tanks4thememory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tanks4thememory) wrote2020-12-09 10:29 pm
tanks4thememory) wrote2020-12-09 10:29 pm
Two heads are better than one
Who: Clu1 and Clu 2 (a_perfect_end)
The life and times- and sexytimes of Clus One and Two in the ABO universe, collected here for the sake of convenience and avoiding page clutter. Multiple scenarios, lots of fun. Mostly of the NSFW variety.
Where: Their User world abode and possibly other places
When: Some undetermined time post Legacy and after this thread
What: ABO sexytimes and maybe other things; a Clu on Clu catchall
Warnings: VERY NSFW. Multiple kinks, ABO related warnings, sorta incest depending how you view programs from the same User, basically enter at your own risk if you're not into that sort of thing
The life and times- and sexytimes of Clus One and Two in the ABO universe, collected here for the sake of convenience and avoiding page clutter. Multiple scenarios, lots of fun. Mostly of the NSFW variety.
but the ocean kept turning blank pages - Mermay vs pirates AU; captivity, various dubious cruelty
At first it was just the typical tackle, stray bits and bobs one expected might be lost, that none troubled themselves over and never would've disturbed him for: a candle here or there, a pouch of tobacco, a beloved knife carelessly lost in rum-soaked target practice. The usual things.
But then there came the occasion of Lyle's mug--all good pewter, with a heavy silver lid, and his favorite. He'd employed it for a bludgeon in a tussle over cards, but it glanced off Patrick's thick skull, bounced against the railings, and rolled inward down the deck.
They were still arguing over who'd dive for it when an arm flashed up out of nowhere, pearl white, and neat as you please snaked through the porthole, mug and all, and disappeared. Simply vanished.
No crew in the water: their one good dinghy was still lashed indifferently in place, and even them that could swim wouldn't have in such a cross-current. It couldn't be crew. Then it was ghosts--wrecked sailors impatient for these scavengers to begone, perhaps--or something else.
It was real. Had to be: they'd both seen it, and anyway, there was no splash when the mug hit. It did happen, and not because of bad rum, good madeira, or indifferent digestion of Cook's more interesting attempts at lunch--
And. Well. Since it was real, and it did happen, then it was past time to tell the captain.
Claude Taylor was not a man who tolerated nonsense. He'd immediately ordered the pair of them tied to the mast to sober up.
He'd let them go after sufficient caterwauling, and gradually the men got over their fancies. It helped that they drew up a welter of coin in every grade of metal, four separate strong boxes--the biggest too heavy to save--a great golden cross half a man's height and covered in rubies, and two ruined cases of sugar, which might yet be passed off for good if they could get it dry.
Their luck was turning around again. And yet trinkets continued to vanish. Some because they were offered to the restless spirit still plaguing their wake. Claude himself had plied it with his second best pipe. When his lion's head belt buckle went astray, he was in a quiet but murderous temper, the kind that put men mysteriously overboard in calmer waters than these.
It was the loss of the empty lantern that made him think, though--that and the inkpot, and the hand mirror.
Trivialities, but shiny ones, and most of them were good stout glass.
Crew consensus was that something was toying with them, alive or dead. Something a great deal more charming and much more powerful than any magpie or gillie snatchit. By their reckoning, this was also the right general location and time of year. More than sorties or storms grounded ships here. More than the threat of rocks crushed hulls and buried gold at sea here.
They just might be dealing with a mermaid. Her songs could kill a man or grant his fondest wish. Her hair turned to spun gold when cut, and her blood and flesh could cure the sick or grant the strong immortality. But her tears could call storms, her rage could draw hurricanes, and of course she swam fast enough to mire ships in whirlpools.
A deadly difficult catch, but much too great a prize to be let go.
Every night thereafter, by the moon and a row of lanterns, they brought things of the human world and cast them over, just alongside where they dragged their nets. It was always better to entice than threaten. But if no fair offer could be made, threats would do. It was a good deal more grace than they'd have given a rival ship.
He'd never expected them to actually snare the poor creature. And because of a boot! Jarvis would never let him forget that.
