sugar and old spice

Atreus’ eyes widened with surprise before he thought that maybe Bailey was just giving him a hard time. “Makes sense why you decided to board a whole-ass ship then.” He nodded towards the ocean behind him. He picked up a piece of bread and tried to butter it as carefully as he could without a knife. 

“Prison.” He repeated absently, distracted by Bailey making the move to show him more of his skin. “Prison?” He looked up with recognition this time, the space between his brows creasing momentarily. “What for?” He asked, both curious and wary as to the reasons why Bailey had done time in prison. 

A laugh escaped him as Bailey asked him if he was a sailor, Atreus’ chest puffing a little as he leaned back and completely forgot about the buttered dinner roll that sat in his hand. “No.” He shook his head, flattered nonetheless that Bailey thought there was any chance in hell that he’d have been a sailor before. “I mean, I’ve dressed up as a sailor but that’s as close as I’ve got. I don’t think I’d really vibe with that whole scene.” 

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t risk sinking to the bottom of the sea,” Bailey said dryly. Despite Jack’s claims that he had enough fat on his body to remain buoyed, he was convinced that he’d drop like a stone if he ever went overboard. Luckily, he didn’t harbor any phobias about drowning-- other than a healthy dose of apprehension if he happened to get too close to the railing. But it wasn’t so much a lack of fear as it was a lack of options that kept him on the ship.

Bailey recognized the uneasiness that crept into the Atreus’ expression, having witnessed it for most of his life. Although, it’d never really bothered him until now. “Fighting,” he admitted, though he couldn't imagine that Atreus would be surprised by the confession. “It wasn't always for money.”

Ash’s yelp of surprise was cut midway into a snarl, quick to snatch the bottle out of Bailey’s hand and throw it against the wall. His pitch didn’t have enough force behind it to shatter upon impact but it bumped off the wall and fell to the floor where the glass cracked and released its contents. The entire shop now reeking of cheap booze and Ash being somewhat pacified by this retaliation, he glared and reached to apply pressure to the place where Bailey had hit him. 

“That’s what I’m fucking telling you. It doesn’t make any sense.” He snapped as Bailey questioned his claim. “Of course I’m sure it’s a fucking tattoo. You haven’t lived until you’ve exfoliated your fucking schlong.” He let go of his arm to reach for his belt buckle, popping it loose and fishing his dick out to prove that this wasn’t an unexpected joke. 

Remarkably casual with dick in hand, he paused when Bailey accused him of not liking anyone. “That’s not-.” He hesitated, mind running through everyone he knew on a scale of how much he disliked them. “Tell you what,” He glanced down at his unfortunately inked donger before looking up at Bailey again with a lopsided smirk. “If this is your way of confessing to me that you want me to like you that makes this really awkward.” He teased, risking life and extremity to give Bailey shit. “Don’t worry buddy, at this rate maybe I’ll wake up with your name on my nuts.” 

Bailey growled when his drink was seized, punching Ash again and gazing forlornly at the broken bottle. He shot a glare at the other, although it didn’t last long, expression giving way to bewilderment when Ash reached for his pants. “Okay, I get it, I don’t need proof--” he started to protest, grimacing as he risked a peek from behind his outstretched hands and instantly looking perplexed. “Oh shit,” he intoned, tilting his head to get a proper look at the letters. “Yeah, that's definitely a tattoo,” he confirmed.

Scowling at Ash's teasing, Bailey flipped him off and gestured to his groin. “Be careful what you wish for, you just might. How the fuck does something like that happen?” It was a rhetorical question, though the probability that Ash might be lying to him was very high. “Maybe you should stop pissing people off. Your suspect pool would be smaller.” He shot an unhappy look at the puddle of bourbon on his floor. “Have you considered someone not named Wyatt put that on you? Maybe he's some sort of Hitler.”

