Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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They didn't need to look up to know a ship was approaching. They could hear the water parting to make way for the vessel to pass through. But it wasn't the hunter's ship, it was a different one. Smaller, less dangerous. Luck was finally upon them, and they didn't even have to pray to a single Aeon for it. They let go of the corpses of the fishes they had been collecting over the past few hours, and headed towards the sound. They flipped over as soon as the blurry figure of the ship began to fade in, so that their front faced the surface. They remained floating in place as they watched the lines of the creature become clearer and clearer. A long time ago, when they stayed in less dangerous waters, they would swim upside-down and watch the boats and ships pass under them, and wonder if that was how humans felt when they saw a beast from the depths swim past them. The hull like a shadow moving beneath the waves with a steady advance, the keel like a fin poking out above the water, just enough for it to be a silent warning. Though, the creaking of the wood and the muffled shouts of humans spelled a different kind of danger.

They hadn't seen a common ship anywhere near the territory in decades. The tales of waters infested with devils spread past the nearby shores and well beyond the lands. No sailor dared to disturb the waves there. No one, except for the hunter. But this time, it wasn't the hunter's ship. They could recognize it anywhere, however, it seemed like some common sailors decided to be brave and take a shortcut through the Devil's Circle. Oh, how could they refuse such an opportunity?

They turned right side up and swam to the surface, the wooden creature now showing its full glory above the water. The creaking and people talking no longer muffled, it split the waves carelessly as it sped through the water. The ship wasn't as large as the hunter's, but rather on the smaller side. They could see a single mast rising to the heavens from the main deck, a single cabin decorating the stern. The freeboard was low; low enough that they could just jump out of the water and land on the main deck. They could hear the voices of about a dozen people on the vessel. It couldn't have been a merchant ship, since merchants were too afraid to lose their cargo to sirens to recklessly sail through their territory. Not only that, but merchants liked to have their ships adorned with ornate wood carvings and painted with gold. That particular ship had nothing of the sort. It was made for pirates, plain, with a focus for speed rather than opulence. It was made for running from the Intercontinental Peace Company. But not from sirens.

They matched the speed of the vessel and opened their maw, letting the hypnotic chords be carried by the wind to the ears of their victims. The humans immediately stopped whatever they were doing and hurried to the bulwarks, either pointing their gazes or the barrels of their guns at the creature below.

Sirens usually hunted in packs, which would make the process of dealing with more humans a lot easier, but they weren't there to hunt. They were there to set a trap.

They focused on the gunmen first, their song growing in volume and their gaze stopping on each of them, so the grip on their weapons weakened, until their guns slipped out of their hands and fell into the water. When the last gun splashed into the ocean, they opened their arms wide, beckoning the entire crew with impossible promises, watching them lean more and more forward. Luck truly did shine upon them that day, since every single sailor seemed to have been at the very least tipsy. Inebriated humans were always easier to lure in.

The first one fell in, and they immediately dragged the human underwater. They couldn't spare even a second, so they ripped out the sailor's throat and returned to the surface, continuing their enchanting song. The dead sailor's fellow humans didn't seem too concerned with their fate, eyes still glued to the siren swimming along their ship. After the first one fell, the others seemed to gladly follow, unconcerned about their impending demise. They decided to take their time with the last one, dragging him underwater, watching him drown as he stared at them with a love-struck expression. He died with a smile on his face as they caressed his cheek with their clawed fingers. They swam back up to the surface, jumped out of the water and grabbed onto the bulwark, before pulling themselves up and sitting down on it. They brought their tail onto the deck, and watched as their lower body split into two, shrinking in size, scales dissolving into skin. They stepped onto the wood with bare feet, and headed toward the cabin at the stern. When they stepped inside, their senses became overwhelmed with the reeking stench of alcohol and cigars, but they paid it little mind. They searched around the cabin, before finding exactly what they needed. Spare sailor clothes. They slipped them on, the shirt and breeches loose, and the buckled shoes luckily fitting them perfectly.

Their trap was set now. They only needed to wait for the hunter to show his face. That, however, could take any amount of time. The hunter didn't sail based on a schedule, rather appeared whenever he pleased. He could sail the waters two weeks in a row, or remain on shore for an entire month. Nobody knew when the hunter would go on his next trip, but everyone knew that when he did go out, he'd always earn a dozen more trophies.

They could stay on the ship for however long, of course. Spin around the same area and hope for the best. Maybe rip a few sails to make it look more believable, but on second thought, it was a stupid idea. A poor sailor, the lone survivor of a siren attack, who survived by hiding in the bilge. Maybe they could actually spend their time there while waiting for the hunter, but they weren't too keen on sitting on uncomfortable stones and smelling the water gathered up inside. They would much rather sit comfortably in the cabin and distract themselves with whatever games the pirates brought on board. Though playing cards alone wasn't the best pastime, they had nothing better to do. They couldn't sleep either, since the hunter could show up at any time, and, on top of that, they had a character to play. A terrified sailor who just got attacked by sirens and survived by hiding would remain in their hiding spot, not daring to shut a single eye until they heard something resembling other humans. And as far as humans know, sirens can't walk on two legs. They stared at themselves in a mirror they found in the cabin, trying out different facial expressions for when they would get 'rescued', then rubbed their eyes for a few minutes to make themselves look worse, then got extremely bored and returned to playing cards by themselves. Waiting for the hunter to arrive was a much easier feat when you weren't stuck in a tiny cabin on a ship. At least the cabin acted as both a seemingly captain's quarters and a steerage, since the tiller stuck out right in the middle of it. If they couldn't find the hunter, they could change the course of the ship.