It was a production getting her out of the water and out of harm's way, two of his own sailors half-drowned in the trying. Mermaids could injure themselves on even the finest nets, cutting skin used to the sea's caress on bitter rope. Their flesh went ruinously poisonous if they were killed accidentally or while fighting, like that coastal fish that puffed out its spines. Not that he would eat either such thing, no matter what power it granted him. But it would hurt the value, and wasn't that the thing? The main thing.
That and whatever treasure she guarded. Mermaids always had treasure hoards.
Even soaking wet and thrashing, she was beautiful, lithe-limbed and strong, her tapered torso heaving as she strained to breathe air--so much lighter and thinner than her own water, it might make her dizzy, though the slack in the ropes would catch her should she faint. His gaze did not linger on her jewelry, a flicker of gold and a clatter of sand-dollars arrayed like armor or a thin blouse.
The great golden length of her shining tail dried his mouth out. He could not let the men see him afraid. And it must be fear--his heart was racing, going so hard he could near taste it, only...
Ladies did not have that effect on him. Therefore he must be terrified.
Claude scowled to drown his own cowardice, arranged his teeth in his sharpest, most smug sneer of a smile.
"What's all this, then?" Steady and strong, sauntering straight up to his catch. "You'll only hurt yourself, kicking about like that, me lass."
no subject
The shipwreck. Sitting there just chock full of treasures, ripe for the harvesting. And not just what most would consider treasure. Certainly there was plenty of gold and a fair amount of glass, as well as silver and some cut gems, though the former was of more interest to mages than anyone else, and the market for gems was relatively small. But there were also any number of less ostentatious human-crafted objects that most back home regarded as curiosities at best, and junk at worst. C'leel, though, found them fascinating, along with the ones who made them. And he had managed to open up a new room the last time he'd been there though he hadn't had time to really investigate it.
He was glad he did now though, because when he peeked into it, he knew it would take him quite awhile to go over everything. There was a veritable reef of gold to begin with; he helped himself to a few simple chains and a pair of bracelets, though he didn't dare take much more. If he brought back too much at once, his foraging spot likely wouldn't be his much longer if anyone caught whorl of it. Though that didn't stop him from giving a somewhat longing look to that elaborately decorated chest that would probably take a whole team of rays to haul back home.
But among the jewelry and trinkets and gold and silver disks, were other things that tickled his fins far more than the dream of financial gain. Like this one piece, for example; it resembled a trident in overall shape but was much shorter. It had little rings instead of points, making it somewhat useless as a weapon, and a flat base that was clearly meant for sitting on a table. Maybe it was meant to be a display stand for something? He had a few of them already in various styles, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what they were meant for. The 'tea pot' he did know the name of though. Roundish though with a flat base, a handle on one side and a little tail-like spout on the other, it was meant for holding tea. Which was somehow both a drink and a meal and considered very important by humans for reasons that were unclear to him. Regardless, this was a particularly nice one; decorated with what looked like images of colorful anemones and only slightly cracked; a must for his collection.
A day or so into his expedition though, things had gotten interesting; that was when the ship turned up. Now, anyone with good sense knew to swim well clear of humans, but C'leel had never been accused of having much good sense. Besides, he had encountered them once before. Sort of; he doubted the ragged collection of shipwrecked souls knew how they'd come to that little island, nor who it was who kept leaving them offerings of fresh fish on that particular rock. And he'd only been seen by them once, as far as he knew; there had been much muttering and rubbing of disbelieving eyes. But he had watched and listened and observed.
And that was all he'd intended to do here. He'd found himself a spot tucked out of sight- well above the water line but worth shimmying up- and close enough to an opening that he could watch and listen. These humans, it seemed, were a rough lot, many of them a bit too fond of dream slime- or rum, or whatever they called their intoxicant of choice-, and prone to getting into fights seemingly at the twitch of a fin, among other generally aggressive acts. But these self-same habits of getting silt-headed and fighting led to them dropping or otherwise losing a lot of things. And when some of those things landed temptingly near the opening he was watching from... well, he couldn't quite help himself. A lot of it would have likely fallen in anyway, and it was mostly their own fault for not being more careful with their things.
