Sweat trickled down Bill's brow and he hefted the canvas bag higher on his shoulder. One of the straps had snapped but the duo were too far from port at this point to justify going back for a new one. The past month, though quiet after the witch trauma, a beast had been wreaking havoc in the woods surrounding the pirate port. He'd volunteered to join the hunting party, and was slightly disappointed that only Sam had shown up. Bones was decent enough, but Bill knew the whole trip would be serious business without a few others to banter with. Of course, it was serious business, with four pirates lost to the vicious beast that had yet to be sighted. "You don't think we've scared it off, do ya?" He called ahead to Sam.
i divvied up my anger into thirty separate parts || open
Exhausted. That was how James felt after everything that had happened with Helena. Exhausted for nothing and everything; the work they’d put in to stopping the wench had been for nothing and everything. There had been no real closure, and no real loss. He wanted to rip her neck open with his hook for everything she’d taken, and everything she’d threatened. He looked at his hands now, still so foreign to him to have both again. She’d taken his hook from him and replaced it with his long lost, long devoured hand, and yet he wasn’t grateful for that. It had been nice to be able to hold Queenie, but it was a constant reminder of what he’d done, of what he’d given up to stop the chaos Helena had been forcing into his mind. He was a monster, and there was no denying it. No matter what anyone told him, no matter the excuses he made for himself, he had done some terrible things to find peace. An innocent child, now missing. He made a mental note; two children lost to the island now. What would Mary say?
James sat at his desk in his cabin, eyes pointed to the horizon outside his window, gaze blurring as his mind wandered. His rage was always just at the surface these days; the island had chosen to save the witch that had taken so much from him, and had almost taken the whole island down with her delusions of heroism. He wished he had strangled her before the tree had closed around her, but he’d lost his chance. There was a stab of pain in his right palm as he thought of the witch, and he looked down. He hadn’t been sure right away when the witch had been tucked away, but his hand definitely was losing some color, and a very faded scar around his wrist was growing ever more visible. He pulled his sleeve down and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Would there ever be peace in his life?
A plump mango in hand, Peter flew idly over the trees. It had been a week since the great fight for Neverland, and although they’d worked together nicely, he couldn’t get over the grimy feeling of being on the same side as Hook, if only for a few days. The old codfish was as greasy as ever, and Pan was anxious for things to get back to normal. Planning a battle was a cure for almost all of life’s problems, and Peter had some good ideas for menacing the pirate captain in future. He’d give them a break for a bit, let them get cozy in the wake of everything that happened, and then he’d strike. Maybe they’d stuff bars of soap into their rum barrels one afternoon; he’d have to make a plan with his lost boys. They deserve a party after all the hard work they’d put in to stopping Helena, he thought to himself, biting into the ripe mango. He lowered himself down to the forest floor, bare feet falling on soft dirt and leaves, and made a beeline for the fort. He took another bite, and then, cheeks full of the fruit chucked his head back and let out a loud cockerel crow to gather any Lost Boys from nearby.
Fitz loved when it stormed in Neverland. He loved sitting high in a tree, watching the rain pour into the ocean, bolts of lightning illuminating the entire island, rolls of thunder shaking the ground. He had never cared much for beauty, and never understood why anyone would when it offered no utility, but he thought Neverland when it rained was stunning. He could watch it for hours, mesmerized and entranced. He also loved being out when everyone else was taking cover, when he felt like the only person alive. There was something so relaxing, so peaceful, about knowing he wouldn’t run into anyone. Sure, he loved to fight, and he would never back down from the opportunity, but it was nice to have a break from constantly being on guard. It was nice climbing down from his tree without looking to see whether there was a pirate waiting to kill him. It was nice walking back to the hideout without worrying whether anyone had followed him. It was nice to walk without clutching a knife in his hand. Which is why he was shocked to hear a twig snap behind him as he was walking home, the storm nearly over. He whirled around, drew his knife, and scanned the trees to try to find the figure lurking there. “Who’s there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and wishing he had his sword with him.
Starkey walked down a darkened hall on the Roger, holding a flickering candle that splashed the wooden walls with light in small patches. It seemed a long time, but he supposed that had to do with how dark it was. The sky must have been shrouded in clouds, for not even moon nor starlight streamed in. He looked to the right and left, sure that he should’ve come to a door by now, but the hall was as empty as it was dark. Something in the shadows moved, causing Jack to freeze, the hair on the back of his neck standing up like a static shock. He moved the candle as he turned in a slow circle, sure that he wasn’t alone.
“Hello?” He called out, not expecting anyone to answer. His last turn illuminated a distorted and dark face, with eyes glowing green in the candle light. Sharp teeth curved in a smile from the beast, before it blew the candle out.
Starkey jolted upright in the chair, heart pounding in his ears. He hadn’t realized he’d even fallen asleep; his neck was sore from the way he’d been sitting, and his left foot was still in dreamland, tingling like a thousand pinpricks at once as he adjusted in his seat. Groaning, he shoved his feet into his boots and stood, limping slightly towards the captain’s door. No. He wasn’t in captain’s quarters anymore. Mulligan’s, he grimaced, remembering how Hook had returned and sent him to shore after retrieving Smee for him. Starkey lumbered down the stairs of the guestroom, and headed out into the twilight air. This was the fourth time he’d had this dream since just before James had returned, and he had to do something to shake it from his memory.