Hours slowly tickled by, but they didn't touch the tiller a single bit. The sun had already set and the moon rose proudly above the waves, making the ocean dance wildly. They played enough card games by themselves to last them a lifetime, and they, unfortunately, couldn't indulge in the expensive bottles of alcohol stored under the floorboards, since they needed to be sober when the hunter would find them. It still didn't help the fact that they were bored out of their mind. They weren't going to succumb and pray to an Aeon, but they still hoped the hunter wasn't on one of his month-long breaks.

They decided to head out on the deck, since staying cooped up in the cabin became unbearable. They could watch the waves go by, or lie down on their back and gaze upward at the heavens. Staring at nature was always more pleasant than staring at furniture. They laid down on the deck, hands on their stomach and looked at the starry sky. On nights that were particularly lonely, they would always head to the tiny patch of land that jutted out of the ocean right on the border between the Devil's Circle and humans' territory, and stare at the night sky until the sunlight covered the tiny lights. But that night wasn't going to be like that.

A presence made itself known in the distance by the sound of the ocean parting to make way for it to pass. The wind blew into its terrible sails, guiding it in the direction the sloop they were stuck on was going. They hurried into the bilge and waited until the shouts of the crew and the water hitting the wood were close enough to hear. They stayed there for a little longer before climbing back onto the main deck, and began to ring the bell like a maniac. They added in frantic pleading for help and assorted panicked sounds, until the wooden leviathan appeared into view clearly. Dark painted wood, the metal decorating the hull glinting in the moonlight, the guns and harpoons all pointing downward at the ship they were standing on, the figurehead depicting the siren with a dagger stuck in its chest a silent warning of what was going to happen should they fail. They glued themselves to the bulwark, akin to what the late crew of the sloop did when they beckoned them into the water, and screamed for help. Their eyes begin to water a little, and felt so insufferably proud of themselves. Their acting was spot-on.

Once the ships were sailing side-to-side, the humans on the larger vessel threw a coil of rope onto their ship, and they grabbed onto it as if their life depended on it— because it did for the character they were now playing. They jumped into the water, making a show of frantic limbs and pathetic whimpers, and climbed onto the floating giant. Well, climbed up until the crew got a hold of them, before hauling them onto the deck. They fell on their hands and knees, heaving, and quickly crawled to the amidships, before sticking their back to a few barrels filled with Aeons know what.

A man lowered himself next to them on one knee, hands held up in front of them as if to calm them down. Metal hands.

“Whoa there, sailor, calm down. Ain't nobody gon' harm you here,” he said, ragged voice vibrating with a strange echo of something not human nor animal. The echo of a machine.

The wild eyes they were presenting weren't entirely due to their stellar acting. They were face-to-face with the hunter himself, the man that took everything from them. The man they put on the show for. The man they were going to kill.

“What happened to ya? You look like you've been through hell an' back.”

They calmed their nerves. “The hunter! Oh, thank Lan,” they said, voice shaky and hoarse, while bending over and bringing their hands in prayer. Humiliation was a part of the act, and they had to power through it. They murmured ‘thank you’'s over and over to sell it better.

“Hey, hey, hey—“ the hunter reassured them with a few pats on their back— “calm down, ain't no need to start prayin' now. Tell me what happened to ya. Why were you all alone on that ship?”

They lifted their gaze from the floorboards and stared at the hunter with big, wet eyes.

“Everyone else... they... and, and I hid and...”

“Slow down, now, ain't no rush. Did you get attacked?”

“Yes! Yes, sirens, those devils, they...” Their lip trembled a bit. “Oh, tens of them. No, hundreds! Circled our ship, and...”

The hunter shushed them. “'s alright, I get it. How'd you survive?”

“I hid in the bilge... I stayed there until I heard a ship. I was afraid it was the IPC, but at that point hanging by the neck was better than getting ripped to pieces.”

The hunter nodded, almost solemnly. “Don't you worry, you're the safest you can be now. Sirens don't dare come close to my ship.” He rested a heavy hand on their shoulder, and helped them stand up.

“Yes, yes, I'm safe. I'm safe now.” They nodded their head repeatedly, trying to calm down their labored breathing. “I'm safe.”

The hunter patted their back three times. “Let's get ya inside, aye? I'll give ya a dry change of clothes and somethin' to eat an' drink. I bet you've been stayin' in that stinky bilge for a while.”

They let the hunter guide them to his cabin, all the while he commanded his crew to await further orders. When they reached the door, the hunter opened it for them, smiling while gesturing them to go inside. As soon as they stepped inside, surprisingly, they weren't overwhelmed with the stench of alcohol or cigar smoke. Instead, it smelled quite pleasant, floral almost. The cabin was fairly large, the lights at the aft revealing the night sky. A desk sat in the middle of the cabin, covered in papers messily splayed around and illuminated by an expensive-looking lamp. The walls were adorned with maps of the oceans, specific areas circled with red ink. The hunter had several couches and armchairs scattered around, with one armchair directly in front of his desk. They noticed the large, single cuff connecting to chains tied to the legs of the chair.