Or so he told himself. It sounded better than the fact that he was essentially becoming a petty thief the longer he stayed near the ship. And inevitably, as more small items began to go missing, the humans noticed that something unusual was going on. He really should have left then and there, but once again, curiosity and maybe a bit of mischievousness won out over good sense. Especially when they started deliberately tossing things into the water whenever they cast their nets. After all, if they were just going to give him things, who was he to refuse? And he made sure to herd plenty of fish into their nets in return, or guide them to snag on something they'd find equally interesting; it had become clear early on that they were here after the treasure, though it seemed even they couldn't haul up the large, elaborate chest.
Still, as much fun as he was having and as many new pieces for his collection as he'd gotten- the mirror and a few other things would be sold, but most of it he would keep- he felt a bit guilty just taking their things. Maybe he'd leave them a little gift before they departed? Yes, that would even things out. Maybe some of the pearls he'd collected? Humans valued them after all, and he did have that pouch of one of theirs that had originally contained some kind of leaves that smelled unpleasant; he'd discarded the original contents, but the pouch itself was still perfectly fine, and would keep the pearls from falling out until it was deliberately opened.
Distracted by his plans, he spotted a particularly nice looking fin-cover in a color that reminded him of his ray. One of the humans latest offerings no doubt. Except when he tried to pull it away so he could go herd some fish into their net.... he wound up caught in it himself and the more he struggled to free himself, the more entrapped he became. Then abruptly both he and the net were hauled up out of the water. The transition was a shocking on when one was unprepared; the gills on the sides of his neck snapped shut and his first few breaths of air were more like gasps before they settled somewhat. He thrashed and squirmed, trying to find an opening to wriggle out of the net, but to no avail.
The humans' captain was the first to approach, addressing him in his own language. C'leel paused in his thrashing both to catch his breath a moment and to hastily cast the translation spell- to those near enough to hear, it would have sounded like a single, soft and vaguely musical tone-, just in time to hear the captain call him a 'lass'. He might have laughed at the notion if his predicament hadn't been so serious. A female? Him? Really? "If you think I'm a 'lass', there must be something wrong with your eyes," he replied. "Either that or you just haven't seen a female in so long you've forgotten what one looks like."
"And the first of your men to lay hands on me- especially my tail- are going to wish they hadn't." Even at the somewhat awkward angle he couldn't miss the way the captain had been staring- particularly at his tail-, before collecting himself. Internally, he was working up a powerful charge to make good his threat. With luck, they wouldn't realize he could only do it once.
no subject
He glanced his eyes aside for that. Manners, and all. She let out a single chiming cry, like a delphine trying to sound its whereabouts, and then--
Laughed at him. A noise like music and a knife right in the pride, words razor quick and just as precise, just as sure to their target.
Still. The men were watching, and he was no lass, after all.
Claude snorted. A good job his compass still pointed true. He folded his hand to his waist, resting it just on his belt knife to hide where his fingers had itched to try those shining flanks.
"My mistake," wry, tilting his head, knuckling his cap as one might to a slightly better equal, with heavy irony. "Goodly sir, but you will cut your skin on those nets if you panic." Stating facts was not a threat. "One way or another, Lyle and Mason here'll help you out."
"Oh, hell," Mason squeaked under his breath, only he twitched right to attention when Claude looked at him, pale with fear of more than mermen. "Uh, Yes, Captain."
But he didn't move. Lyle smirked at his antics, but didn't move either.
"Give over," snapped Claude, "unless you wanna scrub the deck with the two good teeth between ye! Move!"
Forward they went, with his boot in their belts to boost them.
The combined effect was immediate. The instant dry hands clutched wet rope and smooth soft skin, all three of them had...an experience. The most incredible grip seized their every muscle at once, unbearably tight, and didn't quite permit them pain even as they were pitched backward, hard as a good shove.
Some sort of spell, connected or transmitted by the water and each other.
Claude choked. All his hair stood on end. His heart was trying to--wiggle--unpleasantly, at having been squeezed so. He couldn't have fought the creature in this shape. And judging by their bent postures, crooked as old men and breathing ragged, neither could his men at the moment.