Atreus murmured in confirmation when Bailey asked about the towels, unsure if further explanation was necessary but deciding to volunteer one just in case. “It’s part of the guest experience.” He lied, having created his own position on the ship in the hopes that everyone would assume it was legitimate. “I don’t think it applies to employees but I’m willing to make exceptions.” He teased, glancing sidelong at the other.

He opened his mouth to respond when Bailey rerouted them into the kitchen, Atreus looking pretty uncertain for someone who should have been accustomed to breaking protocol and being where he wasn’t supposed to be. The nerves were no doubt due to the fact that he was trying to keep a low profile, already trespassing by being on the ship at all. “I don’t think-” He stopped short as Bailey grabbed the tray of shrimp and kept walking like he was meant to be picking it up, Atreus followed him wordlessly, following suit and lifting a basket of complimentary bread and butter before they made their way out of the kitchen.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Atreus gestured to the stolen goods in Bailey’s hands. He thought for a moment before nodding at Bailey to follow him, abandoning the idea of wandering around until he found the dining hall for them. He led the way towards the deck but avoided the luxury seating areas that were prepared for guests, leading them instead to a secluded corner nestled near a door that read ‘crew members only’. 

“Like a picnic.” He announced, dropping to sit on the floor and rest his back against the railing. “Nicer to be in the sun anyway.” He uncovered the basket, happy to find that the bread was still warm. “Were you in the navy? Marines? A real sailor at one point?” He guessed curiously, his head tilting as he offered Bailey a piece of bread and he tried to make out a tattoo that was peeking from underneath Bailey’s shirt. 

Bailey ignored Atreus’ offer to fold his towels, mostly because he wasn't sure how to respond to it. He remained silent until they found a space to camp their ill-gotten goods, plopping down onto an overturned bucket and twisting open the wine. Taking a swig, he traded the bottle for a roll and tore into it without so much as a glance at the butter.

“No, I don't know how to swim,” Bailey finally answered, figuring it was a necessary skill to live on a boat, his current situation notwithstanding. “Or sail.” He followed Atreus’ curious gaze to the ink crawling out of his sleeves, obligingly lifting it up to reveal what seemed to be a dragon or some sort of angry gecko. They were all of remarkably bad quality. “Prison, not military,” he clarified. Scooping a handful of fried shrimp into his mouth, he gestured to the tattoos he could see on Atreus. “Were you a sailor?” he asked, despite the fact that the kid looked more like those singing mermaids with seashell bras. 

Atreus beamed, unjustifiably proud of Bailey (and somehow proud for himself a little, too) at the news that the man had won the fight that landed him on this ship. “Nice.” He stretched his arms over his head as he waited for Bailey to finish locking up, playing consistently dumb as to how it had been unlocked before. 

“I work here.” He replied simply as he started to lead the way, turning to walk backwards to ensure that Bailey was actually coming with him. “I’m the guy who folds the towels. You know, like swans and shit.” He looked down at himself briefly before turning around again, falling into step beside Bailey. “I just don’t have on my uniform cuz I left it in my cabin. Have you seen your bunk yet? Are you sharing it with anyone?” He asked, fishing for any useful information that he could about actual employees aboard the ship. 

“You fold towels?” Bailey repeated as if he didn't recognize the words. Then again, he'd never been in a place fancy enough that supplied towels in the first place, let alone ones shaped like animals. Following Atreus down another unidentifiable corridor, he shrugged indifferently to the questions. It sounded like the kid hadn't attended the orientation either.

“Dunno. I haven't been to my bunk yet, my stuff is still in the shop.” He should've asked Ash, sure that the man would know, not because he was supposed to but because he wasn't. As they passed a set of double doors, Bailey halted in his tracks to peer through the porthole window, where he could see bustling workers in white garb. He barked, “Kitchen,” as if he spotted a cat on the other side of the road, bursting in through the doors and absently towing Atreus along behind him. Fortunately, hardly anyone seemed to notice them aside from the few who glanced their way, too preoccupied with whatever was happening to stop them from intruding further.

