dichrous.

[daemon_angelus]

He hadn't meant to be a stow away.

Well, okay, he had, but he really had no clue he'd be a stow away on a pirate ship.

The few men who had stayed behind to guard the ship, docked at Caesius, weren't too suspicious-looking, just a couple of burley men with bandanas around their heads. To keep the sweat out of their eyes, Alfred had thought. Yeah, sure, two of them had black rose tattoos on their biceps but hey, they could have been brothers. Who in a drunken haze went to get seriously questionable matching ink work.

Alfred wasn't exactly the kind to follow the latest Who's Who of Pirate Lords, and of course, failed to recognise that the mark of the black rose belonged to Captain Kirkland's crew.

So he'd made the decision to stow away on the least manned ship in the harbour that day.

What a bad decision it turned out to be.




"Tell me again, just because I happen to find your stupidity utterly amusing, why did you end up among the supplies of my ship, hiding like a little rat?"

Clothes and hair still soaking wet from his brief (as the crew had kindly pointed out while his ass was being hauled back onto deck) dip in the ocean, Alfred was failing miserably to stop the chatter seizing his jaw. They hadn't bothered to untie his hands, and his shoulders were starting to ache painfully from the strain. In a weird way, he was rather relieved he was on the floor of the captain's cabin, seated with his knees up to his chest in a vain attempt to preserve body heat. At least Kirkland hadn't made him stand for this farce of an interrogation, meant more for the captain's amusement than anything else.

"Tell me, Alfred F. Jones," the gold tip of Kirkland's scabbard resting under his chin, and Alfred got the hint to lift his head, still shivering from the chill, "why are you on my ship?" Acid green eyes narrowed, the sunlight from behind Kirkland casting shadows on his face and making him look like a hawk with a soul-piercing stare. A very annoyed soul-piercing stare.

"T-try-ing t-to-" Alfred swallowed in an attempt to calm himself. It didn't work. "G-get away... f-from the of-fi-ficers-"

"A thief?" Kirkland sat back in his chair, legs still crossed, the scabbard still resting on Alfred's Adam's apple as a bemused smirk formed on his features, "Now I wasn't expecting that."

Alfred frowned at the accusation. "N-not a t-thief..." he sniffed, "Not r-really..."

"Oh?" A raise of an eyebrow, the smirk turning even sharper, "To my understanding, a thief is a thief. Especially if the authorities seem to think so -"

"No!" Alfred proclaims, though a little shakily and he sneezes right after the word leaves his mouth, earning a laugh-snort from Kirkland, "W-was maglined... T-the people at t-the f-factory... d-don't like me so m-much..."

Kirkland's expression slips into a puzzled frown, contemplating what the Caesiusean had just admitted. He removes the scabbard from Alfred's throat, and the other chokes meekly, teeth still chattering uncontrollably. Kirkland grimaces slightly.

"You are a mess. And I tire of you. Go now."

Alfred is about to ask how, what with his bounded feet and hands, but at that moment, the terribly muscled man who had dragged him out of the sea enters the captain's room and in one swift motion, scoops and slings Alfred over his shoulder. Before Alfred could protest, muscle-man growls out, "Puke on my arse and I'll make sure you never see the light of day again."

Alfred shuts up.



The first month had been spent in the Imperium's brig, being the butt of all jokes. They'd at least untied the ropes around his hands and feet, and even gave him a fresh set of really ratty clothes to wear. Though muscle-man had watched him change the whole time, because apparently that was his job. Alfred wasn't sure if he should take comfort in the fact that he'd been totally serious when he said that.

Another thing the crew did was bring him food. It always wasn't much, obviously scraps from lunch and dinner but Alfred wasn't going to complain. He'd had the experience of going hungry for a few days at the engine factory where nobody really liked him, so this was actually a pleasant change. He still cringed at the sight of his clothes though, a too small, dirtied, white short-sleeved shirt with a rather crudely embroidered 'L' adorning the left pocket, paired with a pair of beige pants that just went past his knees.

They couldn't even be considered the most average of clothes, much less the best, but that was before the third month, before Alfred started talking to muscle-man.

"Ya know what the 'L' means?"

Startled from his piece of slightly mouldy bread crust, Alfred trained wide blue eyes on muscle-man, who was hunched over on a stool way, way too tiny for his build outside of the iron cast cell.

"Uh..." Alfred self-consciously looks down at the 'L' on his shirt, "No?"

"Louis", muscle-man said it without the 's' at the end, a fond little smile on his fat lips, "It stands for 'Louis'. He was my brother."

Oh. Alfred gulped, the dry bread sliding uncomfortably down his throat. "W-what happened to him...?"

"Got shot." Muscle-man thumped a balled-up fist to his heart, the little smile turning into a sad, sad, miserable grimace. "Right through the heart. We was on a raid, five years ago, when we was all ambitious and arrogant, when we thought nothing could stop us." A defeated chuckle rumbled from muscle-man, "Cap'n Kirkland didn't call her the Imperium for nuthin'."

"We was on a raid, against some Chrysoleucus bastards, led by them Beilschmidt brothers, ya know 'em?" Alfred shakes his head. "Figured not. We were all prepared y'know, cannons blazing, our crew armed and everythin', and then - then - "

Alfred sees the anger, the remorse, the hate, a multitude of emotions he never thought muscle-man was capable of having run amok on the man's face, "Then Carriedo's ship, Carmesi, appears from friggin' nowhere and shells us from our other side. Everyone was surprised, even the cap'n. I never forget the look on his face." Muscle-man meets Alfred stunned gaze. "Guilt. Crushin' guilt, because he had let his men down, put us all in danger. We was all fighters, we've tried to tell the cap'n there was nuthin' he could'a done, but he wouldn't hear none of it."

"That night we lot fought for our lives, most of us made it, thank Neptune, but well... Louis didn't. Shot by one of them Beilschmidts, dead-straight marksmen they are. I don't think the cap'n ever let that night go, y'know? Just one of those things that get to you."

Muscle-man gave Alfred a lop-sided smile with a shake of his head.

"It ain't all gold and glory."