The merman's predicament was not helped by his sudden change of movement. Of course he wouldn't lie still for the insult of the net! No sea creature ever did, only this one wriggled that great golden expanse of tail with very human hips, and that was--
It put a tug in the mast he'd never quite experienced before. There was hardly a polite place for it in leather trousers, so Claude coughed hard and stiffened all his ribs, to a one, which after all still burned with the knowledge of exactly how well-defended his catch was. His gorgeous catch he would not eat and didn't quite dare touch.
"Mercy," he breathed, same as a curse. And louder: "Aye, so ye did. We won't eat ye, lad."
It was not dinner that he fancied, and he could see the merman knew it, that cold blue regard bitter as the winter sea. The difference in how they were made didn't give the lad even one ounce less of spine! He flashed sharp fins at Claude with a fury that caused him actually to glow, gold as a lantern, and it would have taken Claude's breath away except it put him in mind of that odd cold fire that had gripped him so.
Claude could feel his own eyes widen, steel grey popping to some other, lighter shade; but he did not back away until it could be taken for courtesy, however mocking. He made a thoroughly middle class bob of leg, as might a merchant's son to betters he didn't want noticing him twice.
Before his salt life he'd known all about that. But that was the great thing about being a scallywag of the sea: Claude never hid what he wanted, nor from whom, nor why.
"It's not food we're after." The grin would not be suppressed, leached out in the rich, greedy singsong that had caught his voice. "Purchase, perhaps--or crew, or ransom--but make a meal? Out of a treasure like you? Oh, no."
Of course the life he had now came with its own rules: work hard, show no fear, take pains to be manful. Give the same rights and equal share to the lovely and the louts and--et al., and et cetera, as befit the pirate code--which might be individual to the ship, or answer the greater fleet's consensus in Cutthroats' Bay. Those things were expected of any captain worth his own salt, and nevermind how he laid his pillow.
It helped that Claude preferred the husband's share, of the work and otherwise, though of course most men hoped for true wives of their own, back on shore.
Gulls and thunder! But his mind was wandering all sorts of places it had no port of call. Purely for a pretty set of scales and the most befuddling, wonderful show of sheer backbone he'd been granted in some time.
"Oh, it's all our blame, is it?" with a huff, with low hoarse laughter, rusty with affectation. "Cheeky little thief!" He tutted cheerfully, wagging his finger with a crooked, wicked grin.
A hungry fox bared its teeth the same way at sleek, tasty prey and great, awful hounds. It remained to see which this merman would turn out to be. Either way, what fun.
"Y've a lot to learn, lad, about taking things from pirates."
no subject
It put a tug in the mast he'd never quite experienced before. There was hardly a polite place for it in leather trousers, so Claude coughed hard and stiffened all his ribs, to a one, which after all still burned with the knowledge of exactly how well-defended his catch was. His gorgeous catch he would not eat and didn't quite dare touch.
"Mercy," he breathed, same as a curse. And louder: "Aye, so ye did. We won't eat ye, lad."
It was not dinner that he fancied, and he could see the merman knew it, that cold blue regard bitter as the winter sea. The difference in how they were made didn't give the lad even one ounce less of spine! He flashed sharp fins at Claude with a fury that caused him actually to glow, gold as a lantern, and it would have taken Claude's breath away except it put him in mind of that odd cold fire that had gripped him so.
Claude could feel his own eyes widen, steel grey popping to some other, lighter shade; but he did not back away until it could be taken for courtesy, however mocking. He made a thoroughly middle class bob of leg, as might a merchant's son to betters he didn't want noticing him twice.
Before his salt life he'd known all about that. But that was the great thing about being a scallywag of the sea: Claude never hid what he wanted, nor from whom, nor why.
"It's not food we're after." The grin would not be suppressed, leached out in the rich, greedy singsong that had caught his voice. "Purchase, perhaps--or crew, or ransom--but make a meal? Out of a treasure like you? Oh, no."
Of course the life he had now came with its own rules: work hard, show no fear, take pains to be manful. Give the same rights and equal share to the lovely and the louts and--et al., and et cetera, as befit the pirate code--which might be individual to the ship, or answer the greater fleet's consensus in Cutthroats' Bay. Those things were expected of any captain worth his own salt, and nevermind how he laid his pillow.
It helped that Claude preferred the husband's share, of the work and otherwise, though of course most men hoped for true wives of their own, back on shore.
Gulls and thunder! But his mind was wandering all sorts of places it had no port of call. Purely for a pretty set of scales and the most befuddling, wonderful show of sheer backbone he'd been granted in some time.
"Oh, it's all our blame, is it?" with a huff, with low hoarse laughter, rusty with affectation. "Cheeky little thief!" He tutted cheerfully, wagging his finger with a crooked, wicked grin.
A hungry fox bared its teeth the same way at sleek, tasty prey and great, awful hounds. It remained to see which this merman would turn out to be. Either way, what fun.
"Y've a lot to learn, lad, about taking things from pirates."