|
|
Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Dec 19, 2011 19:25:23 GMT -5
Pain flared on his jaw and there was a vague sensation of spinning. As Francis felt himself sink to the floor, his last thought was to curse Arthur silently. Then darkness took over.
When Francis came to, he had to fight to open his eyes, which turned out to be a mistake. There was very little light from the window, but it hurt. It seemed that everything hurt, especially his jaw. It was throbbing horribly, and Francis tried not to groan - that would make the pain worse.
Cupping the injured area tenderly, Francis blinked and sat up. He wasn't on the gunport floor anymore; instead, he had woken up on a rather comfortable bed. He glanced around in confusion. He seemed to be in a moderately-sized room - and from the layout, he could tell that it was the captain's quarters.
Francis jumped to his feet. Arthur. The enemy ship. But when he strained his ears to listen, there were no sounds of battle, and seeing as he wasn't abducted, it was more than likely that Arthur's crew had won, or at least escaped. Francis slumped in relief.
Without the imminent danger, Francis took a second look at the room. It was rather Spartan - everything was practical and functional, nothing sentimental. It was just another toolroom, Francis realized. An extension of Arthur's duties.
Francis sighed and shuffled around the room, glancing at anything remotely interesting. Was this all Arthur's life consisted of?
|
|
|
|
Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Dec 19, 2011 20:05:41 GMT -5
Almost on cue, the door opened to the cabin and Arthur entered, now dressed in his plain shirt. He barely glances at Francis as he walks towards the desk, but places a bowl on it, seemingly full of water. He pulls out a cloth, squeezes the excess water, and slowly approaches Francis, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and presses to the man's jaw, motioning for him to hold it himself. It was freezing cold.
He sighs, a rather harsh but unsure tone in his voice.
"I didn't hit you hard enough to disfigure your jaw, I'm sure you'll be glad to know. What I'm not bloody impressed with is how you decided that you seemed to know how to respond to an enemy ship, something I can deal with several times a week, better than me or my crew know how to. Not to mention you lied to my crew about Superior's orders."
He sighs, grumbles, and goes to run a hand through his hair but stops suddenly, having caught the graze just above his forehead. It'd been cleaned, but was still rather raw and sore.
"While yes, you put the other ship on it's knees, do you realise that was a Ruthian ship? Did you not even consider that they might be going for the wrong ship? Not as in they got beaten to a pulp, but the fact that they actually picked the wrong ship? Yes, they bloody did deserve getting damaged for touching my ship in the first place, but a lot of the crew died on the other ship that didn't deserve to, not at my hands. And if you like claiming that you know so much about me, you should have known that I do not put blood on my hands that it not deserving of it."
He glares, and stands up.
"And you bloody wonder why I walked out. You feel and don't think. Can't you see what tragic decisions you can do as a result as living like that?! Get some sleep. You look bloody pasted."
With that, he turns to walk away again.
|
|
|
|
Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Dec 19, 2011 20:31:54 GMT -5
Francis absolutely loathed being reprimanded like a wayward child, for all that he did for Arthur and his ship, but it was more humiliating with Arthur tending to him for an injury Arthur himself inflicted. All he could do was glare at down on the bed, though, because speaking would require moving his jaw, which hurt so badly he could faint from it again.
He waited until Arthur was finished to finally look up at the pirate. Again, Arthur was commanding him like a lowly subordinate. Again, Arthur was leaving him alone.
"I only acted," said Francis carefully to avoid as much pain in his jaw as possible, "because the ship was a threat to you. I didn't realize that my assistance was not needed, or that you feel my skills are inadequate. I wouldn't have if the other ship had only been passing merrily along without harmful intentions.
"I apologize," he said mockingly, "Captain."
|
|
|
|
Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Dec 19, 2011 20:42:59 GMT -5
"---Don't call me that." Arthur shoots back suddenly, feeling too oddly uncomfortable by him saying that than for him to note the mocking tone too much. He shifts awkwardly, and looks off to the side. There's the beginning of a blush appearing.
"... I didn't say your skills were inadequate, because I know you're bloody good at what you can do. Just that you, without even thinking to see what I was doing, decided to take a crew-wide action into your own hands and somehow feel you could resolve it on your own hands on a ship that very much relies on each other working in 'tune' to the other... O-Of course, you were only on a ship for a short while a-and probably think I'm speaking a load of codswallop, but--"
He stops himself, and sighs.
"Sorry. I didn't think I'd crack you one so hard."
He looks at the other, eyes genuine and slightly soft.
|
|
|
|
Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Dec 19, 2011 21:00:22 GMT -5
Francis scooted back slightly, warily eyeing Arthur's expression. Still, he couldn't fight the way his heartbeat quickened - reactions were so hard to control. It was maddening, everything he felt. Francis dropped his gaze back to the sheets.
"Don't look at me like that..." he mumbled.