“So, what would ya like? My cook can make ya anythin',” the hunter said, sitting down on the chair opposite of them, resting his elbows on the desk.

“Just... something to drink would be fine.”

“Alright.” He nodded. “Water? Rum? Wine? Y'name it, I got it.”

“Rum sounds good right now.”

The hunter grinned, lips revealing his sharp teeth made out of the same metal his body was. His teeth rivaled the sirens'. He pulled out a bottle out of a drawer in his desk, along with two glasses, and poured the exact same amount in both. They were reluctant to taste anything from the hunter, but they needed to. The frightened sailor they were pretending to be would have chugged down the entire bottle without a second thought.

They raised their glasses and drank at the same time, but the hunter finished quicker. He set his glass down and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. They emptied their glass a few moments later, and repeated the hunter's actions.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better, thank you.”

“Y'don't need to thank me. I did what any sensible person would do in this situation.”

“I suppose, but still. I owe you.”

The hunter waved his hand in dismissal. “None of that. You're a guest here now, so don't go around sayin' you need to repay me.”

They sighed and nodded. “Alright. I'll drop it. Until we reach the port again, at least.”

The hunter chuckled. “Fine. Until we dock.” His expression turned neutral again, but they could tell he was trying to appear gentle. “Say, why were you sailin' these waters? Don't you know they're infested?”

They fiddled with the buttons on their shirt. “We were getting chased, and figured that if we enter the Devil's Circle, they wouldn't come after us. Sirens don't come close to the edge anyway, so we sailed until the other ship disappeared and, at that point, we were so far in and nothing bad happened, we just decided to keep going. It was way shorter to go east than to sail around the Circle, so the captain said we'll be fine. No siren showed up at all, so we just thought that the Circle wasn't actually all that bad, until...” They looked to the side, closing their eyes shut, fingers tensing around the little circular pieces of wood.

“I get it, y'don't need to say it. Sirens are deceptive pieces of shirt, and they like to play with their victims.”

They heard about the hunter's condition, unable to curse properly and instead forced to use words that sounded similar. They heard different stories about it, that he was either cursed by a powerful siren, or that he exchanged his ability to curse for an invincible body. Whatever the truth was, he still sounded somewhat comical.

“Hey, don't blame yourself for whatever happened there. You saved yourself, at the very least.” He leaned forward, his strange eye pointing at them with the most gentle gaze he could muster. He must have taken their absentminded look as one of guilt.

“I know. There was nothing I could do.”

A knock on the door made the hunter shift his attention away from them, and they let out a small exhale. His gaze felt as if he was staring at a shooting target.

“Come in,” he said.

A sailor stepped inside, holding some folded clothes.

“Got the spare clothes, captain.”

“Finally, can't have our guest catch a cold.”

The sailor handed them the clothes, before walking out.

“Go on, get changed, I'll wait outside.” He stood up from his chair, tipping his peculiar hat at them, and left the cabin.

They made quick work of changing their clothes, so they could have time to look around the cabin better. The floor was adorned with fiery red carpets, matching the curtains that draped over the edges of the lights. The furniture was a mismatch of different styles and colors, most probably from stealing the pieces from different ships. The circles on the maps adorning the walls were all places where sirens could be found, from the Devil's Circle to the supposed sunken Lushaka. At closer inspection, the red ink of the circles didn't seem like ink at all. It stained the paper and seemed to have dripped a little in some places. It was blood.

“Like my maps, eh?” the hunter's voice came directly from behind them, causing them to jump. He let out a laugh. “What, did I scare ya?”

“A little, sorry for being nosey.”

“Don't worry. I figure you don't get to see the cabin of the most infamous siren hunter in the world every day.”

They cleared their throat, playing with the buttons of their shirt again.

“I wanted to ask, ah, how long will you be hunting for? I wouldn't want to get in the way.”

“I planned this trip to be at least two weeks long, but I'll get you back on shore today if y'wish. I'm sure won't get in the way if you choose to stay, though.”

“Get me back? Today?”

“Mhm, we ain't too far from shore, about half a day. Heck, if you want, we could be there in four hours, Clementine can sail faster than any siren can swim.”

They needed to find a way to remain on board for long enough, but the person they needed to be would have wanted to get away from the Circle as soon as possible. Or, perhaps, they would rather get revenge.

“No, there's no rush. I can wait.”

The hunter put a heavy hand on their shoulder. “If ya want to be back home today, I'll get you back home. And if not today, then any day, but you don't have to stay here if you don't want to.”

They remained silent for a while, picking at the buttons. What would the person they were pretending to be do? Would they rather go back to the city? Get as far as possible from the place all of their— supposed— friends and colleagues died in? That would mean a chance of learning how to kill the hunter wasted. But maybe the frightened sailor would think of avenging their mates. Maybe it would be a strong enough motivation for them to join the hunter's crew. But wasn't it too soon? They had acted horrified of both sirens and the idea of being anywhere near the edges of the ship. Would such a character suddenly be driven by revenge so soon?

“You seem troubled, sugar, what's on your mind?”

The name brought them out of their own thoughts.

“If you still think you're burdenin' us by taking you back to the port, you're damn wrong.”

“It's not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

Fuck it. They looked him straight in the eye, trying to suppress the feeling of having a target right in the middle of their forehead, and put on a brave face.

“I want to join you.”

