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In which there are DEFINITELY no pirates

Malphis carefully smoothed his hair. It was uncharacteristically smooth and tame, and his scalp itched from the pressure of styling he much preferred to abandon.

He looked over his temporary crew carefully, looking for any signs that could doom them. During these crucial times, only shifters, or nephilim with sufficiently subtle details, were allowed above deck. For their safety, and the safety of the entire crew.

A carefully bland and forgettable angel face here, which concealed the most viciously demonic man among them. Cymonblooded, that one was, and it served him very well.

A scarf there, fastened over tiny horn stubs.

Thick arm wrappings and gloves typical of a pit fighter, but which here concealed stripes of scales.

Malphis himself was a master at shifting, and perfectly resembled a blueblood. He’d debated shifting into a guardian, but muscular he was not, and a skinny guardian raised more suspicion than an errant noble.

He did not know any of his crewmates particularly well - he’d been hired all the way back in Haven o’ Rest because he was big and talented, and could pass for an angel privateer while the real captain sulked in her cabin. And if he had used some of his talents to squeeze more electas out of her tightly laced purse, all the better. He was not above seduction, or outright theft, although one very much tended to ensure future employment more readily than the other.

He straightened his cravat for the umpteenth time, and awaited the arrival of the imperial emissary from the ship that loomed a few hundred yards away.

Which was the last person he had expected.

He stared at Zalcor, slightly slackjawed. Zalcor stared right back. He quickly gathered his composure, falling back on half-remembered court rote. “My ledan, what an…unexpected honor! I was under the impression-”

“Today is full of surprises for both of us, merchant. The goods?” Zalcor gestured dismissively.

“Y-yes, of course, my ledan.” Malphis make a quick gesture behind him, one they’d rehearsed, and he heard the crew scurrying to open a few of the crates. “Rootmetal of the finest quality, straight from the mines of-” He suddenly had the realization that a throne, and particularly Zalcor, would not appreciate knowing they were buying from a famous Inderdark mining conglomerate.

Mercifully, Zalcor moved to interrupt him before the pause had registered. “I don’t care for the location, only the cost.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” He swallowed, considering. The captain had not left him much instruction other than “bleed the fucking sunhearts dry and make them squirm”, so he optimistically suggested a price approximately three times the standard market value. What would a cushy lord know of the Inderdark rootmetal economy, anyway. “Accounting for the risk of transport,” a pregnant pause, “ shall we sayy, fifty thousand electas?”

Zalcor did not even pause to consider his offer - rude. “Preposterous. Ten thousand.”

Malphis smiled disarmingly. “Thirty thousand.”

“Clearly you have suffered a head injury. I said ten thousand.The glorious Sunheart Dynasty does not haggle.”

Patently untrue, Malphis knew from long experience, but he wasn’t about to argue the point with a being that could tear his wings off if they so chose. He spread his hands placatingly. “Of course, my ledan, but you must understand the risks of navigating around the sea dragons- and surely you can sympathize with our need for a profit ma-”

He did not get a chance to finish his sentence before horrible black-clawed hands suddenly hauled him up very close to the angrily spinning rings of Zalcor. My coat, he whined helplessly to himself. A jagged mouth opened in their previously blank face, and Zalcor snarled at him with a ferocity he would have admired if it had been coming from anyone but an angel. “How about I sink your filthy ship right beneath your feet, and take the rootmetal for no cost instead?”

Rude, he thought again. The ship was spotless - no thanks to Malphis, but spotless nonetheless. But he had more pressing concerns, such as his collar, which was slowly crushing his windpipe. “Ten…thousand…is acceptable, on- on second thought,” he managed to gargle out.

Zalcor grinned, if it could be called a grin. “I knew you would see sense.” They dropped Malphis without warning, leaving him to pick himself up in a very undignified fashion. He resisted the urge to look down at his coat; he already knew it was likely ruined, and he refused to give this pompous chicken the satisfaction.

“That’s that, then, I suppose. Shall my people transfer the cargo, or yours?”

“Yours will…suffice…” Malphis realized the angel was distracted, and glanced behind him. And his heart nearly stopped.

Unnoticed, a scarf had come loose, exposing what might be recognizable as a horn to someone looking very carefully for horns. He strode across the deck, his voice a little too loud and strained. “Drum-sea! There seems to be something in your hair!” He positioned himself in the way of Zalcor’s line of sight and clapped a hand on the sailor’s shoulder in a way that looked companionable, but felt very urgent. “Why don’t you go find a mirror belowdecks and take care of it?!” He prayed to every god he believed in and some he didn’t that Drum-sea would understand, and not draw more attention to the problem. Thankfully, he did, scurrying away with a quick salute. He turned back to Zalcor and clapped his hands together. “Now then! No more delays. Let the trade commence!”

“On second thought,” Zalcor almost purred, picking his way across the deck to face Malphis once more. “I’m more interested in meeting the rest of your…interesting crew.” He swayed slightly, almost imperceptibly but very much out of time with the ship’s gentle rocking. Hah, they ain’t got their sea legs!

“Oh, trust me, my ledan, there’s no need for that! Any angel currently unaccounted for is, ah, currently indisposed. I take full responsibility, I didn’t, ah, lock up the grog stores properly last night.”

Zalcor shook their head, making scolding noises. “Tut, tut, tut. Harboring the unclean and irresponsible drunkenness? What else is your little crew guilty of?” They reached out and grabbed Malphis again, by the neck this time…but Malphis decided that was exactly what he wanted. He smiled, and allowed his jaws to elongate, snapping shut around Zalcor’s throat. Zalcor instinctively let go and tried to scream, and Malphis used the distraction (and Zalcor’s unsteady legs) against them, jerking his head to separate a significant chunk of neck from its owner, and deftly kicking them in the gut. Zalcor toppled overboard like a giant sack of potatoes, and Malphis did not stop for more than a second to gloat.

“Go, go, go! We’re setting sail now!” And then, “OH MY GODS WHAT ARE THEY FEEDING THAT ANGEL HE TASTES DISGUSTING-” His hacking, gagging distress went utterly unnoticed as the crew that a second ago had projected the very air of laziness sprang to life, unfurling sails and raising anchor without his direct input - which was just as well. He was a pretty face by trade, not a sailor, and he wouldn’t know the first thing about actual sailing. Drum-sea rushed up from his hiding spot and joined his twin Seabeat at the great drums that, when struck in certain rhythms, somehow summoned ferocious winds out of thin air. Malphis had no clue how that particular sorcery worked, and he had no wish to find out. His skin always crawled with unfamiliar, unfriendly magic whenever the twins got to work.

In no time at all, the Snowy Intrepid was pulling away, leaving the imperial ship, and a half-drowned angel, in her metaphorical dust. The imperial ship might have been able to catch up, but that option was removed by the sudden appearance of Alucala, who cheerfully tore the ship’s entire keel and a chunk of its lower decks clean off before disappearing again, presumably to follow the Snowy Intrepid as she had for the past several weeks.

Utterly useless as a sailor as he was, Malphis used his time very productively. It wasn’t every day you got to watch an imperial warship helplessly sink, after all. And he most definitely was not avoiding the captain. No, the sudden loss of a good sales opportunity had nothing to do with his reluctance to go below, at all.

Malphis+disguise

Zalcor

Drum-sea and Seabeat

The sailor with the pit fighter wrappings

The "forgettable angel" and his true self

Captain Meiscegealuchtoirn of the Snowy Intrepid, "or just Meisce, if you're too weak to handle a real draconic name."

#dreamspark chronicles #malphis #dragon shenanigans #my writing