Fauna sat up shakily, head pounding, and blinked slowly. Rubbing the dried tears from her eyes, she winced, realizing she’d sustained a rather bad bruise under her right one. What had happened? She yawned, but quickly shut her mouth and brought her fingers trembling to her lip. There was a cut there as well, and she traced the crack of dried blood with a frown upon her aching head. Her eyes widened suddenly as the memory flooded back and she scanned the clearing for Peter. A basket of overturned and smashed fruit lay scattered there, accompanied by a native sewn blanket, a few logs toppled over that had been gathered for a fire, and two dead bodies about three feet from her. She scrambled back, disturbing the crow that had been standing menacingly on the pirate’s chest. She looked to the trees, over her shoulder, hopping to her feet as her heart pounded. They had been preparing a campout under the stars for the lost boys when the pirates had attacked. “Peter!” she called out, new tears forming behind her eyes. She recalled the five men that had surrounded them, blades and pistols drawn.
“Just grab the boy, cap’n don’t want anyone else,” one of them had growled. “Leave ‘er alive. Ye have yer orders.”
Peter had had laughed, crowing with glee at the surprise battle, and flew a few feet into the air, battering his fists against his chest before diving into the fight. Fauna had drawn her blade and quickly had begun jabbing at the nearest pirate. They hadn’t expected the net. A pirate called Yosef had tossed a clump of weighted netting over Fauna, who fell immediately to the ground, writhing and attempting to hack the ropes away. She’d received a kick in side and heard someone laugh. The noise broke off into a strangled gurgle, and Faun looked up to see that Pan had sliced the man’s throat mid laugh. This was no usual battle. It was often almost a game, the way they fought, but this was quite different.
“No! Lower your gun!” The wild voice of Starkey shouted. “He’s not to be killed we must--” his words were cut off as Peter drove his dagger into the chest of another pirate who had pointed his weapon at the flying boy. “Now, Suki!” Jack shouted, and another net was thrown about Peter. It tangled about him as he struggled to stay in the air, but the remaining three pirates had pulled him to the ground. Pan’s blade had remained stuck in the dying pirate’s chest, and he cursed and kicked as the female pirate threw her body over him to keep him on the ground.
“Peter, no!” Fauna had yelled, struggling under her own net, arms and feet lost in the ropes, unable to free herself.
“Knock him out! We must knock him out!” Starkey had yelled. “Before any more of them turn up,” he added, for Peter was sounding off his wolf call, a call to battle known well by his boys. Fauna’s eyes widened as the third remaining pirate picked up a rock and smacked it against the side of Peter’s head; her captain went limp from the blow.
“NO!” She cried, gripping at the ropes that were loosening from the absence of her captor. “LOST BOYS!” She screamed, wriggling out from the bonds a moment too late. “HELP!” She shouted, getting shakily to her feet and cupping her hands to her mouth. Faun’s ear splitting scream was cut off as a heavily ringed fist connected with the side of her face, and everything had gone black.
Her heart banged around in her chest now as she looked around frantically. Had no one come to their aid? How long had she been out? Hours? Days? Where was Peter?
head in the clouds but my gravity centered || rory & sam
Aurora stared vacantly down at the book she was reading, eye traveling over the page but not catching onto any of the words. She was tired. So tired. Her entire existence in Neverland hung on Hook being here, and now he was gone. Queenie held out hope for his return, and Sam had taken upon himself to go and find the captain. But after the first two months, she’d dismissed any thoughts of his coming back from her mind. Of course, she’d never tell the others that it was hopeless; it would be cruel to tear into them for childishly believing that any man gone for that long could make it out alive. A brisk wind pushed open the windows above the desk Rory was reading at, and she closed her eyes in a frown as the chill ran right through her. With a sigh, she set her book, pages facing down onto the table, and stood to close the windows.
It was at this point that she saw that a crowd of pirates down a ways at Mulligan’s enthusiastically clapping each other on the back and howling with delight. She frowned and turned her ear to the window to try and make out what they were saying. Back! and on the Roger now! and the captain’s back! could be heard on the wind, and she stepped back, her stomach sinking like a rock. After a half a second, Rory pulled on her boots and ran to the door, swinging it open and stepping out into the street, looking down one way, and then the next to see if Sam had returned from his search. Had he found him? Was Hook truly back?
Charlie headed into the shop, holding her homemade macrame bag ready to buy some new yarn. She was excited by the new hobby that Stella had been teaching her, and she was even more excited when she told her that a couple other girls had wanted to get involved. She had some extra money since running her lunch deliveries and she wanted those new guests to absolutely love it like she did, so she was hoping some pretty hand dyed colours would interest them. She picked up a purple skein, even though it was far too pricey to buy much of at all and wistfully thought of a project she could make with it.