The hunter couldn't hide the surprise on his face. They were, perhaps, a little too straightforward a little too soon.

“Join, you say? Do you know what that even means?”

Or, perhaps they were just about right.

“It's not just about killing a siren, is it?” they said.

They heard numerous rumors about the ‘initiation’ the hunter's crew had to go through to become part of it. Getting branded with a hot iron in the shape of a cut-off fish tail. Bringing ten siren heads to him as evidence of loyalty. Capturing an Intercontinental Peace Company ship by oneself. Cutting off a part of their own body and replacing it with one made out of metal. Those were all exaggerated rumors whispered amongst drunkards. The ‘initiation’ was easier than that. Otherwise, the hunter wouldn't have had as many crew members as he did. All someone had to do to join him was prove they could kill a siren. No matter the way, as long as they had the corpse to show him. However, anybody skilled enough with a harpoon could get the job done, and seeing the hunter didn't have entire fleets filled with fishermen at his command, there must have been something else a person had to do to join him.

“Killin' a siren is part of the process, but it's not everythin', no.”

They narrowed their eyes. “It's about trust, isn't it? I have to gain your trust to join.”

The hunter grinned. “Bullseye.”

Easy enough. So easy, in fact, they couldn't stop themselves from raising an eyebrow.

He laughed. “You expected somethin' more complicated, didn't ya?”

“Well, yes.”

“People have a habit of makin' up things to make somethin' sound more interestin' than it actually is, y'see. All ya need to do to join is to prove yourself.” He leaned closer, lips close to their ear, whispering as if he was telling them his deepest darkest secret. “First step of earnin' my trust, though, is to introduce yourself.”

They had been giving away the same human name for years at that point, but staring the hunter in the eye while he was standing so unbearably close made it slip from their mind completely for a few moments. They had been preparing for that moment for so long, they needed to ground themselves. They said the name as if they were signing a contract with a demon, and the way his tongue rolled around the familiar sounds made a shiver run down their back.

"Pretty name you got. I s'ppose you already know mine, but it's polite to introduce myself too." He bowed, as if they were some kind of royalty. "Name's Boothill, siren hunter, the bane of the IPC's existence. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

They smiled, half because their plan worked, and half because the hunter fell for it. Though, it was only the beginning.

"The pleasure is mine." They bowed back at him.

Chapter Text

They couldn't sleep at all. They were stuck in a tiny cabin, staring up at the wooden planks above, listening to the waves go by. The place was cramped and smelled stuffy; the only things fitting inside were a hammock and a chest for storing belongings. But they were on the hunter's ship, unharmed, ready to be taken in as a part of the crew. If nobody else was there to admire their unbelievable luck and stellar acting skills, then they will admire themselves.

They allowed a satisfied grin to spread on their face. They had to admit, they did an amazing job. Setting up the scene, getting in position, even the panicked stuttering— if staying out of water for long wouldn't dry them up, they could become an actor. But actors didn't get paid well, so they'll stick to stealing. The IPC can't arrest someone who can grow a tail and swim to the other side of the continent faster than a ship.

But enough kissing their own ass, they needed to figure out what to do next. If they messed up, the hunter wouldn't let them join him. Or worse, he would change course and leave them in the nearest city. They needed to prove themselves, and to do that, they had to get close to the hunter. They couldn't appear too eager, he would find it suspicious. With the Peace Company after him, he must be on high alert all the time. But the role they chose— the sole survivor of a siren attack, now turned vengeful— wouldn't be so hard to believe. It was a common reason for people to want to become hunters, they thought. And, on top of that, playing driven by revenge wasn't going to be an issue. That was the reason why they were there in the first place, after all. The only difference was the object of their revenge.

But they could still be suspected to be sent by the IPC as a spy. After all, nobody in their right mind would sail into the Circle willingly, no matter who or what was chasing them. Entering the Circle meant entering the sirens' domain, and that always meant a brutal death sentence. But that also meant that nobody would be willing to risk their lives like that for some Peace Company money either— only those who had nothing else to lose. Though, the character they were playing didn't seem like that kind of person.

Anyhow, among plenty other issues, killing another siren could prove troublesome. Not that they weren't strong enough to do so, more that it might make them feel... guilty. Their kin might not agree of them, but they were still kin, right?

They ultimately decided to think of philosophies and morals when their pistol was at a siren's temple. Until then, they needed to gain the hunter's trust. And they were back at thinking of how to not seem too desperate.

They groaned and turned over on their side, forced their eyes shut and chased the thoughts out of their head. They could use some sleep.

♪

“Y'awake, sugar?”

A muffled voice coaxed their eyes open. They blinked a few times to clear their vision, all the while a few knocks shook the door. They must have actually fallen asleep; impressive feat on their part. Though, they didn't expect the hunter himself to come and wake them up.

They sat up and rubbed their eyes. “Aye, I'm awake.”

The door creaked open, and the hunter stepped inside. The tiny cabin seemed even more cramped now that there were two people in it. Now that he was in it. They felt as if he was inches away, even though there was about an arm's length between them. The coat draped over his shoulders only filled the doorway more, which made them feel even more constricted.

“Did I wake ya?”

“You did.” They stretched their arms, feeling their nerves springing back to life.

