Ship is sinking

Cecco /|\ Quartermaster aboard the Jolly Roger

Dedicated to the crew, to keeping as many people alive as possible. Praying for one less letter addressed to Davy Jones's Locker.

Bio /|\ About /|\ Playlist /|\ Never /|\ Headcanons

Penned by Nyx, she/her, est

Cecco couldn't help but chuckle inwardly as they imagined the scene unfolding from a distant vantage point – the moon casting its silvery glow upon the churning waves, the dark silhouette of the rowboat bobbing precariously against the backdrop of the night sky. From the shore, or the deck of the Jolly Roger, it must have looked like a death sentence, a daring gamble against insurmountable odds. After all, these were Pan's waters, the merfolk were just more tools under the bambino demone's blood stained thumbs. To venture into these depths was to court disaster, to tempt fate in the most reckless of ways. And yet, for Cecco and their ilk, it was just another day in the life.

To be called a pirate in Neverland was to be forever pitted against the entire island, a constant target for the whims of fate and the machinations of those who sought to control its destiny. Decorated with signs illegibly written, the shores of Neverland mocked them, taunting them with their own folly and foolishness. Pirates were branded as fools, condemned to a life of perpetual struggle and strife. And yet, despite the odds stacked against them, they persisted, their defiance a testament to the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

They couldn't even strike at one soul on the island without being the cause of a new war. A cruel thing it was, to be called a pirate and yet forced to live like some common sailor in a blasphemous naval force. More rules than they could count and far more repercussions to be thought of before each and every action. What should have been a carefree life, what once was a carefree life to pillage, murder and maim as they so desired, had become a twisted strategic game that held no room for intermissions.

As the otherworldly man came to rest more of his arm against the side of the rowboat, one of Cecco's hands came to rest lazily by their boot, calloused fingertips grazing the cool leather texture of their knife. Not a threat, nor a warning, simply an instinct. The other, disfigured hand rested on the oar by their side, should it be needed, it could prove a useful tool in putting some distance between the two.

"Ah, I have not come for any sort of snack- though, it seems the same cannot be said for you, bello." Cecco quipped, their voice dripping with sarcasm as they met Marlowe's gaze with a playful glint in their eye. It was a dangerous game they played, this dance of words and wits on the unforgiving sea, but Cecco wouldn't have it any other way. For in the heart of Neverland, where danger lurked around every corner and secrets lay buried beneath the surface, there was a certain thrill in flirting with danger (quite literally).

It had been a risky idea, one Charlie had tried to warn them of, due to the dangerous lurking beneath the waves, though it was impossible to forget the sea beasts that lingered beneath the crystalline surface. A place Cecco once thought to call home, a territory they would have bravely ventured in without so much as even a pinch of hesitation or fear. But that was before . . . well, all of this. Before there were scarier things to fear than sharks or leeches. When the inhabitants of the sea changed depending on where they were, when they could actually venture some place new.

There had been something that was simply gnawing at the back of their mind for days now, something they missed so dearly. How vastly different the ocean was when the sun was away. The different fish, the colors, the smells. Something they hadn't gotten to see in far too long. Something that needed to be changed. Was it dangerous? Absolutely. Neverlands waters were less safe than any brig could be, but if it silenced that nagging in their mind, then it was worth the risk. Plus, they could try to gather up a little bit of seaweed for the kitchen. And so, there they were, in a rickety rowboat beneath the silver moon, upon gently rocking waves. An unknowing player in a secret game.

They had been so close to the ship, for a moment, they even considered the thought that perhaps the mer-folk had simply taken their hunting to different grounds around the island. So much for wishful thinking. As the rowboat rocked violently against the water, Cecco's heart pounded in their chest, matching the erratic rhythm of the waves. They clung desperately to the sides of the vessel, knuckles white with tension as they struggled to maintain their balance. The voice that sliced through the darkness sent a shiver down Cecco's spine, a familiar yet unwelcome presence intruding upon their solitude, its playful tone belying the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

They had crossed paths with the merman before, their encounters always fraught with tension and danger. Each meeting was like a dance on the razor's edge, a delicate balance between desire and distrust, attraction and animosity. Cruel curiosity leading Cecco ever closer to the claws that currently clutched the edge of the rowboat. The taste of the mer's blood, sickeningly copper yet disgustingly intoxicating, like a poorly made mead being forced down their throat, lingered on the tip of their tongue.

