The Captain fell into the room, overwhelmed by the larger man that pressed down on her. She had her knee rested underneath his solar plexus, keeping him at bay. However, his knife came ever closer to her throat. Swain’s eyes were narrowed, still radiating the eerie calm that accompanied her throughout life. The enemy snarled, hoping that his cry of fury would push him down, but Swain’s knee persisted. It gave her enough room to reach into her pocket, and draw out her own knife. It was a throwing knife, but its sharp end still served its ultimate purpose: to stab and injure. She shoved it into his face, wrenching it into his eye socket. The man howled in pain as one does, but Swain ignored them. She got up, stomping on his chest for good measure.
“You thought you had me, didn’t you?” Swain murmured, pulling out two of her seemingly endless flintlocks. She shot one into the man’s shoulder, splitting his focus onto the two new wounds.
“You and your crew thought we were weak?”
Swain’s eyes widened, a rare sight for Fatima. A truly savage smile dawned on Swain’s face, replacing the stoic features that all came to know.
“You came onto this ship, taking the bait,” Swain aimed her other flintlock down at the man’s face, “and now you’re going to be bait for the sharks.”
A final shot rang out, and the man’s life was cut brutally short. Swain sighed, stepping off the fresh corpse. She tried to walk over to the door, but she fell into it. The doorknob became her crutch, and she tried to lift herself. She turned around, seeing Fatima for a moment before she favored her side. She slid down the door with a heavy groan, ripping into her shirt’s fabric. There was bruising and blood, which didn’t make the captain happy at all.
her heart was pounding, racing like the wings of the humming birds she’d seen once in a rich patients home in spain. she had seen the ifrit, sharp smile and bloodied hands and teeth, and she had seen it in the eyes of her captain. her beloved ryleigh.
she’d known who her friend was; heard the hushed whispers as the two walked the markets. but to see it first hand... it was terrifying. but she was a professional, and blood and gore was not something fatima was unfamiliar with, and when ryleigh stood victorious before crumpling in a way that served as a brutal reminder that ryleigh was, above all else, a mortal woman.
“you’re injured.” she pushed her hesitations to the side, falling into the old and comfortable role of doctor. “come.” she set her knife to the side and grabbed a cloth to cleanse the wound.
