Chapter 2 : The Captain Saves a Man

His first thought was Oh no, they fucking want my life.

His second thought was Oh no, they fucking want money.

His third was Oh fuck, they fucking want food.

And because he had such luck, the third was what he was now forced to act on.

So Lovino Vargas found himself in a godforsaken hellhole of a galley, surrounded by menacing kitchen utensils, even more menacing pirate supervision and, worst of all, food decomposing everywhere he looked.

In a word, it was horrendous.

This must be some sort of a joke. This must be some sort of nightmare, from which he could awaken if he just pinched himself hard enough. But the bruises they had given him still hurt noticeably and the shame of having been taken prisoner still stung strongly. He was not dreaming at all; he would not be returning to his sorella and fratello anytime soon, until he found some way to escape this damned pirate ship.

It didn't help that his first instinct was to grab a knife and leap out the window. That would be all very well and good if Lovino were several pounds lighter and had the willpower to attempt that acrobatic feat. But he was in plain view of a very burly, very inhuman-looking, very well-armed pirate standing guard at the doorway. The quartermaster, he thought. And then there was the cook—an incredibly busty, suntanned old woman they called "Abuela." She had immediately given up her apron and retired to the corner once Lovino had been introduced to the galley, and now she was watching him work from across the table while arranging the kitchen knives.

"Remember, no stealin' food, hombrecito," she said lazily, leaning back in her chair and pulling out a silver-hilted dagger from the folds of her dress. "An' no poisonin'—but the poison's here if ye need it." She tapped the dagger blade with a crooked smile, observing him closely.

This certainly was a merry company Lovino had stumbled into.

Making sure to keep an eye on the now-dangerous old woman, he gulped and went shakily to the shelves, resolve drained. His eyes scanned the putrid ingredients. What exactly had they ordered him to cook again?

Oh yes. They expected him to make paella. Paella. Paella was a Spanish food. He was Italian. Italians could make paella.

But where the fuck did they think they were, a gourmet restaurant?

Lovino narrowly stopped himself from spearing a maggot with the kitchen knife, then did so anyway, earning a surprising bit of applause from Abuela.

"Becomin' one of us, are ye?" Her expression had become rather more welcoming, and she called to the man standing guard at the doorway. "Did ye see that, Eduardo? He's got good aim!"

"Just get 'im to make the damn grub," the man named Eduardo said tersely, stony-faced. "Got me stomach to think of." Lovino slowly turned away and resumed his duties.

The food must be why everyone was such a figlio di puttana—if this was what they called food. They must have been sailing for quite a while to have such fucked-up rations; Lovino thought he might vomit if he found yet another piece of ten-day-old meat swarming with insects. There was no way he could concoct anything edible from this mess of a kitchen. Which meant they would probably kill him for it.

At least the Vargas family wouldn't lose their daughter, since sorella had escaped... he was certain enough of that, or she would be tied up here like him, or even worse. He shuddered and pushed the unpleasant thoughts out of his mind. There was no denying that pirates were unscrupulous and immoral assholes of the lowest kind. And there was also no denying that Lovino Vargas hated them all with a burning passion. As any man in his right mind would if he had lost one too many loved ones to evil bastards like these. He always tried not to dwell on it, but to no avail.

The Vargas family had never been good at hiding their hatred. Feliciano, of course, was out of the question. Chiara did what any good sorella would—she fell to stabbing old clothes with her needles. If Nonno had still been here he would have set the mountains to shaking. Lovino Vargas, meanwhile, simply made use of his God-given instrument of expression—his mouth. In his short twenty-three years of life it had proven to be a fearsome weapon in the field of human relations. Mostly because he had trouble reining it in.

Sadly, though, it didn't seem to work on pirates. Especially that good-for-nothing pirate captain.

That was really some nerve he had had, to laugh in Lovino's face as if he were an idiot and then put him to work as if he was of no consequence. Anton... Antonio... whatever the fuck his name was. He didn't even act like a pirate captain, for the love of God. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with?

Fottutissimo pezzo di merda, Lovino thought murderously as he murdered more maggots. All of them were.