Bailey avoided most of the chaos and stuck to the perimeter, experienced enough with pilfering food to know that avoiding detection usually depended on how disruptive he was. Grabbing a bottle of wine and an entire tray of fried shrimp from a cooling rack, he hastily slipped through a different door with a belated glance behind him to check that the kid was still with him. “Lead the way, I have no idea where I’m going.”

Ash glowered back at Bailey as he made his demand, annoyed because Bailey usually asked for so little out of people and life in general. As far as Ash could tell Bailey had been lifetime butt buddies with Jack without so much as asking Jack for a tissue and here Bailey was bartering with him in regards to his request for Bailey to keep an ear out. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He spat when Bailey accused him of not being a criminal mastermind. The insult wouldn’t have meant much coming from anyone else but taking it from a guy who Ash guessed had been born and abandoned in a dive bar toilet was too much. “I have his name tattooed on my dick.” He delivered the information with an open-palmed thump to the side of Bailey’s head, otherwise appearing pragmatic about the announcement. “It appeared same as this one and I don’t even know who he is.” Ash wouldn’t have admitted this unfortunate circumstance to anyone but Bailey. The joy of gossip was lost on someone who spent so much time foraging for food in dumpsters and Ash had zero doubt that Bailey would probably forget about it before thinking to talk to anyone else about his dick. 

“I just wanna know if he’s hot, okay? I can’t even take a piss without having to wonder.” 

Bailey instantly regretted demanding an explanation from Ash, too startled to realize that he'd reflexively punched the other back a little too hard. (Not that Ash didn't deserve his full strength.) He looked decidedly unhappy with the confession, though it seemed he couldn’t help the glance at Ash’s crotch as if he could see the name emblazoned there.

“How do you get your dick tattooed and not notice?” That seemed like something he would do, not Ash and his hyperparanoia. “Are you sure it's a tattoo? Maybe it's some kind of other permanent ink.” Bailey pointed an accusatory finger at Ash's lame excuse, expression skeptical. “That's bullshit, you don't want me to find out if he's hot for you. I know for a fact that you don't care about my opinion.” He paused, realizing what the other meant and added, “You don't like anyone.”

Atreus’ brow furrowed in confusion, unsure which of them had initially misunderstood the other. “Well I didn’t mean in here.” He clarified, looking around the small shop and trying to imagine anyone hosting or engaging in any kind of fight that wasn’t a food fight in there. “D’you lose to the wrong guy?” He asked curiously, trying to guess at what Bailey was doing on this ship. Then again, he was beginning to suspect that it was possible the guy had just wandered onto the ship by accident.

Hesitating briefly, Atreus stepped to one side and carefully stacked the boxes on top of the others that Bailey had indicated. Wiping his hands on his thighs, Atreus turned back to Bailey with renewed enthusiasm. “Yeah,” He lied brightly, having zero idea where anything on the ship was yet. “I can show you.” He offered, confident that it couldn’t be too difficult. He nodded towards the door even as he walked towards it. “I’m Atreus.” He offered as he reached for the door handle.

Bailey’s nose wrinkled at the other’s question, expression confused until he realized that the kid probably thought his role in the ice cream parlor was punishment. It essentially was, which he couldn’t refute. “Sort of. More like I won against the wrong guy.” Rather, he shouldn’t have been fighting the guy at all, considering his connections to people who really didn’t like Bailey.

Producing his keys, he shuffled the other out the door and turned to lock it pointedly behind him. “Bailey,” he said in response, briefly wondering what the hell kind of name Atreus was. “Are you a guest on this ship, or do you work here?” He’d assumed passenger when they met, but the kid’s eagerness to be put to work suggested something else. He might’ve had the answer if he’d gone to the damn orientation.

Ash couldn’t help but seethe when Bailey asked him the very thing that Ash had just told him. “That’s what I just fucking said.” He reiterated irritably, glowering at Bailey from behind the finger he had jammed in the other’s face. 

