past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind
though far away, we're still the same
Just his bloody luck.
(He has no luck -- that Nathan is certain of.)
He should listen to Athena more. For all of her condescendence and overly paranoid tendencies, perhaps she actually knows what she's talking about. (Perhaps.) He's the crown prince; the future ruler of the kingdom. To be so reckless is a luxury he cannot afford, and yet so like him all the same.
He can hear her now, in the back of his mind, berating him for acting so thoughtless. To sneak off without guard, then sail out of port without informing a soul? Madness. She will have his head, if the pirates don't take it first.
Pirates. A menace to the seas. They make habit of attacking royal ships, scavenging whatever falls into their hands, costing the crown a fortune. Since there has been ships, since there has been the royal navy, there have also been pirates. Like the thorns of roses, the ships with black sails add another element to the beauty of the ocean, nature not being a man's only obstacle.
And now he finds himself face to face with said obstacle -- or rather, obstacles. There's a whole crew of them on deck of his ship, surrounding him like sharks circling their prey. They came from out of nowhere, leaving the prince no time to react. One moment it's blue skies and calm seas, the next there's a ship on his tail gaining ground and the wind's not in his favor to make an escape.
Rather than risk himself and his ship by giving them something to chase, Nathan quickly draws his sails and surrenders, hoping that his commoner's clothes will be enough to pass him off as nothing more than another sailor. He has no overly flashy possessions aboard; nothing to tie him to the infamous Hauser legacy that is so staunchly persecuting those that commit crimes by sea. There's enough for his comfort, and that is all, but perhaps it will be enough to sate their thirst for wealth.
Nathan stays quiet as the crew pillage his ship, despite the internal fury he feels at their callous nature as they tear through his belongings, bringing to the deck of the ship anything they think to be worth value. Let them take it all, he thinks. Take it all and be gone, back to the filth and vile they crawled from. To keep the distain he feels from reaching his face is only possible due to the years of learning to build a mask of indifference to the world, but inside he burns like wildfire.
(Self preservation is a trait instilled in all royals, and Nate is no exception, when it comes down to the wire.)
Then something he never would have expected catches his eye. She crosses over onto his ship with a swagger of confidence, and with the way the crew part in two to form a path, there's no question who is in charge. She's stunning, there's no denying it; with her brunette curls and dark eyes, skin sun-kissed from what he assumes many years at sea (yet she seems no older than he). Her beauty is raw, rough and untouched by the powders and cremes that the women of court all adore. Exotic.
(Toxic.)
Nathan slips into his defensive mode, his posture subtly shifting to a more submissive state -- shoulders hunched, head cast downward, slowly rocking back and forth from foot to foot. Everything he's witnessed from the townsmen he's come across over the years. It's to her he has to sell his innocence, that he knows.
"Take anything you want. I 'aven't any wish for trouble." He doesn't hold eye contact, glancing between the pirate queen and the wooden boards of the deck beneath his feet. He ignores the desire to hold his head high and match her stare with one of his own, to hold tight to his pride. Nathan also ignores the desire to keep his eyes on her for an entirely different reason.
He feels the pressure of her gaze, studying him as if he were under a magnifying glass. His eyes flicker up briefly, meeting with hers for just a moment. Nathan sees the exact moment when he knows he's fucked; the flash in her eyes, the recognition, and the seconds that follow that seem to pass by as hours as the pirate decides what to do with the information.
Then she smirks, and his game is up.
"It seems," she leads, her voice jovial and smug as she strode forward, the heels of her boots clicking loudly against the wood that he's almost certain she does on purpose, "that we are in the presence of royalty." It's silent for a moment, before the crew is in a sudden uproar, and Nathan knows he won't be walking away from this one.
Several of them make a grab for the prince, and he fights back immediately, shoving roughly against the men, even if he knows his efforts will be futile. There's too many of them and he has no weapon of defense. But with one shout from the captain, and he feels them reluctantly release their holds, jostling him forward with a violent push, towards the woman in black leather who stands with a look of nothing short of utter glee.