But, speak of the devil. No sooner had his mind strayed to that offending excuse for a captain than the man in question appeared in the doorway, eyes positively sparkling as he caught sight of Lovino. The Italian chose to interpret that look as "I'm going to kill you if you don't cook now," and decided he would have to put on a show.

"How's the cooking going, amigo?"

Fuck. Fuck it all.

"... Good," he settled for answering, very much aware that all eyes were now fixed on him, even Abuela's.

"Only good...? Not fantástico?" The captain looked facetiously disappointed—not a good sign. "Did you have trouble finding ingredients?"

How friendly of him to ask—evidently he had noticed the tabletop was still mostly empty except for a pile of dead maggots. Lovino could have made a living killing them.

"Sì," he gritted out. "I still need tomatoes."

The Spaniard's face lit up at the mention of that particular food. "Right over there, amigo!" he said cheerfully—did he always address everyone as his friend?—and directed Lovino to a barrel in the corner. Sure enough, it was full of the blessed red fruit, surprisingly unspoiled; the mouthwatering aroma filled the galley the moment he lifted the lid.

"We got them from our last victory over those scurvy Englishmen!" the captain added, effectively ruining the good humor with his own. "Tomatoes are muy deliciosos, don't you agree?"

Lovino did agree. He watched as Captain Antonio strode over to the barrel, speared an unsuspecting tomato with his cutlass and popped it into his mouth, humming slightly. The Italian was suddenly struck by how pleasant he looked, with his laughing green eyes and wide smiling mouth and slightly curly brown hair. He could have been an actor in a play, maybe the main character, in one of those love stories Lovino hated going to see but did anyway. There was something about him that didn't fit here, something in his speech, his manner. How had he ended up as a swashbuckling pirate captain, anyway? That smile of his probably hid all manner of things, but—

He looked too... too good to be one.

Lovino realized with a start exactly where his mind was heading, but it was already too late. No, no, it could not be. He was Lovino Vargas and Lovino fucking Vargas knew better than to have such thoughts, damn it! And he was going to escape this ship as soon as it made another landing in Italy, handsome pirates or not.

Then the captain winked at him.

Oh no. Oh no, he had not just done that. Not only dangerous but dangerously fucking flirtatious, to boot-! Lovino whipped back around to hide the traitorous warming of his face and started furiously chopping tomatoes.

This could not be happening. This could not be happening.

"What's wrong? Your face looks like a tomate, amigo!" the cause of his misery spoke up oh-so-helpfully.

Mio Dio, kill me now...

Nothing was going his way today, nothing at all.

Antonio, meanwhile, found he was actually having the time of his life. His men truly had made a wise choice in capturing this funny little Italian. Not only could he cook, but he was also wildly receptive to the Spanish charm...! The Trinidad's captain couldn't believe his luck. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried some things on his mates in the past, and perhaps a few women as well, but the former were all brawn and no brain, while the latter all fawned over him in the most ridiculous way possible. He had no need of them; they came and went like birds on an ocean breeze.

This Lovino was different, however, he could tell at first glance—he stuttered and blushed and reacted in the most delightful way, as though he didn't want attention. Oh, but that certainly did warrant attention. Antonio couldn't quite keep his eyes off him. Here was a new source of amusement, all for himself!

He strode up to the still-quivering Italian and peered over his shoulder at the paella still under construction. That meant getting right up close to the smaller man, but that was Antonio's intention, after all!

"Need some help with that, mi amigo~?" he asked in a low voice, right next to Lovino's ear, and was instantly rewarded by a heated blush from the Italian as he leapt away.

Ah, how adorable.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Lovino spluttered, dropping the knife in his haste. It seemed he'd once more reverted to his former offensive self. "Or I'm—I'm going to fucking hurt you! Bastardo!"

It really was strange how Antonio felt no urge to kill him. Similar situations like these had sprung up often, in many variations, and he had frequently acted upon them without the slightest qualm. But he couldn't this time. This man was simply too... too... what was the word?

Oh yes. Interesting.

"Me, you say?" Antonio pretended to look surprised and hurt instead. "But I'm your capitán! Why me?"

"Because you're an asshole and a pervert, you fucking stupid pirate."

"¿Qué? I don't think your face agrees."

This was too amusing. Much too amusing. And the Italian's expression was such a reward.