He inhaled deeply as Bailey tried to guess at the reasons for why Ash was searching for this man, his eyes falling shut as he resisted the urge to smack the walnuts out of Bailey’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m trying to off him, because I don’t know what the connection is yet. I just know that he is connected.” He insisted grumpily, his voice tense from grinding his teeth. Bailey’s observation about Jack’s interests was disgusting, but fair. 

“Well keep an ear out, will you?” He reached for Bailey’s face, clapping it between both of his open palms and leaning down to get closer to it. “Wy-att Hart-man.” He pointedly barked into the other’s face, hoping to get through the years of alcohol poisoning that Bailey had been utilizing to numb his already simple brain. 

Bailey appeared nonplussed as Ash twisted himself up into a frenzy, reacting only when his face was grabbed. He scowled but otherwise remained unimpressed, shaking himself out of the other’s grip like a dog coming out of a bath. “Okay, but only if you tell me why you want me to find him.” He wasn’t actually interested in Ash’s business-- it was one of the few reasons why they were able to stand each other’s company-- but he wasn’t keen on getting caught up in whatever scheme Ash had brewing. He was already on the run from authorities, he didn’t want to get chased off a boat too.

“Killing someone over a tattoo seems excessive. And you’re not exactly a criminal mastermind.” Bailey tilted his head back to pour more walnuts into his mouth, uncaring that most of it spilled over the sides of the bag and onto the floor. “If you get caught, we’re both in trouble. I’d rather know what you’re setting me up for.”

Atreus hadn’t considered that it could pay not to win, having assumed that wanting to come out on top was a given. “So is it like, purely for the money, or…” He was still standing in the center of the crushed box as he sized Bailey up, shamelessly looking him over. “You’re not gonna be fighting here, right?” He glanced towards the front of the shop with uncertainty, carefully stepping out of the box to bend down and gather the crushed cardboard in his arms. 

“No.” He admitted when Bailey asked about being able to play games without a data plan. “I mean, once I figure out the ship’s Wi-Fi password I could.” He hugged the armload of cardboard to his chest, debating for a moment before deciding that Bailey probably wouldn’t know that kind of information. 

“I didn’t steal my phone.” He paused before continuing, weighing the level of truth to his own claim. Bailey seemed really worried about him being a thief, which Atreus took very personally only because he was. “I found it. I can’t do much without Wi-Fi because they obviously canceled all service to it.” He stepped backwards, nodding towards the door. “Wanna show me where the recycling is? They’ll probably be serving lunch soon.” The truth was that Atreus wasn’t certain if he’d be able to get into the mess hall since he had zero documentation proving that he was supposed to be there, but tagging along with someone who did seemed hopeful to increase his odds.

“Well, I don't try to lose for free,” Bailey said, misunderstanding the question probably on purpose. He continued shielding himself with his drink until Atreus moved out of arm's length. Despite their difference in sizes, he was unsure about punching someone who hadn't attacked him yet. The way that the kid was staring at him made him feel like a peach on display at a fruit stand, which he didn’t know how to contend with. “There isn't any room to fight in here.” Not that it would stop him, if provoked.

Bailey’s expression remained skeptical as the kid fed him some excuse about his phone, though he wasn't terribly invested in it. He slid off his stool and waved a hand at the piles of boxes left behind. “I don't know where the recycling is. Just leave it there.” He did realize he was hungry at the mention of food, though he had no idea where it was being served. There had been some sort of orientation for staff earlier in the week, which he’d predictably skipped out on in favor of getting sloshed.

Ash wanted to slap Bailey at the suggestion of it being skin cancer, the fingers on his hand twitching as he fought to keep from flying off the handle as Bailey inspected the tattoo. He instantly calmed when Bailey spoke again, Ash shaking his head as he stared down at the other.