"You, two," slowly, with precise care against a tongue gone cotton, "go, and see Cook."
Their surgeon was gone, after all, lost in the storm.
"Cap'n?"
"Go," he repeated, in no mood. "Have'm listen to your ribs 'n' take a good swig of whatever he's got, no matter how it tastes."
That might help. It was all they had to work with. Off they limped, with a hoarse aye-aye.
"I'll fix our guest. The rest of you, jump! We'll need warm seawater to draw the lad a bath."
Just in case he thought he was going anywhere fast. Claude rounded on him, pressed as close as he dared without touching. They near could have rubbed their eyelashes together.
"You," he raked hot eyes over his catch, thin-lipped with more than fury, "ye try that again, an' I'll boil y'in it."
He would never. For one thing, the merman was too valuable alive. But it sounded good.
no subject
As the captain and two of his men- named Lyle and Mason, apparently, though he was unsure which was which- found out the hard way when he released his gathered charge, knocking all three of them back. But not out; it must have been a bit less potent in air than in water, though the two men clearly wouldn't be up for much for some time. He suspected the same was true for the captain, though he made more of an effort to conceal it.
In the end, however, his efforts were for naught. He was still trapped and the captain was ordering his other men to prepare some sort of container of water for him. He wasn't sure if the fact that they were that prepared was reassuring or not. On one hand, it meant that he didn't have to summon water to sustain him long term; he could do so, summoning a sphere of water about the size of a manta cart that would remain stable and allow him to rest inside it. But on the other, that would require most of his available aether. He was no trained mage, and such an effort would leave him hungry and exhausted in a place where he was unsure how well or even if he'd be fed, and where sleeping deeply might not be advisable. Not to mention tipping his hand to the humans that he had magic beyond the simple translation trick at all.
No, if he must be trapped, best to take what accommodation he was given. For now, at least.
Then suddenly, the captain was rounding on him, leaning in til their noses nearly touched to snarl at him. C'leel's fins flared- well, as much as they could in the net, which wasn't a great deal- and his glow flared to life, previously all but invisible patterns on his tail and one side of his chest made suddenly obvious in an instinctive response to a threat. Like a puffer expanding, it was meant to intimidate, to threaten an opponent or predator into backing off. Unlike a puffer who still had its poison though, with him it was now a largely idle threat; he was no trained warrior either, and wouldn't be able to manage another charge like that for the better part of a day.
The now illuminated patterns on his body cast the captain's face in a yellowish glow, highlighting his expression of mingled fury and hunger. Of the two, it was the hunger C'leel found more threatening; it reminded him of a shark who'd locked on to a particularly fat and tasty meal, but he suspected it wasn't the desire for food that prompted it.
"I did warn you," pointed out, holding the captain's gaze, blue eyes hard and sharp as the icebergs of distant waters. Two could play at the intimidation game, and while he was at a distinct disadvantage, he'd be damned if he gave in first. "And you and yours are the ones who hauled me up here against my will, lest you forget. I've every right to defend myself. Especially with you leering at me like a half-starved barracuda looking at a shoal of herring."
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."
no subject
His attempt at a threatening posture seemed to have at least a bit of an effect though, as the captain's gray eyes widened as they were lit by his glow, and eventually he backed off to stand more normally. The shark's grin that crossed his captor's face a moment later erased any modicum of ease that had brought him though. Naked greed behind sharp eyes, no doubt already calculating how much his catch might fetch at market. "Oh, so you'll sell me off to the highest bidder then, will you, so perhaps they might eat me?", he said, making it clear that a delay of such a fate didn't make the possibility any more pleasant. "I know you humans have some ridiculous ideas about how eating my people's flesh or drinking our blood can heal your ills or make you immortal. Well, unfortunately they do no such thing; I don't know how such a stupid old fish tale even got started. It's true that we live quite a bit longer than humans- assuming we're both healthy and lucky-, but that's all; we're as mortal as any other creature, and our flesh and blood are only that, not some sort of panacea."
