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it was the same question winston had been asking himself since he'd turned down the street that led to the church. every step had felt increasingly foolish, church was no longer part of his life. it belonged to another man.back then it hadn't been a choice but been expected.  he had never fit into its teachings so why bother now?. not to mention, the stacks of blown apart bodies he had been collecting over the years made it difficult. the lord, if he still listened, would need an awfully long afternoon listening to his crimes.

yet...here he was. his hands rested hesitantly upon the iron handle that he never got the chance to push. as a considerably smaller figure collided squarely into his chest. he didn’t stumble, he was more often a brick wall against most things that tumbled into him. winston almost felt bad. 

one brow rose, "only if you also don't mention that i was about to confess a few sins myself." his voice carried its usual gravelly rumble, though amusement crept unexpectedly into it."maybe this is the lord's way of telling us both to reconsider." the corner of his mouth tugged upward and a quiet chuckle escaped him, genuine enough to surprise even himself.

he gave the stranger a brief once over. it had been a solid collision but they seemed upright. nothing obviously broken and no blood. good enough .he wasn't entirely sure why he'd bothered checking, habit, perhaps. it was then during his inspection, he noticed something he didn’t at first. the colours....and then the face. he had seen that face before. storm's eye. the warmth disappeared and the pleasant humour that had briefly softened him settled back beneath layers of caution and contempt. he hadn't forgotten storm's eye forcing his crew into rough waters. they'd lost good sailors that day, and their ship had limped into port broken and leaking. winston was not a man who forgave easily, nor one who forgot.

what a fool they feel, praying to a god who does not listen. is it worth the hike they take to this church each time they return to tortuga? each step a prayer for forgiveness, but maya has never been freed of this guilt. it rots inside of them, curling about their intestines like ivy which threatens to choke them. all of it piles and it piles — the man bleeding out atop them and their later adventures. should maya apologise for what they have become, too? in this rotten career of piracy, they cannot deny that they have never felt so damned alive. so passionate. rubbing at their forehead, they lift their chin to meet the eyes of an absurdly solid, brick wall of a man. it’s a surprise to maya that they did not chip a tooth on his sternum. “i wouldn’t bother. i don’t think he’s in a listening mood today.” their voice is soft, though it grumbles forth from the prison of their chest. they should not speak in such blasphemy, but praying to the lord often feels as though they are screaming into the nether, foolish and alone. “perhaps we should take the hint.” there’s laughter on maya’s tongue which leaps to its death when their gaze adjusts to the figure they have slammed haphazardly into. it is instinct which makes maya take an imperceptible step backward. mist like, they are known to slip from the tightest of clutches, though usually it is under the cover of darkness rather than here, in the stark burn of the morning sun. dark eyes dart around themself, seeking an escape beyond him, of the oathbreaker. where there is passion in piracy, there is equal hatred in these feuds which run deep. maya cannot deny they share the views of their own crew in this endless enmity. “well, there is only one man to whom i answer.” comes their retort, followed by a jab of their thumb in the direction of the church behind them. “whether they pray or not is of their own business. i came here alone. can you say the same?”

each whispering lap of the gentle waves against the shore was a vicious mockery. rika sat under the dock, dagger restlessly turning in her hands, as she watched the light of the moon catching the far horizon. the sea was calm that night, a far cry from the turmoil brewing inside of her. she wanted to scream, to curse the waves and the snares that awaited any pirate that dared to enter them, and tear this entire port to the ground with her savage bare hands. if there was one thing rika had no patience for it was... well, patience. keen ears picked up the soft shifting of sand underfoot behind her, and she scowled all the more, her gaze still fixed ahead. "clearly i look like i want to be disturbed." she growled, sarcasm dripping from every word. "fuck off."

trapped here. it doesn’t matter all that much, for sansa has felt trapped almost everywhere she goes. though, to be offered the choice of being stranded at sea and on land, she knows she would dive head first into the ocean at the first opportunity. she’s barefoot, she’s fairly tipsy, and she likes how the sand feels between her toes. there’s a bottle of something in her hand, she’s not quite sure what, but it burns her throat and makes her squint when she swallows — so she doesn’t complain. sansa’s brows raise at the solitary figure sitting in her path, and she can’t help but laugh when rika speaks. “there you are,” sansa’s voice is like honey despite the bitterness of her beverage. she plops down ungraciously beside rika and offers the unidentified bottle to her. “fuck you back. i wanted to come see the sea, if that's quite alright with you.”

where: the devils cask

hair a mess, flung over her shoulder in a haphazard braid. her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight with something alive, something she likely uses to ignore the general wilderness that is her mind. sansa pushes into the devil’s cask with a thirst crawling its way up her throat. her grin is sharp as a knife as she eyes adeola, an appreciation in her gaze as she wanders towards the bar and sits herself down on the adjacent stool with a puff of air escaping from her pink lips. it’s been a while since she’s stepped foot inside of the establishment, but it feels like home. “i’m always in a mood, though.” she scoffs, voice like gravel. she feels light, without an anchor of her own dragging her by her feet into the darkness which stalks at her ankles. “what do you recommend? i trust your judgement.”