violence and weakness – Ocean Archive

intolerablexsacrifice:

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_{Flint’s gaze was intense and furious as he watched Gates drink. The anger did not seem directed at one specific thing, exactly: it simply was, and it radiated off of Flint in every twitch and squint, like some inextricable part of him that could not be let go of. His hand was curled around his own tankard, but the moment Gates spoke it was clear Flint had all but forgotten the drink was even there.}

_{At the suggestion of feeding them some bones, Flint made a scathing, frustrated sound: he rose abruptly, the way he often did during conversations like this. Like he was too restless to stay still. His fingers twitched at his side while one hand lifted to rub at his beard, back turning to Gates as Flint moved towards the window. He glared out through the glass a while, then turned that mismatched gaze back to Gates, still equally as wound up.}

_{“Fuck them,” Flint hissed, and looked away again. After a beat, he paced slowly along the space behind the desk between them, mulling Gates’ words over. As much as Flint believed that he knew better than the crew–as much as he elevated himself above them constantly–he could not deny that they were necessary for what he wanted to achieve. He needed their support, unless he wanted a mutiny on his hands and to lose all hope of ever acquiring that fucking gold.}

_{“Those men–” Flint all but rounded on him, leaning forwards to brace both hands on the desk. “–cannot be trusted with this until the last possible moment. If I were to tell them what we’re hunting, I wouldn’t trust a single fucking one of them not to either sell that information or let it slip through sheer carelessness. But if I don’t–” He straightened again, finally conceding the point with a vague gesture at Gates: you’re right.}

_{“Every moment we spend hunting more profitable prizes for their sakes is a moment that I cannot afford to waste,” he muttered, fidgeting at his beard again. “That we cannot afford to waste.” But the crew thought he was weak–}

_{His eyes fell on the tankard on the desk; Flint reached down for it, took a swig, and set it down again: the smell of blood reached him every time he lifted his hands anywhere near his face, and he could not make himself sit back down again.}

_{“The Urca has to take priority. There’s simply no other option.”}

Hal did not react as Flint displayed his frustrations – not so much because he believed the man’s anger impotent, as due to the fact he was holding on to the faith the man was smart enough to put his emotions aside and approach matters critically once he’d had his outburst. Lips thinning just long enough to form a smack as Hal shot his brows up and tilted his head to the side, conveying plenty without saying a goddamn word, he took another swig of his drink as Flint talked himself around.

The gesture in his direction was noted over the rim of his tankard, and Hal saluted the man before he set it down as the captain muttered to himself. Still he waited, having a feeling this was not the end – and finding himself proven correct when objectives seemed to realign themselves within Flint and settle stubbornly into place. Hal took a breath, because as much as he wanted that haul – at least one of them needed to give a fuck about the crew.

“I don’t pretend to understand your ambitions, just like I know there’s not a man aboard this crew who’ll care. Thinking beyond full bellies and purses is not what they are here for – and loyalty among pirates is something that must be purchased and respected or it wanes. Your own rise to captaincy should prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that a crew that sees its captain as weak and unwilling to pursue profitable prizes is replaceable.”

Tabers had been a damn good captain – Gates had a feeling even Flint could acknowledge that much. He’d played it safe, sure, but there was never a time his crew wanted for pay. Not once. And now that same crew was going months without it or any explanation for it while being lead by the man who had promised to give them profits unheard of under Tabers by bringing them a taste of a good fight. There was no way in hell Flint was truly naive enough to think he could keep this crew under these conditions. Again, simply being the best for a time did not in turn ascertain one could maintain that title without proving it.

“So unless your intent is to kill a man every other week – which might incite fear enough to keep you in business for another three months, but guarantees a mutiny within six – I am going to have to suggest you come up with something better than what we have running right now. Because you can degrade this crew all you like,” And Hal was not fond of how conceited Flint could get, which showed itself only in how cold and stern his own tone became, “You’re fucked without them. So figure this out, because that little display back there isn’t going to make them respect you again, but it is going to make them question if following you is worth not only no pay – but also, apparent instability.”

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.”

Tag: violence and weakness

violence & weakness

violence & weakness