Ocean Eyes, Storm Cloud Minds

Chapter Two

Slowly. Incredibly slowly, Lancelot began to stir. He awoke. Eyes fluttering open, his groggy mind was disturbed and his senses were forced to alert him to the pounding in his head. He grunted. Groaned. Raised his head. Forcing himself to look up, he turned his attention to where he was currently sat. His eyes widened with realisation and the memories flooded back. He tried to move one hand to his head, only to feel ropes around his wrists stopping him from moving. He frowned, attempting to tug his wrist back again. The ropes coiled tighter around his wrists and caused them to begin burning at the friction.

A curse slid out from between his lips as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. The room rocked gently, accompanied by the sounds of waves crashing calmly against the sides of the ship. Anxiety gripped him, filling his mind with paranoid thoughts of the brutal ends he could meet. He’d only heard rumours of the cruelty pirates had, and now he was trapped aboard one.

Would he be regarded as a stowaway for being onboard uninvited, and punished accordingly? Or would he get it worse? He could recall the punishments he’d overheard whispers of, and one of the few that he dreaded the most was keelhauling. It was definitely the most memorable. Dragged along the underside of the ship to be scraped by all the barnacles, unable to breathe. He hated the idea of it.

Forcing himself not to show (much) fear, he lifted his head and psyched himself up enough to have the confidence to speak. He cleared his throat quietly. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.

“¿H-Hola? Hello?” He called out, suddenly hearing footsteps from the far wall begin to approach him. His nerves made his stomach bubble to the point of nearly vomiting.

“Mm, my my,” purred a voice obscured by darkness. The only source of light in the room were the stairs that led to an upper deck, but even then the light was scarce. Lancelot squinted, attempting to make out the figure in the darkness. “You were out for a long while. I had some taking shifts to keep their eyes on ya.” His voice was crude though his tone showed clear amusement. Lancelot’s brows furrowed, but he stayed silent.

The voice continued. “Were ya having nice dreams?” Now his tone was just condescending. Patronising, almost. “Thinking of a doxy back home?” He teased out, causing Lancelot to frown. He wasn’t familiar with slang like this, and the confusion must have been clear on his face because the voice spoke again. “Las prostitutas,” clarified the voice with a grin. “Come on, Azul.” He stepped into the light, grinning a little as he knelt down before Lancelot, who bit back the urge to spit in his face. He was already in trouble as it was- it was best not to make it worse. That damn voice was irritating him already, and now it was referring to him with a nickname. He couldn’t even describe how much he hated the nerve that this stranger had.

He focused his attention on the face before him. A pale face was the last thing he expected for someone who was out in the sun so often, much less one that seemed relatively clean. He had black hair that hung around the nape of his neck. It was quite an ugly length for his hair to be, especially with his fringe so long that Lancelot was surprised that he could see. He had sharp, sleek cheekbones and thin lips. His eyebrows were thick and bushy and black like his hair, with greyed eyes that seemed slightly purple in the current lighting. They were captivating and strange. Long eyelashes made them appear almost feminine but nonetheless beautiful. They resembled storm clouds with purple lightning, and Lancelot consciously reminded himself that the man was a pirate to stop himself from staring much longer.

Admiring the criminal was one thing, but allowing that to make him susceptible to vocal attacks wasn’t something he did. He spoke before he could stop himself, his Spanish accent thick.

“Do not call me ‘Azul’. I have my own name and it is much preferred.” His tone was snappy and had a hint of bitterness, which contrasted their current situation greatly. The man before him, irritatingly calm, merely arched an eyebrow. He resembled Lancelot’s mama, the disappointed look on his face similar to how she looked at younger siblings after a fight. He felt obligated to apologise for speaking up, but bit his tongue. He really ought to have done that earlier.

The composure being conserved by the black-haired captain was admirable. He was complacent, content as he stood with his arms folded over his chest. As per usual, Lancelot’s mind began swimming. How many people had been put in this situation, just like him? A better question would be: how many people had been put in this situation and survived?

He should have known as soon as he’d snapped that he’d regret speaking. The atmosphere dampened and thickened with tenseness, and the man’s demeanour followed this. Instead of mocking and lighthearted, the captain now spoke in a cold and sharp tone. His gaze had turned to a glare, harsh though careless.

“Don’t back-talk me like that, Azul. I can do as I please and call you what I please.” He knelt down, leaning close.

Lancelot could see every pore on his smooth, defined face. He could see his parted, plump lips and could feel every breath that slid past them on his face. His skin tingled at the warmth and his body shuddered with discomfort. “D’ye want to know why I can do as I please?” he questioned in a low, mocking tone, though the sour atmosphere didn’t sweeten. Lancelot didn’t respond, attempting to find his voice but failing.

A flash of silver, and a dagger was to his neck. He whimpered, but that was as much of his voice as he could find. The man spoke once more. “Because I have the weapons, and you can’t defend yourself.” He pulled the dagger back. “Am I understood, filth? Ye look like yer about to piss yourself.” Colour returned to Lancelot’s face as it suddenly burned red and he looked away. He nodded submissively.

The man drank in the sight of the terrified kidnapping victim. This man, Lancelot, was a fair-looking man. His skin smooth and coloured like a low sunset on sandy beaches. His skin was flecked with freckles a similar colour to the ship’s boards. His cheekbones weren’t overly prominent, but caused his cheeks to dip enough for it to be noticeable. Chestnut hair hung low on his forehead, split down the centre and messy, though it was normally combed to either side. It cut off by his jawline, sharp and smooth. He had long eyelashes, a feature that wasn’t uncommon, but he had gorgeous eyes. Even a glance was enticing, and it almost appeared like the ocean was trapped in his eyes. His lips were round and thin, chapped from so long spent unconscious and without hydration- but it wasn’t a rare occurrence to have chapped lips aboard a ship like this.

Anxiety was bubbling up inside Lancelot as he shuffled away from man, not wanting to be near him. It was hardly his fault he was afraid- he had no idea what the man was capable of. A few tense moments passed.

The man hummed.

“I think I oughta be nice,” he said as he began pacing, his steps almost rhythmic. Lancelot hoped that he would be nice, and that he’d not be brutal. He could ask for that at the least, surely? He hoped so.

“Now,” he took in a breath. “You have trespassed aboard my ship and caused us to leave early from the port, meaning that we don’t have enough food aboard for the full journey we intended to take. We’ll be stopping off soon, and none of my men are too happy about that. There’s nobody to blame but yourself, and the crew will be looking for someone to blame. Your life will be made hell, but I’m willing to offer you a place aboard this vessel if you’re able to prove your use.” He waited a few moments, humming. Lancelot frowned.

“And… and my other option?” He questioned, head tilted to the side slightly. A malicious grin curled onto the others lips.

“We take our chained cannonballs, and we cuff you to one of ‘em. Two, if yer a good swimmer. Then we throw you overboard and leave you for the sea creatures to have a feast.” That’d explain the nasty grin.

Lancelot gulped.

“Am I right to assume the same for… for failing to be useful?” He questioned quietly. The man grinned a little wider.

“Yer catchin’ on quickly! If yer really useless, we might not waste a cannonball on you. We may drop you into the water and let you swim as far as you can manage before exhaustion drags ye under.”

Tense silence filled the cabin as the man stopped dead in front of Lancelot, staring down at him with an unnamed authority. Lancelot almost whimpered at the idea of dying. He wanted to go home. That was his end goal- he just wanted to visit home once more, even if it’d be for the last time.

“I’ll prove myself, Sir,” he said obediently, once more complying to his demands. “I swear to you, Sir. I’ll prove myself.”