“I swear, I just woke up with it like this.” He knew that Bailey probably wouldn’t have any logical explanation for it but Ash was pretty sure that no one else would either. “It’s worse, though.” He pulled away from Bailey, taking a step back and turning away. He reached to run his fingers through his hair, acutely aware that there wasn’t a band-aid there to snag anymore. He stopped with his back still facing Bailey, his hand falling over his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need to find Wyatt Hartman. I need to know who he is.” His hand fell away as he exhaled, turning back towards Bailey. “Could you ask Jack for me? I need people with visibility looking out for him.”

“You woke up with a completely healed tattoo, and you have no idea how you got it?” Bailey summarized doubtfully. He continued pouring walnuts into his hand and throwing them back, watching Ash's meltdown like one would watch a football game. He didn't look any less dubious at the request for Jack's help, confusion eventually giving way to dawning realization. While he wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, he possessed enough critical thinking skills to connect some very obvious dots.

“Is that the guy you’re trying to off?” Bailey asked, “Because he gave you that?” He seemed to consider it, and then shook his head. “I doubt Jack would know. Wyatt Hartman doesn’t sound like someone who does yoga in a sports bra.”

Atreus’ smile hinted at confusion but it never faltered, unsure what Bailey’s comment about the gummy bears or the tone in which he said it were supposed to communicate. “People will usually share if you just ask nicely.” He offered blithely as he leaned up on his toes to push a container of chocolate covered raisins onto a top shelf. 

He turned as Bailey answered his question, Atreus’ eyes widening with interest as he walked back to the shipping box. “Like fighting?” He guessed that it made sense. Bailey in a fight ring made a lot more sense than Bailey in an ice cream shop. “Do you win a lot?” He asked with hopeful curiosity, becoming increasingly invested in this deadbeat-dad vibe that Bailey had going on. 

Atreus removed the last of the containers from the box, setting them aside on the counter while he went about breaking the box down in the least efficient way possible. “I didn’t break in.” He insisted again, lying through his teeth as he stepped inside the box and stomped on the corners to break them down, nearly losing his footing and grabbing Bailey’s shoulder before falling hard into the other’s lap. “But my phone doesn’t even have a data plan.” He admitted with a lopsided grin, patting Bailey’s chest before hopping up and moving back into the box he’d been wrestling.

Bailey squinted at Atreus as if debating whether the kid was mocking him or not, frowning behind the neck of his bottle. “Yeah, like fighting,” he agreed, shrugging a shoulder as he considered his record. “Sometimes. If I'm paid to.” Anyone with an ego might've padded their winnings, but Bailey wasn't concerned with saving face in front of the kid. He assumed his threat would be intimidating enough and if not, he could always go through with tossing Atreus overboard.

That thought was immediately dispelled when Bailey's chair rocked backwards and he found himself face-to-face with someone who looked like a member of a boy band. Tension ran through his frame until Atreus pat him on the chest, cheeks turning faintly pink and hunching his shoulders. He straightened after the kid climbed off of him, taking a long drink and defensively cradling the bottle like a shield. “Can you play games without data?” he asked doubtfully. “In the ocean?” Bailey had a very loose understanding of how phones worked, and only owned one because Jack made him. “Did you not-steal your phone too?”

Ash snorted at the suggestion, though it was fair considering the questions that he was asking Bailey without any additional context. “I’m not getting a tattoo.” He promised, visibly uncomfortable as he recalled the two that he already woken up to. At the mention of it being visible he couldn’t help but glance towards the band-aid wrapped firmly around his ring finger, his lips twisting into the smallest of sneers.

“What about removal?” He asked without thinking, only considering after he said it that Bailey could never afford to remove every bad tattoo that was on his body. After a moment’s consideration he also realized that someone would be taking a laser to his groin, something that had him squirming in his seat just thinking about it. 

“Fuck,” He muttered, setting the jar aside and scrambling to his feet. He tore the band-aid off and presented his finger to Bailey for inspection. “This wasn’t here yesterday. And I swear, it was just a normal night.”