"Y-you—"

He was reduced to random bursts of Italian, interspersed with swear words, eyes radiating murderous hate.

Antonio laughed.

Abuela laughed.

Even the ever-stoic Eduardo laughed.

Lovino still stood there in silent indignation, staring from one to the other open-mouthed, red-faced. For several minutes nothing else happened. They didn't stop laughing. He didn't stop fuming.

And then, suddenly, he bolted.

They knew something like this would happen, expected it. Prisoners always tried to escape, even if it was useless. Maybe no one had told Lovino the ship had already set sail. What a pity.

Antonio was the first to see, but Abuela reacted even faster, as was her wont, dangerous woman that she was. Her eyes glinted with the thrill of a new opportunity, reminding Antonio of something old and feral, with killer instincts.

"Can't ever run from us, hombrecito!" she called.

And before Antonio could stop her, she reached for her dagger, flinging it at the retreating man in one fluid motion.

"No!"

Antonio only faintly recognized the voice as his own.

Everything else after that seemed to happen in slow motion. He found himself moving, diving forward to push the Italian out of harm's way. A sharp pain bloomed in Antonio's upper arm and then they both hit the ground with a thud, Lovino letting out a small grunt. The Italian man's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the silver-handled dagger embedded in Antonio's arm.

"Holy mother of fuck..."

Antonio stared down at him.

"What?"

"... She said it was poison."

Loud thumps on the wooden floorboards announced Abuela's approach. In the next moment she was before them, standing over them, quiet. But her eyes showed no trace of sympathy, and the reality hit Antonio as his heart sank a little lower.

"You too," he whispered.

"Ye finally realized it, cap'n," the old woman chuckled, glancing down at the dagger. "What a shame. Givin' yer life to save a filthy little prisoner... Always knew ye were too soft-hearted for the job. Could've let someone else take it instead..." Her face hardened slightly, and when she spoke again her voice was cold with a touch of mockery. "Ye shoulda been kinder to my Santiago, cap'n, but ye killed him. Ain't forgivin' ye now, no sir."

Antonio gritted his teeth, pulling the dagger out.

"I didn't kill him."

"Oh, but ye did, cap'n. Don't lie to me."

Three things happened at once. Abuela drew forth another knife, preparing to finish him—and possibly Lovino—off. Antonio braced himself and raised the dagger, poised to throw. Then another blade zipped from out of nowhere—Eduardo's. It buried deep into Abuela's chest and she blinked down at it. Silence.

She stood swaying for a moment, then smiled around at all of them.

"Today, I be learnin' one thing. There be a curse on this ship, a curse of blood. The day will come when ye all realize what yer doin'. I had enough. I be waitin' from up high with me son, and that day we'll be a-laughin'. Ye'll see..."

Her face still peaceful, she closed her eyes and slid to the floor.

Eduardo made his way over to her body with quick strides and stooped to examine her.

"She's dead," he announced after a minute, then looked over to where Antonio and Lovino were. "All right, Cap'n?"

"Sí," answered Antonio. But he glanced down at himself and realized he was bleeding all over the Italian man beneath him. Lovino simply stared up at him in utter shock. Was that his mouth moving to say something? What was it he had been telling Antonio before?

Oh.

Poison.

It was his last thought before everything went black.

x X x

Translations

Abuela (Spanish) – Grandmother

Hombrecito (Spanish) – Little man

Figlio di puttana (Italian) – Son of a bitch (Lovi's mouth—hahahah)

Sorella (Italian) – Sister

Fratello (Italian) - Brother

Nonno (Italian) – Grandpa

Fottutissimo pezzo di merda (Italian) – Fucking piece of shit

Fantástico (Spanish) – Fantastic

Muy delicioso (Spanish) – Very delicious

Mio Dio (Italian) – My God

Bastardo (Italian) - Bastard

¿Qué? (Spanish) – What?

Capitán (Spanish) - Captain

Pirate stuff/etc.

Galley – The ship's kitchens

Paella – A Valencian rice dish that originated in its modern form in the mid-19th century near Lake Albufera, a lagoon in Valencia, on the east coast of Spain. The word paella derives from the French word paelle for pan.

Grub – The pirate word for food.

Just a note - Antonio doesn't speak like the other pirates, but for a reason that will be revealed later.