“My bad, thought ya were already up.” He tipped his hat apologetically, the leather was shiny and well-maintained, unlike the rest of his clothes. He wore a shabby linen shirt, slightly covered by a blood red scarf, and a pair of breeches that had definitely seen better days. The scarf had black tassel-like pieces of fabric stitched onto the edge. It wasn't like any other scarf they'd ever seen before.

“There's nothing to apologize for, don't worry.”

He let out a hum, that echo of machinery resounding clearer than ever. It sent shivers down their spine, to their dismay.

“I want to introduce ya properly to my crew. They should get t'hear yer pretty name too.”

They huffed out a laugh. They made sure it sounded like they were actually amused by him.

“Alright, I'll let you parade me around.”

He laughed, and this time they managed to suppress the shiver from hearing the distortion of his voice. He stepped back, out of the cabin, and waited for them to slip out of the hammock. They stood up, putting on their shoes, before walking out as well. He offered them his arm, to which they raised an eyebrow.

“Y'said ya'd let me show ya off, so let me do it proper.”

A chance to touch him, of course they would take it. They attached themselves to his arm, and began to walk. From what they could feel without squeezing— would he feel it if they did? — the entirety of his arm was rock solid. There weren't any soft spots between the metal. They managed to sneak a good look at his wrist, and it looked like a sophisticated ball joint, like a doll's. His left forearm was different from the right. The left looked like it had some kind of flintlock attached to it.

They reached the ladder, and the hunter bowed.

“Guests always go first.”

They climbed aloft into the gun deck, finally getting a breath of fresher air and the sight of early sunlight flooding in from the open gun ports. The hunter followed after them and they grabbed onto his arm again.

“How'd you sleep?” the hunter asked.

“Pretty good, thank you for letting me have a cabin.”

“D'you think I'd let a guest sleep on the deck floor? I ain't followin' the law, but I ain't impolite either.”

They noticed that a good part of the crew had gathered in the gun deck to have breakfast. Some sat down on the benches between the cannons, others stood around makeshift tables. Some sailors that noticed them even gave them a 'good morning'. For a ship full of criminals and killers, the atmosphere was pretty joyful.

The hunter stopped right in the middle of the deck. His voice covered any and all the conversations the others were having. Even if they heard him say it before, the hunter speaking their name still felt wrong. Because he didn't know what it meant. He didn't know who bore it before them.

“This brave one here wants to join our noble cause, y'hear?” There was a tinge of irony when he said the word 'noble'. At least he was self-aware.

The crewmen murmured something among themselves, looking them up and down. It was another part of the initiation, wasn’t it? They needed the crew's approval, and if the crew trusted them, the hunter would be more inclined to do so too. A cute dynamic, they had to admit, but it only meant more work for them. In perilous situations, though, people tend to gain trust quicker.

“So what do y'all say? Don't chatter like grannies,” the hunter said, crossing his arms.

“Can the newbie fight?” an older sailor spoke up.

The hunter chuckled. “We'll see today, once everybody eats somethin'. Nobody fights well on an empty stomach, eh?” He elbowed them in the arm. He looked like he tried to be gentle, but it still hurt. One punch from him and they'd lose their entire denture. “Let's get ya somethin' to eat. Ya can stay here, get to know the crew, or ya can eat with me, if you're not up for meetin' new people.”

“I'd rather eat with you,” obviously.

The hunter only nodded and signaled them to climb up the ladder again. The sunlight enveloped them fully, now that they were on the main deck. The scent of the sea filled their lungs, now unburdened by the horrible tangle of sweat, gunpowder and booze from deeper within the ship. The few people that were on the main deck were already working. A fierce-looking man approached them as soon as the hunter climbed up as well. He wore a similarly peculiar hat to the one the hunter was wearing.

„Let me introduce ya to my right hand man,” the hunter said. “He's my Sailin' master.”

The man stared at them, perfectly still, eyes unblinking. There were scars on his face no sword or bullet could make. He looked like a statue for a moment, then tipped his hat.

“I hear yer gon' join us?” he said. His accent was extremely similar to the hunter's, but at least his voice wasn't mechanical.

“I hope so,” they responded.

The man narrowed his eyes, looking them up and down, then nodded. That seemed to satisfy the hunter, as he patted their shoulder.

“Enough starin' at our guest, let's go.”

The hunter headed to his cabin, but the officer stopped them from following him. He leaned in and whispered right in their ear.

“Yer an interestin' one.” His tone dropped, any semblance of friendliness, or, at the very least, neutrality, disappearing from his voice. “I'll keep an eye on ya.”

He left without another word. They watched him walk away, almost frozen in place, before hurrying behind the hunter. The officer had a strange sense of familiarity to him, but they couldn't put a finger on it.

“Hope he didn't scare ya too much, he's not so bad once you get to know him.”

“No, it's alright.”

The hunter let them into his cabin for the second time within eight hours, and now that they were no longer panicked and well-rested (in his eyes), they could actually have a proper conversation.

The desk in the middle of the room was no longer overflowing with papers, but this time with food. There were two entire baked fishes resting in a large plate, along with some vegetables, and a few sweets on small plates. A single alcohol bottle accompanied the food, and it seemed like the hunter enjoyed wine as well, not just rum, since the bottle was filled with blood-red liquid. They sat down in the same chair they did a few hours ago— the large cuff now less obvious under it— facing the lights. Sunlight was flooding the room, and they could see the waves dancing outside. They could go at least two more days without worry of drying out.