"It's an honor, my prince." she says sardonically, performing a mock curtesy and tipping the edge of her hat. Nathan can't resist; he returns the challenge, a smirk forming across his lips as he bows his head in her direction. When he straightens out, he stands tall, finding no value in the facade anymore. "My lady."
She throws her head back and laughs, and it sounds like bells ringing in the air. It might have been as lovely as her looks, had it not been he she found pleasure to laugh at. "Believe me, prince, I am no lady."
And then her attention turns from him to the crew under her command. "Take him aboard our ship, along with anything of value you find on this vessel." She then singles in on a single form, another woman he soon realizes. "Lia, escort our guest to the private's quarters. I want only the best for our prince." and the two share a grin that reminds him of Athena's devil cat when it digs it's nails into a poor unsuspecting victim's skin, and Nathan wants absolutely no part of it.
He doesn't even try to fight; he knows there's no point. Instead, he'll save his strength for when he needs it, and quietly assess his best chance at navigating his way out of this. As he crosses over onto the pirate ship tied on to his lovely Aurelia, he hears the captain's voice again from behind. "Welcome aboard the Calypso, Hauser."
Hazel eyes growing dark and smiled getting twisted up with dark amusement, lust shooting through her veins and she forgot how much her boyfriend can ignite so many feelings within her on just one encounter. An playful step forward, and entwines her fingers into hers, a pull forward as her feet start flying, sneakers hitting puddles and a laugh painted on her lips as raindrops fall on their heads, a tilt of her head back and she drops his hand to bend her arms back, an open embrace. “C’mon Nate we’re dancing in the rain!” A stitch of a smile, and a nod declaring so.
Nathan threw his head back and laughed, amused at his girlfriend's antics but found them endearing none the less. He would expect nothing less from her. "As you wish, milady." He said, spinning her around in the rain before pulling the brunette back against his chest. He hummed softly, the tune almost completely drowned out by the sound of falling raindrops as they danced around in the street.
"Does that mean you need to come stay at mine?" A bite of her lip and a sliding grin as his presence will never be unwelcomed, but the annoyance of her roommates might just interrupt the two.
"Mmm. I'm not sure there's room in Amelia's apartment for one more guest, love." He grinned, despite the current downpour of rain that soaked the pair to the bone. He didn't mind it, really. Not when it caused the fabric of her clothes to cling to her skin, lining out every curve of her figure.
A lick of lips and a move in closer, fingertips brush against his ribcage and a press of her frame against his, a lean up on her tiptoes to roll her fingers through his hair and a hum leaves her mouth as she tastes the lips of the boy she dreamed about. A slight pull back as the slow grin spreads across her lips, and a teasing push against his chest. “Good.. the day you start being able to resist me, is the day we’re in trouble Hauser. After all, where we would be without my feminine wiles and ability to seduce you?”
Nathan wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Never would he tire of holding her in such an embrace, of feeling her warmth against him. He wouldn't ever loved another like he had always loved her, and he never wanted to. Even if they parted, moved on with their lives away from each other, he knew he'd never feel like this again. And that would be perfectly fine. She was his great love, and there would never be another. "I don't think you'll ever have anything to worry about in that regard, my dear." He murmured against her lips with a smile.
"This was Nathan being brave. Brave and snarky, and that was the way he wanted to go, unafraid and on his feet. Like a warrior. His death song would always be this-jokes and snideness and pretend arrogance, and that look in his eyes that said 'I am better than you'."
Where she walks, no flowers bloom
He’s the one I see right through
She’s the absinthe on my lips
The splinter in my fingertips
But who could do without you?
He was drunk. He was always drunk. There was hardly a memory in Charlie's head when he had been sober. Ever since his childhood, his father was prone to nothing but alcohol and violence, and it only got worse as he aged. He blew all their money on liquor bottles and then complained when they had nothing to pay the bills with -- the electricity had gone out on them twice in the past six months, the gas three times.
In the end it was Charlie who managed to keep the small household running, but God only knew how. Even working three different part time jobs outside of his school hours, it wasn't always enough to cover everything. And when one fell slack was when Mr. Barideaur was his most violent. Some nights though, he was just plain in a bad mood. Tonight was one of those nights.