Despite the familiarity of Marlowe's presence, Cecco's pulse quickened as they realized the gravity of the situation. Here they were, adrift on a moonlit sea, facing off against a creature whose motives were as inscrutable as the depths from which he emerged. A surge of adrenaline coursed through Cecco's veins, mingling with the salt-laden air as they braced themselves for whatever might come next. Their mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts, memories of past encounters with the merman intertwining with the raw, primal instinct to survive. But as burnt umber hues took in the pale webbed hands that seemed to dig into the wood, dried lips curled up in a smirk that, whether true and genuine, or a simple façade to hide any nerves that might be arising, appeared mischievously amused.

"La mia perla splendente, don't you know it's scandalous to ask such things at this time of night? What would others think?"

Buried somewhere deep within the Quartermaster's mess of sprawled papers, poorly done drawings and attempts at cartography of the cursed island they had been calling home, a keen eye might catch a glimpse of folded parchment. Parchment that stands out among the chaos of yellowed and ripped pages. It still looked as good as it had the day they had gotten it, save for a single corner that had been thumbed over too much, leaving a fragile and almost fuzzy feeling to the flexible edge.

Cecco had been absentmindedly attempting to clean the clutter of their quarters so that they could have some sense of control over their life at the moment, or maybe it was just to distract them from- well, everything going on. The loss of Tristan was still weighing heavily on their heart, adjusting to this new phantom feeling within their hand, a lingering sense of imposter syndrome that refused to let go of them, clinging to their body like a second skin. A stain that they cannot scrub away no matter how hard they try, till their fingers are bloodied and bone exposes itself.

For so long, Cecco had been free from the cage they had trapped themself in when The Righteous Harpy sank. Free from holding on to the past and finally focusing on the present with their full attention. It is a foolish thought to cling to the dead . . . . but there was no one else who would keep their memories alive, to keep them alive, was there? Rough digits brushed over the nearly pristine parchment and for a moment Cecco was frozen. It was as though someone had paused time and locked them in place as honeyed hues stared down at the folded letter. Tightness formed in their throat as they slowly lifted the letter and unfolded it, beginning to relive another memory.

"It is within these early hours that I begin to wonder if you are a poltergeist, something haunting this ship, haunting me until my heart or the hull breaks. You leave me terrified, paralyzed. I am both stronger with you but also so very weakened. If you asked, I would do the unthinkable if it meant you would smile. Raid cities to adorn you with jewels and line your pockets with gold.

It is funny to imagine that it is you of all people who can make me wonder if I should just swallow my tongue and stick to writing my thoughts out. It is less tempting to hide behind smiles and meaningless lies that way. Once it is on paper, it will remain there, no chance to act as though nothing had been said or misheard.

Perhaps you would allow me to look deeper within your mind if I was brave enough to show you the words and sonnets that you drive me to create. If I were more brave I could tell you outright, to look you in the eyes and declare how tightly wrapped about your finger that I am.

You never leave my side and the amount of times I have been saved by you, I cannot help but wonder if you feel akin to the way I do? I swear it gets harder to breathe whenever you approach.

The feeling to run and flee as though you were out for blood overcomes me and still I cannot help but to smile as your quicksand eyes drown me. It is a blissful misery. The way we lock arms and walk off of the ship when docked causes my heart to burst within its bone riddled cage.

TW: animal violence, animal death.

Warmth. A thick blanket that covered the pulsing skin upon their neck, slowly reaching down to cover the hairs of their arm. The smell of rich copper filled Cecco's nostrils. Something so familiar that it felt like an old friend wrapping their arms around them. Burnt umber hues watched as Bandit avoided their gaze, not daring to look at the pirate. It would be a lie if they were to say they didn't get the slightest bit of satisfaction out of seeing the young boy squirm.

Cecco had been out tracking something, hunting for an animal to bring back to the ship for dinner that night. There were wolf tracks, freshly embedded within the mud on the forest floor. It had only appeared to be a single set and that in itself was equally as promising as it was terrifying. For what felt like hours, Cecco had tailed the beast, only when they finally caught up to it, they realized why it had only been a single set of tracks. It was also hunting something. Someone.

"Can you feel it then?"

A smirk cockily worn upon rugged features, teeth peaking out from behind the hairpin curve of their lips. "Creeping upon you, its whispers growing louder, and louder. Tell me, bambino demone, how long have you avoided its call? Does your name not fall unto the wind?" From their perch upon a tree branch, Cecco looked down at the so called 'leader' of the Lost Boys. A novice leader, like a young shepherd trying to heard baby sheep because grown ones prove to be too difficult.

Death did not scare Cecco, a part of them has been longing for it ever since The Righteous harpy burned down. It would provide a sweet release from the horrific cacophony of screams of those long since passed that rang out in their mind whenever silence filled the air around them. There were plenty of ghosts that would greet their spirit when they passed, a ship upon the ghostly shores they would serve upon with pride when the day come, but for now, they were bound to this island, to this body they carried and the crew they served.