The hunter sat down in the opposite chair, the morning light casting a harsh shadow on his figure. The strange light in his eye became startingly apparent, a single red dot staring at them. He looked more like a hellish creature than they ever did.

“I don't usually eat so fancy, but this is a special occasion. We don't get stowaways often.”

By that, he probably meant never.

“You set up this entire meal for me?”

“I did, aye. Ya don't like it?”

“No, no, everything looks amazing, it's just that...”

The hunter tilted his head. “It's just what?”

“You already had this entire table prepared up here, right?”

The hunter nodded slowly, trying to follow them. “Aye...?”

“So, would you have brought it below into the gun deck if I had chosen to eat with the crew, or would you have eaten all of this by yourself?”

The hunter's eye widened, the bold eye makeup making him look like a startled bird. Sharp, dark lines drawn extending from each corner of his eye, and another sharp one lined his lower eyelid, right above two birthmarks. He blinked once, mouth slightly open, and if they weren't hallucinating, he almost looked embarrassed. His surprised expression swiftly changed into a toothy grin, his strange eye crinkling. He laughed, but more as if trying to cover up his little slip-up in his 'cold and unbothered' façade than out of actual humor.

“Y'see, I hoped ya'd choose to come 'n' eat with me. Otherwise, I would've just made ya.”

“'Made' me?”

“Not at gunpoint, if that's what yer thinkin'. I would've explained to ya that ya'd have to share a real expensive meal with forty other people.”

“Ah.”

So he wanted to talk to them in private. It was understandable, but his eagerness to do so was note-worthy.

“How come?” they asked.

“'How come'?” The hunter scratched his jaw. It was sharp and strong, and they noticed a few unshaven hairs sticking out. “Well, if everyone ate this well every day, our rations wouldn't last even four days—”

“No, I meant how come you want to eat with me so badly.”

“Oh, well—” the hunter coughed in his fist, and they didn't miss the way he cursed under his breath— “as I said, we don't get stowaways often. I wanted to ask ya more questions. I could have done that last night, but that ain't too polite now, is it?”

He was either trying to get their guard down, or he truly was so awkward when getting embarrassed. It was a wonder to witness either way, a killing machine stumbling over his words whenever he slipped up.

“I suppose not.”

They stared at each other, neither saying anything. What was the hunter waiting for? Was he out of words? Did he forget what he wanted to say? Then they remembered they had an entire feast laid before them, and they hadn't even spared it a second glance. They picked up a fork and pulled one of the fish along with some vegetables in their plate. They looked up at the hunter, and caught him still staring intently.

“You're not eating?” they asked.

“Oh, I don't work on food no more, sugar.”

They raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You don't need to eat?”

He shook his head and pulled out a cigar out of seemingly nowhere. He took a matchbox out of his vest pocket and lit it up, taking a long drag, before exhaling it downward, away from them. So polite.

“That's right. Lately, I'm runnin' off of cigars an' rum.”

“And wine, from what I can see.”

The hunter let out a laugh, and they finally cut a piece of the fish. The food had already cooled down somewhat since they've stepped inside his cabin. It didn't taste bad, on the contrary, it was pretty good. They hummed in approval.

“Y'like it?”

“It doesn't taste like it's been poisoned, so I suppose I do.”

“It ain't poisoned, don't'cha worry. It's not my method of killin'.”

“So I need to watch out for anything but poison, huh?”

The hunter grinned. “Only if I don't like ya.”

“And do you like me?” Ah, opportunities on top of opportunities. A little more luck, and they might just mutter a ‘thank you’ to the Aeons.

“Yer quite the character, I have to admit, but it's a breath o' fresh air.” He took another long drag of his cigar, letting the smoke out through his nostrils. “So I s'ppose that counts as likin' ya.”

The smile that spread on their face wasn't entirely there from playing their part. They got the hunter to like them, in the span of a few hours. That was a feat, surely. But maybe he said that only to get them to lower their guard even further. But why would he do that? They were just a stowaway. Or maybe he really was thinking the IPC made up a plan and sent them to be their spy. Or maybe it was all in their head and they were just making themselves look more suspicious by staring into space awkwardly while saying nothing.

They finally reanimated and brought another piece of fish to their lips, but he didn't seem to notice their pause, too busy with pouring some wine in two glasses. He slid one over to their side of the desk. They took a sip, but before the hunter took his, he took a small pouch out of his belt and powdered something into the glass. He downed the entire wine in one swing, and they stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“Hm? 's there somethin' on my face?”

“No, just… what did you put in your drink?”

He clicked his tongue. “Gunpowder.”

They weren't sure if he was kidding or not. By the way he said it, he was dead serious.

“That's not true,” they argued.

“It is, try it yerself if ya don't believe me.” He leaned over the desk, raising the small pouch for them to take.

“I'd rather not.”

“At least smell it, see that I ain't a liar.”

They reluctantly smelled the open pouch, and the faint smell of Sulphur flooded their nostrils. He wasn't lying.

The hunter leaned back into his chair and shoved the pouch back in its place seeing their bewildered reaction.

“This ain't somethin' people mention about me on land, eh?”

“No, it's not, why would you put gunpowder in your drinks?”

“I already told ya, I don't need food no more.” He knocked on his chest, the sound of metal reverberating through the room. “I can eat anythin' I want, and I found out that gunpowder tastes like some kinda explosive candy.”

They didn't really want to know what went through his head to try eating gunpowder.