Charlie knew he was screwed the moment he stepped through the front door. The small house reeked of whiskey and cheap beer, making his stomach curl. He halfway considered turning around right there and leaving; head over to Alaska's house and crash in her room. Charlie knew she wouldn't turn him away. But instead he braced himself and quietly stepped forward, hoping to make it to his room without being noticed. No such luck.
He came barreling out from down the hallway, bottle of booze in hand and rage contorted in his features. Charlie involuntarily flinched, but held his ground. "Where have you been?" he spat angerly, pointing a finger at him with the same hand he held the bottle. Charlie stayed silent. No matter what he said, it would never be a good enough answer; not when he was like this. And for that silence, he was rewarded with a slap to the face and a clenching grip around his neck.
His father's words came out slurred and jumbled, difficult to understand but the meaning behind them was clear, as was the punch that came at his face next. He had a tight grip around Charlie's neck, squeezing so hard he could feel his nails digging into the flesh there, and he struggled to breathe against his hold. The smell of alcohol was almost overpowering as his father loomed over him, so wasted it seeped out from his pores and stenched his breath.
A sharp pain in his abdomen caused him to gasp, letting go of the little air he'd managed to take in. He found himself being thrown backwards against a wall, his head banging so hard his head spun in a dizzy mess for a moment. Still, Charlie met his angry glare with his own unwavering gaze, holding his head up in a sign of defiance. Then the whiskey bottle came at his head.
- -
Charlie winced as he walked briskly down the street, pain chasing him with every step. He had a slight limp to his step and a definite forward hobble, but he refused to let it stop him. His chest hurt like hell and made it hard to breathe. Did he have a broken rib? The rest of his body was certainly banged up. His shoulder in particular felt like someone had dropped a thirty pound weight on it. Considering it had taken the blunt of the impact of a half full whiskey bottle though, he should be happy it wasn't worse. It was a good thing he was wearing leather, or else the glass might have gotten embedded in his skin.
"No son of mine would be so weak." His fathers words rang through his head over and over, and a bitter laugh escaped his lips, only for him to regret it a moment later when it brought more pain to his ribcage. If he had any choice in the matter, Charlie wouldn't be his son.
His father certainly believed it. Since nearly the day Charlie was born, he had been accusing his mother of cheating. The idea only cemented further in his brain when Claudia was born, a near mirror image of Mr. Barideaur -- but even that wasn't enough to spare her of his wrath when he was angry. Charlie stood out like a sore thumb, with his light blond hair and cerulean blue eyes against their darker features. Though his mother swore her fidelity, it was easy to see he didn't belong.
(He and Alaska had talked about it once, throwing around ridiculous theories of his actual birth, all in ranges from secret adoption to being stolen or switched. She had once humorously told him he looked like a younger male version of Athena Hauser -- he'd told her to not even joke about that.)
Then one day, his mother was just gone. Packed up and left out of the blue, with no trace of where she went. Charlie couldn't blame her for leaving; not when that was what she had to go home to. What he did blame her for, was leaving behind her two children alone to suffer her husband's wrath. He was only twelve at the time, and Claudia was nine. Who did that to their children? Who could just leave them behind?
So now it was just him and his sister trying to survive day to day. She was the reason why Charlie never fought back; why he took his father's abuse in silence. He didn't want him to turn on her. He couldn't live with himself if he let her get hurt.
It didn't take Charlie much longer to make it to Alaska's house, circling around to the back where he knew her room was located. With a bit of difficulty, he managed to maneuver his way up the tree beside her window before tapping on the glass. Within moments the window was open and her dainty arms were wrapped around his midsection, pulling him inside. He grimaced and let out a small huff of pain at the contact, but otherwise stayed silent.
He didn't even attempt to explain his current state; he never did. She was used to him showing up at her house sometime in the night all battered and banged up, because she was the one person he could turn to. Charlie had always suspected she had an inkling of what was actually going on, but for his sake never spoke of it, save for a few subtle comments. She knew if she pushed, he would just pull away. Hell, Charlie knew he would. It was just who he was.
As Alaska fussed over his newest batch of blood and bruises, Charlie pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts for his sister's number. She had been out tonight with friends, thankfully, but he didn't want her going home later to encounter the same fate as he had.
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