His glare faltered slightly, though only for the most fleeting moment as his theft was brought up. He really couldn't deny that he'd done it, after all, but a few pilfered trinkets hardly justified his current predicament. "Your crew has such a penchant for getting silt-headed I'm almost surprised they even noticed aught was amiss," he said somewhat disdainfully. He doubted human terms for intoxication were quite the same as his own, but the context likely made the meaning fairly clear nonetheless. "And I was going to leave you something in return before I left; I've been foraging pearls- among other things- for days now, and where I wouldn't miss a pouch full, I imagine it'd be worth a great deal more to you."
Never mind that such a notion was something he'd only just come up with to soothe a guilty conscience, rather than something he'd planned from the beginning. And obviously they'd be getting no such thing now, even if he did manage to escape.
the slowest boat to china is carrying the most goods!
Claude took a sharp breath and held it, let it out again slow, the same as a good steady draw on a pipe. Settled the nerves and tempered hotter, more primal humours.
He could see, now, that he'd given the lad a solid fright: his fins wavered at their full extent, and even slitted in wrath his eyes darted ceaselessly, trying to watch all of them at once as he wriggled against the net. Claude snorted, quiet, and considered that. In the first place, he wouldn't force attention on the unwilling--though of course his captive had no way of knowing that. And in the second, they had an audience: or he did, and one that counted on him for their lives and their livelihood.
"Steady." A reminder to himself, and reassurance to his catch--a tempting dish in any sense, even still trying to skewer him with a chilly gaze. "Steady, lad. The man that'd make su-chii out of you has more money than sense, and that'd be a poor sale."
Though to hear his hope of a fortune in miracle blood so neatly unraveled--did knock some wind out of his proverbial sails.
"Unfortunate," gruffly. "That is a loss: not to grant a child sight by cutting your thumb, no worse than the slip of a hook, nor spare his poor mother an early grave." His free hand tapped his chin, tugged thoughtfully at a beard gold as carrots in the sun. "Suppose'n there's no such thing as perfect medicine."
But the merman had said several other odd things, besides.
"...Silt...?" Claude squinted, thought. "Oh, that. Some as were celebratin' early. Caught you right enough, though, snootful or no."
"Captain? Uh, sir?" Jarvis hesitated. He always did, except in battle, all arms and legs and gander-pale no matter how he sunburned.
Claude twisted in place, exasperated, and slid him a look that near enough made the man's knees rattle. "Well?"
"Sir." Clearing his throat, the stork of a man gangled his way into Claude's personal space--and as near the strange, enthralling creature on their decks as he quite dared. "Your bawth is ready."
A ransom originally, Jarvis had a sharp head for sums, meticulous organizational skill, and that fancy, too-good accent like an orchestrated yawn.
"Perfect," was Claude's sole summation of this news.
Jarvis cleared his throat. "Our--" hot-eyed, with an envious pinch of the pale, pale mouth, "guest seems, perhaps, overburdened with his ordeal, and quite weighted down with tackle that's not necessarily his own, originally. You are, therefore, naturally within right of," he paused, and one could half watch his mental dictionary flittering through its officious little pages, "...restitution."
Claude huffed a laugh. "In English english, Quartermaster?"
"Hmm." Jarvis rolled his tongue in search of shorter words and arrived at: "...Plunder, sir."
That one little case? The lad's arm was wound tight around it, as though it held the universe's very secrets. And he had mentioned pearls.
However justified Claude's claim might not be, hesitation never won a man anything. He fair swaggered into place, smirking down at his captive.
"Any more tricks?" He moved decisively, to keep the knife neat and straight in his hand. "Y'gonna curse me? Sing me a storm, or a pod of killer whales to smash my ship? Hold still, now--" He cut without touching his guest or the net itself, cleaner than a close shave. "...There."
Might made right, and just like that the satchel was his.
"Shall I," Jarvis paused, not quite reaching, "analyze it, sir?"
"No!" perhaps too sharp, gruff and too quick, "No, thankee. The lad'll want it with him, I'm sure, or at least close by." And louder, for the assembly: "You'll all have your share, soon as it's due."
For this, there was a collective exhale, their first return to something like normal order--and an abrupt, group shiver of coarse laughter. After this long at sea, there was not a clean mind among or between them.
