with @bastian-varga / several years ago in tortuga
the sky is clear and redolent with flickering starlight by the time he makes it back aboard the widow's wake, and he finds the sight mocking, as if to taunt him for the knowledge he now possesses.
drunk men were always terribly charitable, giving away their secrets and misdeeds as if they were sweets. there had been a particularly loud one a seat or two away from laurent and conversation partner of the evening, a red-cheeked merchant, telling some story loud enough for half the tavern to hear. luckily, laurent is adept at appearing to be engaged in a conversation while eavesdropping on another. something about a prisoner. hungarian. land infiltrator. did not take to water well, least the way they administered it.
by the time laurent reaches the wake, some of the crew are loitering on deck with drink in hand, sprawled over barrels and crates, their laughter skipping across the black water like stones. bastian among them. ‘you look like a fuckin’ tomato when you’re drunk, you know that?’ ‘stick it up your arse, you don’t even need one drop of rum to have all the barmaids in tortuga clamoring for your hide. someone outta keep youse in a crate!’
raucous laughter, howling and barking. the taste of wine still bitter and burning in his mouth.
“yeah? if i’m a dog, never seen a bigger drowned rat than bastian! shoulda seen him when we first hauled him out the water, swear he coughed up half the ocean in my face!” a stomach churning impersonation of said gagging and spluttering.
“oh, i’m sure baptiste has had greater public humiliations,” laurent cuts in. “surely i’m not the only one who remembers when he tried to impress that pretty little thing at the siren’s nest and fell straight through the table.”
“captain! how could you! the table was rotten.”
“and the six cups of rum?”
the story catches on quickly. someone remembers the splinters that assailed them. as quickly as laurent cut into the conversation, he is as quick to retreat to the empty far end of the ship with a bottle an import captured from their last merchant ship. but not before lightly knocking on the railing thrice.