“So, you can eat anything? Don't you still have a stomach or something?”

“I still have a stomach, aye, but it ain't made outta flesh like everyone else's. I'm metal 'n' rubber in 'n' out, so I ain't got to worry about what goes down my gullet.”

Interesting, so he didn't have any normal organs. That meant that the only thing made out of flesh and bone was his head.

“And how come you don't rust? Since you're all metal.”

He grinned proudly, tilting his chin up. “I'll have ya know, I ain't made outta any kind o' metal. Everythin' ya see is the toughest titanium out there. Ain't nothin' can more than scratch me, and nothin' can make my body rust.”

That was an obvious lie. They saw the deep ridges on his lower abdomen when they spotted him in a bar fight a long time ago. They decided they weren't going to ask him about those yet.

“So that's why you look in good condition all the time.”

“Is that yer way of callin' me handsome?” he said with a smirk, taking another drag of his cigar.

Oh, he had guts. If he would have been any other person, the laugh they let out would have been genuine.

“Perhaps,” they said, bringing another piece of fish to their lips.

After a brief pause, the hunter leaned in, resting his silvery elbows on the polished wood.

“Say, ya seem so familiar, but I can't really figure out why,” he said. “Where have I seen ya before...?”

They tried to calm their expression, to turn it into something more curious and slightly surprised rather than panicked, but they couldn't stop the cold sweat from running down their back like the claws of a beast. Their heart began beating quicker and quicker. He couldn't have seen them before. They were careful to stay hidden when they would follow his ship. They never poked their head out of the water near Clementine in the daytime.

“Have ya ever been at the Dreamjolt Hostlery?”

Ah. Ah, yes of course. They observed him around on land too.

“Yes, I have.”

He rested his chin on his hand and tapped his jaw a few times, his single eye focusing on them. It made them feel uneasy. Perhaps it was the hidden eye that made them more uneasy, though. Nobody knew what he was hiding under his dark, discolored hair and broad eyepatch. A bloody gash? Mangled skin? One time, they heard a sailor claim, confidently, that the hunter took his own eye out so he could hide money and gunpowder in the socket.

I don't consent to my art being reposted, edited or used for training AI. (If the drawing doesn't load, it's because it wants to embarrass me in front of everyone, sorry)

In a moment of recognition, he slammed his fist into the desk, startling them out of their thoughts.

“I know ya! Yer a thief, ain't ya? I've seen ya at bars before. Blowin' all yer hard-earned money on booze, eh?”

Out of all of the things he could have said, they didn't expect him to say that.

“How do you know that?” they asked, their eyes narrowing.

“Oh, I know every single sailor I drink with. And ya ain't one of 'em. Ya always stay put and watch others lose all their money on card games. It's real curious, ya never play. Ya just watch, like a bird o' prey.” He leaned in, even closer, a few strands of grey hair falling off his shoulders and pooling on the wood of the desk. “Sailors don't do that.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I know that 'cause I'm both— a thief and a sailor. And a hunter, but that doesn't really matter right now. What matters is, what's a thief like ya doin' in the middle of the ocean, in the Circle, no less?”

“Change of scenery,” they said, not even thinking about it. They learned to trust the first thing that came out of their mouth in such situations.

“'s that so?” The hunter leaned back in his chair, giving them enough space to breathe normally again. “Ya told me yer ship was bein' chased when ya arrived on mine.”

Their eye twitched a little. Don't panic, don't panic. DON'T. Panic. That's easy enough to explain. Criminals do strange things all the time, simply to make their trail harder to follow.

“That's right. I got tired of Penacony, so I joined a group of pirates that wanted to cross to the Xianzhou. IPC started chasing us after about an hour or two of sailing, and we decided to go through the Circle to lose them.” They looked to the side, lowering their fork onto the plate. “Didn't expect to lose my ride too.”

The hunter let out a sigh, putting out his cigar. “It's not yer fault, y'know that, right? I know y'feel guilty about it, but ya shouldn't. Consider yerself lucky, bein' able to hide from a siren attack, that's no easy feat. But I s'ppose it's somethin' ya learned from bein' a thief, right? Bein' good at hidin'.”

No, they weren't. They weren't good at hiding because they had to steal to make a living; they were good at hiding because they'd be killed if they were found. It had always been like that. Since the moment they were born.

“Guess so.”

Noticing their distant tone, the hunter shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He didn't seem like he knew how to comfort them.

“Yer not hungry anymore, are ya?”

They shook their head, finally looking at him again.

“Then, let's get yer mind on somethin' else, eh?”

They raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He rose up from his chair, and in a flash, they had the muzzle of his flintlock in their face. They didn't even get to blink.

“Let's see ya fight. Everyone's been curious about yer skills, and what better way to show 'em off than a duel. What d'ya say?”

They stuttered out, trying to regain their composure, only managing to take a breath after a few moments. “A duel? With you?” they stammered.

“Don't ya worry, I ain't gon' hurt you. I just wanna see how capable ya are of standin' yer ground.” He spun the flintlock around his finger and shoved it back in his belt. “We ain't gon' fight with real weapons.”

Once the initial panic evaporated from their poor mind, another, completely different sensation overcame them. Unbridled, absolute excitement. They had the chance to fight him, as practice. They could figure out his weaknesses.

“Alright, I'll fight you,” they said, jutting their chin out.