Certainly his own wandered more than he might wish.
"Understood, sir," Jarvis tutted, some hardly readable and longsuffering expression plastered stiff on his face. "Very good. I'll see you're--" a pause, flick of the eyes up and down, "not disturbed?"
"Good man!" barked Claude, with a rusty laugh of his own. "Now, then--"
There was a trick to lifting with the knees, and not with the back, and it made the turn of the net easier. With one great haul he at last had an armful of merman, slung headfirst over Claude's shoulder and not at all quiet about it, fins flashing to cut, hands thumping good and hard with a yell.
Insults rained bitterly on his back.
"If ye bite me," Claude snarled, tilting hard under their matched weight, "I'll leave y'for the gulls--" He gasped, sharpish, and dropped his voice. His teeth were gritted. But not from pain. "Don't wriggle so, lad!"
In response, the great golden tail gave one wicked, awful thrash, but they were too close together for it to drub him, and he was too well-braced to be pulled down. His men scattered like ninepins, or like crows, flowing together around the commotion in a lumpish cloud of rough jesting.
"I mean it!" Low, urgent into the heaving flanks of his thrashing, wondrous catch. "Will you hold still--"
Of course he didn't.
They made it through the narrow cabin door just the same. Somehow, somehow, he got the net loose and his wonderful, irate gilded prize into the washtub with only a moderate thrashing.
His everything was askew; they'd knocked into everything there was to bump over or nudge against. His lip was cut, by net or fins. He could taste the salt of his own blood.
The merman glared up at him with pure affront, seething fit to murder, but for some wonder held his tongue.
"Welcome," panted Claude, thoroughly discombobulated, "aboard."
no subject
Some small part of him felt bad for disabusing the humans of any notion that his blood held some miraculous cures. There were those among his people who could have, perhaps, helped those the Captain mentioned, but healing magic was a craft that required many years of study and practice. And who even knew whether techniques meant for healing mers would be equally effective on humans? Still, if he'd had such abilities, and the opportunity to use them to help an innocent arose, he wouldn't have needed to be forced.
But that small part was, at present, a very small part. He was still a prisoner, however, bound for an uncertain fate, one that grew more uncertain by the moment. At present, he could only clutch his pouch and wait as he was discussed, though he could see that they were even eyeing that. Unsurprising, he supposed; as their prisoner, the would likely claim anything on his person as part of their catch. The pouch itself was on the large side, designed to evoke an upturned snail shell, and made of sturdy turtle-skin leather. It hung over his shoulder on a long strap of the same, though the strap was more flexible than the stiffened leather of pouch. He suspected that they would be far mor interested in its contents than its craftsmanship, however.
He was forced to still for a movement as the captain cut him free of the net- he had no interest in having more than the ropes cut after all- but once the captain had put away his knife, he resumed his struggles with renewed vigor. Not that he suspected that they would be especially effective as despite them he was hauled steadily away from the side of the ship and the freedom that lay in the sea, but he was determined to make his transition to true captivity as difficult as possible for his captor.
Eventually though he was deposited with a splash into a metal tub of seawater, glaring up at the captain from the awkward position. He took a certain amount of grim satisfaction in how disheveled he now looked. Served him right! But continuing to glare at him wouldn't accomplish anything at this point, and after a long moment, he allowed himself to shift into a slightly more comfortable position in the tub, pulling in the tips of his fins from where they'd trailed over the edge, and glanced around the room. Though it was in a similarly disheveled state to its owner as a result of his thrashing, it was still more intact that any human room he'd ever been able to examine; even just at a glance, he could spot a number of things he recognized but even more that he didn't, made all the more fascinating by their novelty. And it was out of the sun, which he had to admit was a marked improvement from being on deck.
But still, he was well and truly caught now. Which led to a single question in his mind. "Well, you have me," he said, bitter and wary. "What now?" He wasn't to be dinner, but that still left a great many possibilities, most of them unpleasant.
no subject
He shook his head with a snort. It would hardly matter to his present catch why he'd been made captain, or how he held onto that position. And anyway at times he outpaced himself: having caught the poor creature, he hadn't the faintest idea what to do next.