He peeked up at Arthur from under his lashes without realizing it. His heart was still pounding like crazy, and he hated it.
"Don't talk down to me," said Francis instead. Hopefully his indignation would hide how his body was betraying him. "Don't make it seem as if my days on a ship were a short holiday. I've spent years and years as a pirate, and I know my way around a ship. The ship was my life at that point."
Francis ran a hand down his face and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. With a sigh, he stood up and brushed past Arthur to the door.
"Don't bother, I'll go. I'll fix whatever damage I caused below deck. I won't come up and I'll stay out of your way, I promise."
Just once, Francis would like to know how to felt like to leave Arthur instead of the other way around.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Dec 20, 2011 12:51:09 GMT -5
"Don't--" Arthur suddenly blurts out, grabbing at Francis' wrist to hold him back. He stares down at his hand for a moment, as though wondering why he did that, before blushing and retracting back immediately, holding his arms to himself.
"T--Uh, what I mean is that there's no point. You're injured, and it's just a mess down there and I already have crew members down there cleaning the area up. There's a reason why there was hardly anything in that area -- Ship's will either aim for the mast/sails, or the larger guns, depending. if it gets hit it's not going to do a lot of damage." He rolls his eyes. "Unless a pillock decides to stand there."
He looks away, moving to shuffle around to his desk.
"Also, you look bloody knackered. Crew will be moving around under deck all day. ... Also, there aren't any spare hammocks." He grumbles, sitting himself down. Then he stops, before opening his drawer.
"...---Y-You know what? Go do what you bloody want. It's not like I bloody give a toss. I-It's not like I even want you on the ship" He remarks, pulling out a full bottle of rum. He sets about opening it.
|
|
|
|
Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Dec 20, 2011 18:56:34 GMT -5
Francis would have been ready to dismiss Arthur's ramblings as denial, or attempts at maintaining his indifference, if it weren't for those final words. Those hit a little too hard for Francis to disregard.
"Of course," muttered Francis. "Of course you don't. You don't even want me in your life."
He eyed the bottle in Arthur's hand with equal parts suspicion and resentment. Then he just chuckled bitterly and shook his head. It wasn't his place anymore. If Arthur insisted on refusing his help, on taking care of himself, then Francis would have to respect that.
"Don't drink yourself to death," Francis couldn't help saying as he turned away again. "Your crew depends on you."
Francis squared his shoulders and stepped out of the cabin.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Dec 20, 2011 19:41:24 GMT -5
"DON'T PUT WORDS INTO MY MOUTH AND STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO BLOODY DO!" Arthur yells out, popping open the top and talking a large, long swig of the rum. He sets it down, and grumbles lowly to himself. He wouldn't exit his cabin for the rest of the day, and when someone finally does enter into the cabin, the only sounds that can be heard are from under the desks themselves, slight mumblings and hiccoughs.
The bowl that was on the desk to soothe Francis' jaw had been knocked off, on the floor somewhere face down. The water that had spilled from it was all over the desk and floor, Arthur having dozed and dunked his head in it by mistake earlier.
He clutches at the bottle, again, whimpering to himself. He has a slight flushed expression, hair rather damp.
Francis always got him in a state.
|
|
|
|
Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Dec 22, 2011 11:21:38 GMT -5
Try as he might, Francis could not avoid Arthur's last words, and they continued to echo in his ears even as he made his way below deck. The gunport was thankfully still intact; it just happened to be a large mess. Debris and splinters were scattered everywhere, the cannons had rolled away from their positions this way and that, and the rest of the weapons had spilled out of their containers.
The crew members who were already there and tidying up gave Francis heated glares, which Francis only acknowledged with a nod. The man Francis had sent up to the main deck actually cursed at him. Francis hurried off to the least populated area and began to clean up as well.
By the time the place was neat again and the weapons secured, Francis was ready to venture back to the main deck again. He would just have to avoid the captain's quarters - he knew Arthur was probably still deeply displeased with him.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Dec 22, 2011 11:47:08 GMT -5
Before Francis had time to much wander and get far away from the captain's quarters, one of the burlier looking men suddenly grabs Francis and shoves him above the wall. He eyes him for a moment.
"Y'know, soon as you've gotten on this ship Kirkland's acted up. He hasn't secluded himself in his cabin like this in about two years and it's only been since you've gotten on."
One of the men beside the two smirks and holds up a key.
"So we all think you've gotta go sort him out. After all, you seem rather attached to him. And there must be a reason he gets so aggravated by you, so we'll let you two lovebirds sort it out amongst yourselves."
He moves Francis to the door, opening it, and pushes him inside the cabin
"And we're not letting you out till you've sorted your differences!"
There's a shift in the door as the key is turned, and Francis is left with Arthur alone, in the cabin. He's still under the desk, mumbling to himself.
|
|
