't, but Misa will.
"Oh?" The Captain withdrew, and the cold air hit her like a shock. He looked at her in amusement. "That's new. Generally my would-be murderers enjoy admitting their crime."
"It's not a lie."
The Captain raised an elegant brow, arms crossed. "Do your worst," he replied with a dismissive wave, as if he didn't just out Misa.
Had she really been so obvious? Misa thought, and stared at the brazen man before her with incredulity. He was looking away, over the ocean, an unfathomable distance in his eyes. She couldn't help a spark of unease.
She'd entertained thoughts, schemes of revenge. A knife in the back, or poison in his wine. But somehow, him admitting to his knowledge of the crime she was goading herself to commit seemed to make it all the more wretched. Misa looked at her hands, and felt an up-well of disgust. Will I be any different? she thought furiously. Her fingers clenched until the knuckles were white. But I am. He will keep on killing, she realised. I would be saving people. I'd be... a hero?
She couldn't imagine it. Misa the girl, Misa the reliable one. She imagined herself saving people, and it was nothing as illustrious as the thought of saving those who weren't even dead yet. Those people where she imagined the Captain was staring towards didn't know her. Maybe they'd thank her, like she would have thanked someone who could have killed him before he'd destroyed her home, petrifying the tears before they had reason to fall. Except she'd be thanking this stranger who she didn't know. A thousand prayers to a nameless god that bore her name.
Misa suffered a glance up. She unpeeled her finger nails from their bite on her was hard. They say revenge is an impetus to any act. She was now certain that was a lie. It was hard because he stood as if he had everything to lose. It was hard because he had an odd smile tugging at the corner of his lips, sardonic and mocking. He directed this smile to no-one, and that meant that it was aimed at himself.
Misa knew how it felt. A disappointment so crushing that you realise that it wasn't the world out to get you – the world is brutally impartial. It was yourself. The fault lay nowhere else, but the fact is so self-depreciating but at the same time so damnably true that the only direction the self-loathing could go was inwards.
She saw herself reflected in him - but twisted with blond hair and bearing a mask of loathing.
And then she realised, she couldn't kill him. Because to kill him, would be like killing herself, the part of herself that had driven her to Satsuki and this ship. And by admitting that he deserved to die, she would have to admit that she deserved the same death.
Misa adverted her eyes, swallowing. It was growing colder. An icy wind blew, sending goose-prickles popping up like a corn harvest along her arm. Something heavy and warm landed on her back. She looked up in surprise, but the Captain was already walking among the sleeping crew. He roused them with a rough shake and quiet admonishment. Even wearing just the thin black undershirt, he seemed unfazed by the biting sea wind.
It was not long before the ship sprung into action again. Sails were adjusted, the night-shift workers manned their posts.
Kuuga was one of them. He picked up a lantern lying near Misa and let out a huge yawn.
"I regret nothing," he informed her stonily.
Misa laughed at him. "Your eyes say otherwise."
"They are naturally droopy," he snapped. Kuuga stomped off, inciting a yell from Kurosaki when he stepped through a floor board.
Misa stood and stretched. She gathered the Captain's coat around her shoulders. It was too late to think of much. There existed a shadow of unease she felt at the fact that he knew. She still didn't know what to think, or how to think, or even if she was thinking at all and had just imagined the entire thing. Misa clapped a hand to her temple. She'd thought she'd built up a tolerance to alcohol from Erika, but apparently not.
Groping across deck by a dimly remembered layout from a muzzy mind, she followed a faint shadow that could have been Aoi's dress towards the door that fell open at a touch. Stumbling down the dark stairwell, she felt along the right wall to orient herself. Her fingers caught on the small lumps in the wood that she knew marked the names of the crew. And yes – she felt the sharp edges of the first aid kit tucked in its alcove and smiled.
Following the wall to the right, she entered the crew quarters.
Someone had lit an alcohol lamp. The feeble light didn't reach far, but it was enough. A line of hammocks was strung across the room, taking up the entire width of it. Misa had to duck underneath, pressing her nose to the floorboards (smelling like dust mites and old socks) and crawl to reach her own. Her place had been at the very back of the room, but thanks to Hinata's over eager generosity, was now the second farthest. That, thankfully, meant one less body to crawl under. Misa held her breath and pulled herself under the sagging weight of a hammock housing someone particularly heavy.
She pulled her limp body in fully clothed. The structure tilted like a miniature ship itself before it stabilised. She gripped the edges in the alarm, hardly daring to move in case it tipped over. It was embarrassing enough getting changed, more so than being dumped unceremoniously to the floor in the middle of the night.
The cotton was coarse, and scratched at her skin. She remembered the coat, and spread it underneath her. An immediate improvement. She'd return the coat next morning, Misa decided. She'd rock up to the Captain go 'hey, thanks for the coat, I hope you don't mind that I basically plastered myself over it the entirety of last night.' That'd turn out well. The half finished thought formed and fled, like trying to catch a butterfly with a torn net.
Someone lit another lamp. Misa turned to face the wall and sank into blessed, mindless darkness.
She dreamed of stars. They winked out systematically, one after another, like keeping time. Each vanished dot seemed inconsequential, leaving behind a tapestry of white equally as brilliant as before. But soon there was only twenty, ten, then three. A yawning hole appeared to form behind them, as if the constellations had formed a barrier to a darkness that threatened to swallow her. The final white light sputtered out and she was falling into an endless night. She thought she stopped dreaming then.