#forpiiracy

❝         oh father, how lovely it is indeed to                                              see you again !         ❞

       “I’m fine.”

       It was no secret to those who knew Haytham that the man was thoroughly urban; he had no idea how to handle moving about a forest, let alone one so dense as that of eastern Massachusetts Bay Colony. Going out with Edward, then, had been a horrible idea, but what else was he to do? Reginald had ordered it ( with a disgusting twinkle in his eye ) and Haytham could not say him nay. So here he was, caught in a tree with nowhere to go but up, for he certainly hadn’t been able to find a way down in the past twenty minutes. His clothes were sticky with sap and the heat was beginning to get to him, but still, he would not release his hold on the trunk, nor would he look down into his father’s face.

       “Really,” he repeated, voice damnably calm, “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go on ahead-- no, wait, shit, stay there, I need to keep an eye on you.” Lip bloody from having been chewed too much today, Haytham leaned out a bit, nails digging into the bark, to glance at the forest floor below. “Oh, no.” It was more a moan than clear speech; the Knight turned his face away and buried it in the trunk again, clenching his thighs around the branch. “No, no. This was an awful idea. All right, Haytham. All right.” ( And if Edward ever brought up the fact that his son spoke to himself, Haytham would gut him. ) “All I need to do is... find another branch. That’s it.” He slowly inched a foot down, touching his toe to the next branch -- one that dipped and swayed uncomfortably. 

       It had been a mistake, bringing their prisoner along for this voyage with the Colonial Grand Master aboard. Whatever time was not put into doing paperwork or keeping the ship running smoothly was instead spent worrying over the elder Kenway, and it was not unusual to see Haytham up in the crossbeams, a leg slung over each side, tapping his fingers against his lips and staring at the clouds as if the sky alone held the answers to his questions.

       What they chose to do with Edward was, of course, their business, and there was little that Haytham could do to stop them from manhandling the captured Assassin. He would not even protest for better treatment, knowing that it would get him nowhere. To show attachment now was to condemn them both to death or worse, and he would gamble with his own life readily enough, but not Edward’s -- not when he could still save him. So he sat safe in the sails and thought, and thought, and thought of a way that he might set the other free without turning his back on the Order. Of course there was none, and he had known that the moment that he set eyes on the former pirate and the chains that bound his wrists and ankles, but all the men knew that Kenway was mad as a March hare, scurrying back and forth across Europe and spilling blood in his master’s name as he went, but all for Edward. They would not have been surprised to see him intervene, and that was why he could not act.

       --but he could only turn a blind eye for so long. Forcing Edward into manual labor despite his emaciated state was understandable, for he had been a sailor and could therefore handle the work in theory, but beating him was another matter entirely. The first crack of a whip caught Haytham’s attention, the second had him sliding down the mast and pushing off to fall the last few meters. He hit the deck rolling and running, reaching out to wrench the other Knight’s arm back before a third snap could resound. A bit of scratching and struggling, and Haytham had liberated the whip from the unfortunate’s hand and kicked him back, staggering away and panting. He would not meet Edward’s eyes, but the deed was done, and the demand to get back to work did nothing to combat the thick air that had formed between the Master Templar and the rest of the crew.

send me ❥ for an edit of our characters.

forpiiracy

        Cutler could feel blessed that Mercer was working for him. That man wasn’t talking a lot for what he was grateful ( he didn’t stand annoying people ), and did his job to Cutler’s full satisfaction. Tonight was one of these moments the Lord was especially happy to have his personal assassin and spy, who dragged an intruder into his office by his messy blonde hair.           “I’ve found ‘im sneaking through the hallway. Armed.”, Mercer said and pushed him roughly onto his knees.            Cutler gazed calmly at the other; he wasn’t very surprised that someone tried to kill him, actually he was quite certain a lot of people would love to see him dead. That man was obviously one of these people. He looked like a pirate, but he was for sure more than just that, otherwise the guards would have cought him before he could come even near his manor.

[Put @ in my inbox and someone’s url and my muse will have to kiss theirs ]

forpiiracy

It was in a spring, hidden deep within a cave that she marveled nature’s beauty at the surprise he had shown her. The cave was full of exotic flowers–veining ones, red petals without a speck or mark; and everywhere amongst them were butterflies, trumpeting and fluttering with pleasure. Here and there a small bee, with powdered legs, swayed on a flower, like a jewel in the sea. The air was warm and soft, while the rounded sound of bubbling water poppled in mossy rocks, between the bars of freshwater kelp stalks, A delicious sweetness of earth and flora mounted in her brain. She watched a butterfly winged in gold, flicked on a lifted root under the steady shadow of a fern.

She was flushed, her face glowing so, that her black eyes and red lips positively glared, yet she had a silky fascination for him. And her rough, calloused hands brought not only flesh into contact, but mind.

Drunk on the fumes of vitality, an orchestra started in her ears, and swelled the veins in her brain. The wind lifted the aroma and blew loose petals, in a whirring covey off the ground.

“Edward” she said with hunger, beats of her heart racing.

Presently she lifted her hands away from his hands and on to his bristly chin, a tickling contrast to her touch, and dragged her fingers agonizingly light to frill through his temples, as she drew him towards her. She searched his eyes, holding a gasp in her chest at how beautiful his eyes sparkled like the hidden pools next to them–lucid, enigmatic, beautiful beyond comparison–the same eyes she drowned in never fighting for air.

It’s soft. The fullness of his lips against hers, a delicate peck in their chaste kiss, but then turns greedy. The fight for air begins, and she feels herself drowning, the smell of the sea stinging her brain each time her nose brushes against his cheek and his golden locks melt into hers. She is dying, her spirit fading, but the fire in her veins ignites an untamed desire.

"Aye--but you are my grandson and I will allow no harm to come to you. I pray you understand that--" The downed cups of rum made his voice thick, but the old man had good intentions--or so he thought.