Or, really, how to care for him. He looked plain miserable, and that struck the headwind straight from Claude's sails. Something sharp and bitter pulled at his ribs for the sight of the great gold tail in a tight coil, fins pulled inward and arms the same, wrapped tight around the little pouch they'd fair drooled over. The merman's eyes darted this way and that--alight with something other than fear, for that moment, caught up in some other venture of feeling--but his gaze slitted sharp in sheer winter as he watched Claude.
Ice and steel in his voice, poised sharp enough to cut.
"Peace be!" grumbled the captain, prodding his own lip. "T'were hard enough to pry ye loose! Those louts out there are great in a storm, and better in a fight, but--well. They might think you're made of gold, shining like that. And they won't believe you aren't magic, no matter what you tell 'em. Had to get you apart."
And out of the sun. And into some good clean seawater--he'd seen what fresh water did to ocean fish, and salt to river ones.
And his room was the nicest on the ship. Or, it had been, anyway. Still was, under all the fuss. Claude snorted, arighting himself: this was his own fault.
"Give a man a moment to think," he sighed, trying to straighten his--everything--while he went through the guesswork.
It made sense to run down a checklist of what human hostages tended to need or want in this position. Freedom to move about under guard was often the first and fiercest of their desires, but it had to be earned, and anyway he'd no idea how that would work--ships made their way by keeping water out. Could they safely take on water, later on? After a good and thorough careening in harbor, they might be able to work something up. Perhaps by some mechanism of the lower decks--except, reversed bilge would be foul and silty, not at all like the clear currents he might be used to...
No. Fat lot of dream sheep wool that idea was. So: with shelter improvised, for now, the lad would need food. And more than that:
"Didn't cut ye, did I? I mean, are you hurt anywhere?" And lest the merman take this for charity, for bleeding-hearted weakness, well. "In men, copper poisons the blood, and I wouldn't lose you that way."
There. Much tougher. Couldn't give the lad a chance to see his chagrin.
Besides, he was curious.
"D'you eat," thinking, "sea grass? Or other fish, maybe--certainly that and biscuit are most of our lunch, this late in a voyage. Can't let you starve, either."
Pause. Squinting:
"Forgive me, but--how do you, drink? Water's just air to ye, isn't it, and the salt must be terrible dehydrating--"
He was babbling. He sighed.
"Don't suppose you take tea?"
no subject
Still, all in all, he preferred not having them only discover this after pulling off half his scales or some such thing. And speaking of injuries. "No," he said. "I'm a bit bumped and bruised-" likely in part because of his own thrashing- "but not cut. I had sense enough to keep still while you were cutting the ropes to make sure of that."
And he was going to be relatively still for awhile, if the captain had his way. Even if he wanted to give C'leel room to swim, any attempt to do so would result in his ship joining the shipwreck that had drawn them both here on the seabed. And despite his predicament, he wasn't so vindictive as to wish such a fate on his captors. He'd seen the bones of the poor, unfortunate souls who'd gone down with that ship, and didn't wish to add to their number if it could be helped.
The question of food was a far more immediate concern though. "Fish and plants both, according to the season and our tastes," he said. "There's actually some travel rations among the things in my pouch. I'd been supplementing them with hunting, but on their own they should last a few days, if eaten sparingly. I doubt eating your food would be an issue though, if needed." Nor the humans his either, he suspected, though how much either of them would enjoy the other's fare remained to be seen.
As for drinking, he actually had to think for a moment. He'd been told as a child, of course, among the endless questions youngsters were prone to, but it was never something he'd had to consciously think about as an adult. "Normally we take what we need from the water around us, with our gills filtering out the excess salt, among other things. But as that can't happen here, I suppose drinking like a human would do me no harm, so long as it's water and not ale." He had no desire to find out how that stuff would affect him, thank you very much.
"Tea though... do you mean the drink or the meal? I know it's both, somehow, though I'm not sure how that might be." He suspected that the captain was referring to the drink, as that was what he'd just been talking about, but he couldn't be sure.