He barked out a laugh. “Good! 's good to see ya so sure of yerself. Now, let's see if yer just bluffin' or bein' for real.”

The hunter turned and headed to a wardrobe, unlocking it with a key he pulled from somewhere under his clothes, and taking out two wooden swords out of it. They managed to catch a glimpse of the inside of the wardrobe, numerous colorful coats sat folded and stacked on top of each other. They noticed a small guitar leaning on the inside of the wardrobe before he closed and locked it again.

“Catch,” he warned briefly before throwing one of the swords their way.

They caught it, though in an odd angle. They stood up from their chair, arranging their grip on the hilt of the sword. The hunter headed over to the door, holding it open, waiting for them to walk out first. They didn't forget to pick up a small piece of cake and stuff it in their mouth before exiting the cabin. Might as well indulge in the free food as much as they could.

More sailors joined their mates on the main deck, either sitting on barrels and talking loudly, or adjusting the sails. The hunter tugged their sleeve and signaled up at the stern deck, waving a hand at them to follow. The crewmen quickly noticed their sparring swords, and a good part of them followed them. Some even settled on the top attached to the mizzenmast, their legs dangling as they whispered among themselves. They had a feeling they were going to get hurt.

“Y'ready?” the hunter asked, flourishing around with the wooden sword.

“Yes.”

The hunter steadied his hand, the tip of his sword facing them, gaze burning into their skin. He didn't make a move.

“Do we... begin?” they asked.

“Ya waitin' for a countdown, sugar? Ain't nobody gon' count down in a real fight. You gotta act quick—”

They lunged at him before he could finish his sentence, taking a swing at his head. The sword was knocked out of their hand and the muzzle of his flintlock was pressed, cold, to their forehead before they could land a hit on him.

“Ya got the spirit, that's good t'see, but ya ain't quick enough to get me,” he said, his smirk more unnerving than usual.

“You said we're not fighting with real weapons.”

“Oh, but I didn't shoot ya, did I? I'm just restin' it on yer forehead.”

They narrowed their eyes, and he stuffed the gun back in his belt.

“Now go get yer sword back and try again.”

They held his gaze for a moment longer before kneeling to grab their sword. It landed somewhat far away, and they realized their wrist was hurting where the hunter hit to disarm them. They didn't even see his arm move. They might have underestimated him. Or maybe they overestimated their own strength. After all, they used their tail to flee and hands to steal, they didn't need to fight if they ran (or swam) faster than the opponent.

They readied their stance again, fingers gripping the wooden hilt. The silence was surprising. The only thing they could hear were the waves and seabirds. Everything was almost frozen. The hunter, waiting patiently for them to move; the crew, watching them like vultures gathered around prey. They were the main actor on the stage.

They swung their sword forward, and he hunter met them with a swing of his own. They tried to get closer, stepping a foot forward, and he stepped one back. He tried to disarm them again, but his wooden blade got caught in their knuckle guard. Instead, he brought his sword upward, the swords scraping against each other— which would have made a terrible sound if they were real— and thrusted it forward. They stepped back, barely evading the attack. He was quick, so quick in fact, they could only see the phantom of his sword in the air before—

His sword stopped right before touching the skin of their neck.

He caught them mid-swing, and if it were a real fight, their head would have already flown off their body before they would have hit his arm.

He grinned, moving the tip of his sword underneath their chin, tilting it up.

“Yer not so bad. I did go easy on ya, though,” he said.

“Don't.”

“Hm?”

They pushed his sword aside with their own. “Do your worst this time.”

The hunter paused, looking them up and down— they wanted to claw his eye out— then laughed. Some of the crew seemed to have found amusement in their words as well, since some giggled amongst themselves.

“A'ight, I won't hold back, if that's what ya want,” he said.

They took their positions again. They took a moment to breathe, concentrating on steadying their moves. The hunter had enhanced mobility thanks to his abomination of a body, and he wouldn't hesitate to—

They heard the gunshot before they even saw him pull his gun out.

They were waiting for warmth to stream out of wherever he just shot them. But the feeling never came, only a sudden breeze under the sleeve of their shirt. They looked at their shoulder, expecting to see a hole in their arm, but they only saw a rip in the fabric of their shirt, their sleeve now partly detached. Like a traitor in the navy.

The bark of a choir of laughter brought them back to reality, and when they turned to look at the hunter, his head was thrown back, his laugh like a violin out of tune against their ears.

“Oh, don't look so startled, sugar—” he wheezed— “I didn't hit ya. I just cut yer shirt up a bit.”

They stammered, dumbfounded, for a few moments. “What the fuck was that for?”

“Ya told me to do my worst, so I did.”

“By nearly blowing my brains out?”

“Do ya take me as a bad shooter? Ya wound me, darlin'.”

The giggles of the crew were drowned out by a sharp bell and, out of nowhere, everyone was hurrying somewhere, orders being screamed left and right, sailors attaching themselves to cannons and swivel guns and harpoons. The sailors on the mast's top took out their muskets, eyes glued to the waves.

There was a heavy hand on their shoulder.

“D'ya know what this bell means?” the hunter nearly screaming just so they could hear him.

“No?”

He leaned in, lips too close to their ear, the whirring of metal sounding in their left and the incessant bell in their right making their head pound. They shuddered.

“It means we got a siren for ya to kill.”

They were going to be sick.