violence & weakness

intolerablexsacrifice:

~

_{When Gates questioned him, Flint simply gave him a look.}

_{There was a deadness to the captain’s eyes; a lack of the wild spark that usually flared in him in the aftermath of violence, both during and after the inevitable speeches and justifications. Enough time had passed that his heart was no longer pounding in his chest, breath coming easily instead of in short pants. Blood had dried and crusted on the sleeves of his shirt, and lightly spattered the rest of him.}

_{Gates’ hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Flint went without protest, desiring nothing more than to be away from the deck. It wasn’t the gore, or the stench of blood and emptied bowels. It was the men, and their eyes on him, and the constant ticking of his mind trying to calculate what they believed to be true about him at any given moment.}

_{He closed the door behind himself, watching Gates’ back, eyes drifting over the Eye of Horus tattoo on the back of his quartermaster’s neck. Flint pulled his gaze away, felt himself start moving to find one of the bottles of rum stashed around the cabin, trusting Gates to procure tankards without being asked. He wiped his hands free of blood momentarily, ignoring how stained the rest of him was with it. His hands had thankfully stopped shaking long before he started pouring the rum.}

_{That rigid posture all but collapsed when Flint finally sank to sit. One hand curled around the tankard, but his eyes were on Gates- watching, calculating, perhaps wondering if he should expect an argument to arise out of whatever conversation they were about to have. The fingers of his free hand fidgeted restlessly at his beard.}

_{“Did you know the crew thought I was hunting poor prizes because I was too weak to do otherwise?”}

Aye, something’s broken in him alright, Hal mused in the wake of that look, as if he needed it on top of the silence and the disengaged remark from earlier. Guiding the captain out of sight was as much for the sake of privacy as it was for the assurance that the crew would not pick up on anything more unusual than they already had. They were sniffing and itching for a sign of weakness they could exploit, and he’d be damned before he let them get it this easily.

It was a habitual dance, then. Each of them going about the routine of drinking, neither one of them particularly game for a joyous bout of it and both completely aware that this was more an act of methodical familiarity than it was a desire they needed to slake. What came next would be dictated by Flint, and the stories he told between the words that fell from his lips.

The collapse into the chair was a hint that this had every chance of ending amicably. That alone was what had Hal lounge easily enough, indicating in his own posture that nothing was amiss. He could tell he was being measured, even as he made no secret of the fact he was cataloguing every fidget shown and calculating an answer based on what Flint offered him.

Rather than answer the accusation, he drew up his tankard and drank – as if the question bore no significance to him, or perhaps as though he needed the strength of the drink to challenge it. Letting the question of which be Flint’s to mull over, he lowered the drink and huffed as if amused. “You can’t expect me to believe it’s gone on this long and you’ve only just picked up on it.”

There were those among the crew who would never lay voice to something so ridiculous. Men who had been with Flint through thick and thin, who had been part of his crew when he began forging his name as the biggest earner in Nassau, a ruthless prize catcher with a crew as focused and unyielding as he. So long as they stood true, it had seemed Flint had no interest in assuaging anyone’s nerves or concerns.

But it was strange, and even the loyal were beginning to question what had happened. When the best among them went into a slump this long, it generally meant he wasn’t the best anymore. With nothing to prove otherwise, it was no wonder the men who were newer to the crew were beginning to spread this kind of shit.

“If you don’t like it, you might want to consider changing the game up,” He pointed out grimly. “These men want to be paid, and yes – yes – what we’re chasing will answer every prayer they’ve ever had chance to dream of, but if you’re going to hold it to your chest like this, if you want a crew to profit when that day comes, feeding them some bones along the way can’t possibly hurt.”

Games Of Many Meanings

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

“Well there’s a relief,” Hal’s rejoinder was chased with a smile not so much because he was glad to be free of the risk of violence, so much as the self-deprecating humor that was to serve as followup, “With the ache in my hands today I’m as likely to shoot ally as I am foe.”