Bailey shot Ash a curious look at the mention of tattoo removal, never having considered such a thing. “What about it?” From what he'd heard, it was twice as painful and not as effective as the reverse. “I think you need multiple sessions or something.” He shrugged, unconcerned, at least until Ash flapped his hand at him. Bailey looked intrigued, leaning closer to examine the black ink scored into the other’s knuckle.

“Is it a medical thing?” he asked, “It doesn't look like skin cancer.” It looked just like a normal tattoo, if not wildly uncharacteristic of the person it was stuck on. He swiped his finger over the thin lines experimentally, as if expecting the color to smear. “Well, the lines aren’t raised, so it’s not new. Are you fucking with me?” Too bad that Bailey couldn’t recall if he’d ever noticed the band-aid on Ash’s finger before today, a fact he was sure the man knew.

Atreus shrugged unconcernedly in response. He wasn’t not having fun, but he couldn’t imagine himself being bored when a stacked old man who ran an ice cream shop was paying him even the half-hearted attention that Bailey was. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Bailey check his hand for a ring before answering the question, making Atreus wonder if Bailey had been divorced before or was just drunk. “I’m not.” He scooted closer as the other offered him the bottle, Atreus happily taking this as a sign of a blossoming friendship. “And I’m not.” He took the bottle from Bailey, holding it in contemplation as he considered what he could even hope to steal from a half-stocked ice cream shop that hadn’t even opened yet. The only thing he was interested in stealing at the moment was this old man’s heart but he also hadn’t been on the ship long enough to get hungry yet.

He leaned back to take a drink from the bottle, the back of his head thumping against the cabinet behind him. He made a face as he reached to hand the bottle back to Bailey. Alcohol had never been his drug of choice and this particular blend tasted like something you’d find in a 1950′s First-Aid kit. 

“No offense, but I think I could pick a more profitable mark on this ship. And you already threatened to throw me overboard. I get it.” He promised, holding his hands up in front of him for a moment before he reached for the cone he’d been eating before. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate for gummy bears that I had to steal.” He teased, slipping off his perch and resuming his task of unloading the boxes. 

“So what do you usually do for fun?” He asked, glancing back at Bailey from where he was placing jars of sticky walnuts on a shelf.

Bailey decided to take the kid’s words with a grain of salt, considering it'd be pretty stupid to believe a thief at face value. He grunted in response, more or less indifferently, and accepted his drink without a trace of offense. He didn't expect the ice cream venture to be lucrative anyway (especially if he was going to treat it like his personal stash of sweets), and saw it only as a ticket to escape legal trouble.

“Never?” Bailey asked skeptically. “You seem like you function exclusively on gummy bears.” Even Ash, who drank pure sugar, what the fuck, didn't have half as much energy as the kid. Looking taken aback when he was asked about his hobbies, he lifted his drink pointedly. “This.” That sounded particularly pathetic, so he added, “Sometimes I box.” Box was a generous term to describe what he did, which mostly amounted to berserker-like cage matches.

“And you… break into people’s businesses to play games on your phone?” Bailey surmised, clearly doubtful about the other’s intentions. He found it hard to believe that the kid genuinely enjoyed doing unpaid labor for cantankerous strangers, assuming that he had to be after something else. Gummy bears seemed like a likely reason.

Ash’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles at the suggestion that he might commit murder simply for being asked to do his job. While most might find Bailey’s cocktail of sarcasm and stupidity obnoxious, Ash actually found him to be one of the least obnoxious people he knew. Bailey didn’t apologize for being stupid, and he certainly didn’t pretend.

“I don’t know yet.” Ash replied honestly, still unsure of his own connection to Wyatt Hartman at this point. “I just need to find out who he is.” He took a seat on one of the shipping boxes that Bailey had yet to unpack, leaning back against the counter. “Tattoos take time to heal, right?” He was assuming that between the two of them he wasn’t the only one who had woken up with a tattoo that he didn’t remember getting, but even with his limited knowledge on the subject he was pretty certain that it couldn’t (or shouldn’t) have fully healed over in a single night. “Like they’re supposed to scab over or some shit, right?” 