"Figlio..." Shoulders eased at the sound of Charlie's voice, his words cutting through the air and settling like a blade within Cecco's lungs. Heavy lids fell shut, a deep inhale through flared nostrils brought the quartermaster out of their thoughts. for what felt like weeks, they had been hunched over poorly crafted maps, tattered books of old crew mates long since passed, and locked away within this blasted study. Searching for answers that likely did not exist, not here, not yet.

The tone of Charlie's voice was more painful than any physical injury they could sustain. The soft-spoken apology more fear inducing than even Bowen's hate filled voice barking insults and threats. It was a reminder as to what their job was, a job they had been neglecting. With everything that had happened within the last few months, somewhere along the way, Cecco had lost sight of their place upon the ship, amongst the crew. They had been crumbling in upon themself like a house built upon a weak foundation.

A wave of guilt washed over them, crashing against their bones with the intent of destroying all within its wake. It was a disgusting thing, to feel so useless, so hapless as the world passed them by, leaving them locked within but a singular, numbed moment untouched by time. A prisoner with the key in hand, choosing to bang against the bars and scream for help, wallowing in their own misery.

"I believe everyone would say the same thing if asked." Salty water bit at the quartermasters ankles as wave upon wave crashed against the rocky shores. Each cold lick at their heels reminding them of the danger that they placed themself in whenever they dared to come this far across the island. To place themself within the wolves den, creeping along the outskirts with a foolish hope that none will strike at them. The rocks shifted beneath bare feet as Cecco slowly walked forwards, hands resting within the pockets of their frock coat.

"Tell me dear," A smirk pulled at the corners of their lips as burnt umber hues fell towards the waters edge, where Anouk rested. Breath hitched within their throat for but a moment, as it did no matter what merfolk they gazed upon, their eyes trailing over her features. A honeyed voice paired with a face as delicate as a string of fresh pearls, but those teeth- the hungry gaze of a predator, all served as a reminder of just what demon resided beneath such beauty. These people? Creatures? They all held an otherworldly beauty that could hold the attention of even the most steadfast man or woman who was unfortunate enough to cross paths with one.

A hiss escaped in to the air, accompanied by the sound of the waves washing upon the shore. To meet Wendy like this had become a regular sort of event, one that the quartermaster came to nearly look forwards to. The one life upon these cursed shores that seemed to hold any semblance of humanity left within them without being consumed by a rage so strong that it filled ones lungs, leaving the body heavy as though blood turned to setting concrete.

Calloused digits repeating a single curling motion only to stretch outwards as though they were attempting to expel something physical from their skin, or perhaps to adjust to the feeling of a burning heat that boiled just beneath the surface of their skin, cooking them from within.

"Oh?" The single word passed through bloodied lips which Cecco had been mercilessly tearing at with their teeth, a habit that was becoming far too common as of late, for biting their tongue (or rather lips) proved to be better than allowing the fury within them, clouding their judgement like a swarm of locusts, to guide their actions. Rosewood hues flickered towards the girl, looking her up and down as though attempting to gaze through her.

"And why don't I, Piccola luce?" Bitterness dripped off of their tongue as Cecco crossed their arms over their chest, brows furrowing together. It was hardly ever a tone that they took up when regarding the young woman, Wendy was like a daughter to Cecco, though they would never admit it out loud. Truly, they had a hard time admitting such a thing to themself, she was so tightly wound about that demon child's fingers, that his stench lingered upon her.

A loud BANG filled the air, accompanied only by the sounds of the silverware and trinkets clattering. With a tense jaw, Cecco gritted their teeth, the veins within their neck bulging as though their body was attempting to withhold a monster from escaping through their mouth. A raw, frustrated growl passed through their bloodied, chapped lips as they drove their fists in to the top of the table once more before looking at Anna. A woman they tried so very hard not to turn their aggression's on. Cecco had been staring over a crude map of the island, searching for any location that might seem plausible for a smallfolk to reside, for a tiny body to be handled, in whatever way it might be.

"Stay calm?" The words escaped in a venomous hiss. Burnt umber hues stared down at the woman as though there was an intent to kill behind the fire housed within. "You of ALL people, should be furious!" Their voice rose, threatening to become a yell for but a moment, as though they were scolding her for daring to utter such a thing to them. She had seen the same things they had. The disgusting smallfolk who had brazenly decided to descend upon the ship as though he himself was an entire royal fleet. How the flames threatened to consume the ship, something the two of them knew the dangers of intimately. But worst of all, she knew what had happened to Tristan. Cecco themselves had seen it up close and personal. Another brother in arms that was now no more but a name written messily upon yellowed parchment and a ghost within their memories. "I am not calm, I am not sane. I am MURDEROUS."