The Challenge In Our Promises

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

Hal had known something was wrong from the very start, but he had seen no point in pressing the issue early on. Orchestrating the men in arranging the storage after such a lucrative prize took precedence, and by focusing on the work at hand it kept anyone’s attention off the fact that anything could be wrong in the wake of such a victory as this one.

Now that everything was underway and time had worn itself on, Hal could no longer delay the inevitable. While he wasn’t entirely certain what he would find when he went to check on the captain, he would be lying if he claimed to expect anything even remotely like this.

Looking at him now, Hal was struck by how fucking young this man truly was. It was easy to overlook sometimes – others it didn’t even register, because he carried the weight of the world so damn well that the chasm of experience between them seemed nonexistent. This though – it was hard to ignore it in a moment like this one.

Locking the door was the first most logical step. The men didn’t need to know, or suspect for even a moment, that Flint couldn’t carry this. That there was anything broken in the man would only be fuel for dissent. It didn’t matter how good a strategist a man was aboard ships like these – weakness, perceived or otherwise, was exploited or it bred destruction. There was rarely any inbetween, for captains at any rate. Neither one of them could afford word to spread that Flint had lost track of himself this way.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” His words were gruff, his motions economical as he set about getting a wash basin set up. He did not approach the spot where Flint had cornered himself, trusting the man to uncoil on his own terms and knowing that approaching while he was in a state like this would only exacerbate the situation.

Only once he had everything in order – including some spare clothes laid out – did he finally step into the man’s view. This could go one of two ways, from Hal’s experience. After a moment of ensuring Flint saw him, he stepped into striking distance fearlessly and crouched down, offering out a cloth without mockery or comment toward the man’s position just now. Instead, he spoke of business matters as though nothing at all was unusual at present.

“We’ve got ourselves a steady wind. Provided she keeps up, at this rate we should make Nassau in about three days. The men are righteously pleased with themselves, but not so much they won’t keep things running right amidst their celebrations.”

“If I don’t kill a man every now and then, they forget who I am.“ [ fOR GATES. ]

{ Pirate Adventures | Accepting }

“Are you selling that to me, or trying to buy it yourself?” It was a genuine curiosity. Not that he was overly bothered by the gorey mess on deck, seeing as he didn’t have to clean up the damn thing. It was just that Flint had a way of excusing things that was almost as legendary as his name – to hear something this flat made Gates wonder if the younger man was having doldrums.

Shaking his head, he clapped the taller of them on the shoulder and gave a slight tug as he walked toward the cabin, not so subtly directing Flint to follow. It wasn’t as though they’d be needed during the aftermath of this – may as well get to the root of it now.

“Seeing as you’ve reintroduced yourself, how about we grab something to drink.” It sounded like it should have been a question, but it most certainly wasn’t.

“Hear me out, that would be enough.” [ for gates jesus christ the bullshittery never ends ]

{ Hamilton Starters | Accepting }

“Hear you out,” Gates had been hearing out Flint’s stories for years. There was no denying the younger man had a gift for persuasion – and the fatal flaw had always been the willingness to listen to a man whose own ears were closed to anything he didn’t like to hear. “You really think you can sweet talk your way out of this one? You fucking killed me Flint. That’s not something a man can just forgive and forget.”

Although it was – reasonably debatable to refer to himself as a man, at this juncture. He was something, certainly, but a man was probably pushing the lines of credibility too far. Whatever he was – whatever these infernal whispers were – he did recognize the fact that right now, the only person he had for this was the very same shithead that killed him to begin with.

Heaving a sigh, he leaned back, opening his arms toward the man and shrugging before slapping his hands on his thighs. There was nothing for it – if he was going to get Flint to budge, he’d have to be the one to compromise first, for now. “Go on then,” The words felt like gravel in his throat, sounded like it too, “Explain to me why I had to die. It damn well better be good.”