Bailey didn't react to Ash maybe-confessing to a future murder, only curious about the fact that he didn't seem to know his victim. Even so, he was more interested in scoping out some food, rummaging through another box and disappointed to find sprinkles. “They take a few weeks,” he said over his shoulder, reemerging with a sack of walnuts. “Are you planning on getting some ink?” The thought amused him, imagining Ash with something like an elaborate chest piece.

“You should kill your lady friend before the tattoo. Harder to identify.” Bailey tore open a corner of the bag and proceeded to pour its contents into his mouth. “Unless you plan on getting it somewhere not visible,” he mumbled.

Atreus was almost surprised to hear that someone like Bailey had even a friend. The guy gave off the vibe of someone who preferred drinking alone at 9AM rather than doing any of the things that friendship usually required. Then again, people could surprise you and Atreus was hopelessly committed to the idea that there was someone for everyone, the unexpected ones always giving him hope.

“This is more fun.” He responded lightly in response to the question, not about to admit that he didn’t have a room to play in before they were even out of the harbor. He turned to follow Bailey’s indication towards where the cones and cups were, taking Bailey’s lack of an actual answer to his question as permission to snack on anything that couldn’t really be considered a topping.

“I want to be here.” He insisted, ripping open another box and pulling a package of cones from it. Blending into a tour group sounded plausible enough though. Atreus made a mental note to see if he could figure out if one was actually on board later. 

He pulled himself up on the edge of a counter top, tearing into the package and hoping that Bailey wouldn’t get mad about him taking a break. Or sharing the break really, since Bailey had apparently been on one since he’d arrived there. “Are you married?” He asked, gingerly biting off the corner of a cone while watching Bailey to see if he’d care.

Bailey eyeballed the kid as he helped himself to his inventory but made no comment. He didn't really care if the product was sold or eaten, having already forgotten his earlier threat. He simply didn't want the candy to be a tacit invitation and knew that being aggressively unfriendly usually kept people out of his business. His intruder seemed unusually unaffected, which Bailey had yet to decide was a good thing.

“This is fun for you?” he snorted, not expecting a response. His brows rose at the odd question, instinctively glancing at his hand as if checking to see if he'd accidentally worn a ring that morning. “No. Are you?” He took a swig of the bourbon and extended the bottle, because if he was going to have company, drunk company was better. “If you’re trying to steal from me, I’m warning you that it’s a bad idea.” Bailey was well aware that most of the crew and its passengers were fugitives, which led to a healthy dose of suspicion and heightened vigilance.

Ash hummed under his breath in response to the feedback, though it was unclear whether he found any of it was useful or not. Then again, Bailey was unlikely to care either way. 

“What makes you think they’re a him?” He asked suspiciously, beginning to grow frustrated with the jar now that the fruit was harder to reach. He went to drink from the jar itself instead, the maraschino syrup staining his lips pink. “Unrelated,” He started, warning in his tone as he lowered the jar. “But have you seen or heard of a Wyatt Hartman on the ship?” 

“So you're trying to kill some lady on vacation?” Bailey asked, tearing open a box of waffle cones and proceeding to eat one like a potato chip. “What’d she do, ask for more towels?” Ash had a famously short fuse, which made him wonder why the man had taken such a customer-heavy role. Then again, maybe he hadn’t had much of a choice, just like Bailey.

Grimacing as Ash gulped down the syrup, he suddenly understood Jack’s urge to slap food out of his hands. He shook his head and shrugged at the question, shoving the rest of his half-eaten cone into his mouth. “No, who’s that? The person you’re killing?” Bailey wrinkled his nose and pointed the bourbon at Ash. ‘Don’t answer that. I don’t want to be an accomplice.”