It had all been such a sudden rush of tragedy after tragedy, that there was little time for them to even catch their breath, nevertheless sort out the now suppressed emotions that were bubbling within. The very same feelings that had been burning beneath their skin ever since their encounter with Peter. It was all weighing heavily upon bruised shoulders, shoulders that were threatening to break at the collar should a single ounce more weigh upon them.

"Cutting him in half was not enough. That thing should have been ripped apart, put upon a spike and held over the flames until their wings melted in to their back! Hook was merciful by giving him a quick death." There was a pause for a moment as Cecco took heavy breaths, turning back to the table they had driven their fists into moments prior. "I would find the one who took his body and ensure there are no remains left of either."

The storm had come like an omen over the island, bringing with it, a sense of lingering horror that settled within the bones of all who were bound to the coast and shores. As though each rain drop would pierce through their skin like falling shards of glass and bring about their destruction, mutilating them where they stood. Cecco had been on the waves for a majority of their life, storms were nothing they had feared before. But in ‘the other place’ there were always warning signs to look for when they weather began to shift. Changes within the tide, birds changing course to fly away when only moments before they had been flying towards the horizon. A well experienced sailor of any kind, on the regular seas would be able to smell the rain, at the very least.

But here? There was no warning, the weather changed on a whim as though it was a gun picked up from a fallen foe, being fired with hopes of a bullet being in the chamber. One would never know what would come of it. If it had not been for the creaking of the wooden hull as the pressure within the sea changed, perhaps Cecco would still be below deck, obliviously attempting to write a letter for their most recently fallen, a man whom Cecco themselves owed their very life to. Soon after the rain began however, the quartermaster was on the deck rushing around as they had several times before. Movements they were once so fluid in, that they had been able to do whilst their mind had been occupied on several other things, now proved to give them trouble as their hands fumbled with the ropes while trying to lend what efforts they could to ensuring as little of the ship was damaged as possible.

A frustrated growl had escaped from their throat as they struggled, burnt umber hues narrowed upon the unnatural space between their fingers taunted them. The rain showed no mercy as it poured down upon them, leaving the upper deck slick and more than just dangerous, it was lethal. One wrong step and any of them ran the risk of being knocked to the ground or thrown beyond the gunwale only to be pulled asunder by the violent waves that jostled the ship. Cecco had been helping others maintain their footing as the crew rushed below deck, though there was no sound loud enough to overpower the familiar voice of Hook. Their ears burned as though straining to hear the Captains words over the chattering of the crew’s hushed conversations as well as the waves crashing against the hull.

Cecco watched as the Captain began to make his way towards his cabin’s door and they were quick to fall in tow. They were no stranger to following behind the Captain, always listening for orders and eager to serve a man that they truly respected. There were many Captains Cecco had served under within their life, but few ever truly earned their respect. . . Hook had certainly cemented his place amongst those select few that Cecco would fall upon their blade for. As the door shut behind them, they leaned against the vibrating door-frame, finding a subtle comfort in being able to feel something solid to support themself against, their chest rising and falling heavily in tune with each deep breath. As of late, harsh storms were akin to having a hand wrapped tightly around their throat, or perhaps more accurately, it was as if their lungs were filling up with sea water once again after . . . A shiver ran down their spine at the thought. A brief memory of their own body thrashed violently within the waves as their ship burned and the crew of The Righteous Harpy was pulled beneath the waves along with the ship.

The sound of Hook speaking pulled the quartermaster from their thoughts, his voice being one that commanded attention and respect, even without shouting. Oaken hues flicked towards the desk, the very mention of Pan’s name created a knot within their gut. A knot that seemed to be permanently tethered to the ragazzo demone. For the encounter they had personally with the self proclaimed ‘ruler’ of the island was still too fresh in their mind, too fresh a wound that burned at the remaining nerves of their hand from just the thought.

The floorboards creaked beneath their weight as Cecco shifted, their drenched boots offering a odious squelching sound in the process. There was always a power struggle to fret over. Pan held so much of the island within his grasp, and while Cecco had faith in the crew’s loyalty, their mind could not help but wander some times. Apart from themself, Anna and Bill Jukes, everyone aboard The Jolly Roger had been a Lost Boy during their life, surely they felt a call to the pipes that played from the maledetto bastardo. What they had not expected, was for Hook to speak of the shadow.