Tales of the Blue Vagabond I ~ The Ballad of Little Crow
RATING: E (smut with Plot, canon-typical violence) SHIPS: Jinx/Miss Sarah Fortune, Past Jinx/Ekko pining. Also the Syren. But that's a literal ship. TAGS/TROPES: Pirates, Action/Adventure, Sex, Contracts, Blood, Guns and Smut, Loss of Virginity/First Times, Mentor/Protege relationship, Angst, Drama, Humor, Bisexual Jinx, Transfem!Jinx, World Traveler Jinx, Post-Arcane S2, Breaking That Cycle Of Violence Sure Ain't Easy, First Person POV, Jinx POV. SUMMARY: Jinx and Miss Fortune. Two curses on mankind. A match made in hell. Or two wounded young women fighting tooth and nail for something they can call peace? Six months after the events of Arcane, a mysterious girl with a penchant for trouble and a skill with explosives and firearms makes quite a name for herself in Bilgewater. Back to back with the deadly and ambitious Captain of the Syren the legend of Fortune's Crow is about to be written in blood, salt, and gunpowder.
That led to the first time I stood in Fortuneâs cabin, plighting our troth, as it were. My oath to serve on her crew, but while your boots are on that deck, itâs more binding than any marriage and the only divorce is a bullet and the deep blue sea.
Yâknow, people think pirates are stinky, scruffy, dirty ruffians, but my Capân? Class act. Iâve seen her sweaty and salty and dishevelled, hair in tangles and clothes torn and spattered with dirt and ash and other peopleâs blood â unafraid of it, sheâs no soft lilâ princess â but when most people meet her? Sheâs immaculate. Hair, thick and flowing and red as heartâs blood, ocean blue eyes that can cut a manâs heart out with a look, a rouge-lipped smirk people call stuff like âsensualâ and âcoquettishâ and âsultryâ, fair skin warmed and freckled by the searing ocean sunâŚsheâs a real freakinâ babe and everyone knows it, especially her.
Everyone in Bilgewater with a pulse wants her pirate booty, but if thereâs one real legendary treasure no sailor alive has laid eyes upon in this Olâ Buccaneer Town, I reckon her legs are the X that marks the spot.
How she keeps her hair so silky-lookinâ and her scent bright with fresh vanilla and spices with just a lil dash of sweat, salt and fruity rumâ and gunpowder, like me âwhen everyone else in Bilgewater reeks of brine and pukey grog and old fish beats the hell outta me. Especially the hair thing! Mineâs kinda bleaching to an aqua like the reef-water around some of the islands. Itâs nice and balmy-soft sometimes and other times a dry salty crusty mess, especially if Iâve been dunked in the drink. Itâs the first time since I cut them off that Iâm actually not missing my braidsâŚ
âYouâll need to dye it, for now,â Fortune smiles upon me, but it doesnât reach her eyes. Not yet. Theyâre calculating, thoughtful, âYouâre hardly the only blue haired girl from Zaun. Your little cult followingâs going stronger after your noble sacrifice, apparently. And nobodyâs expecting to see you without the braidsâŚbut with the hair and the eyes? Two and two could be put together. And we do deal with the Undercity and the new Barons on a regular basisâŚâ
A scowl knots my eyebrows. Fine. She has a point. But Iâm not taking the pink streak out.
âHow about purple?â say I.
âBlack,â she says, âNo need to bleach to get it to stick. Washes out easier when youâre done, and easier to come by.â
I roll my eyes at her and huff, âUghhh, youâre gonna make me look like my drunken sad sack of a sister in her oil slick era? Ughhh!â
Her smile grows coy. âYouâll be my little Crow. Messenger of the underworld. Thatâs if you donât get yourself sent to it first â so weâll discuss the rest of our terms now.â
Her cabin has the vibe of Silcoâs office at the Last Drop. Recognized that right away. All the trappings of the criminal mastermind overlord she is under her creamy freckled skin and flowing fiery locks, all things sharp and dark and hard-edged, but elevated to display taste, restraint, and purpose. Jealous losers used to sneer at my dad as pretentious, envious, a dirty little thing aspiring to be like the very Pilties he despised.
But he knew the power of âclass, taste, erudition,â as he put it. He was taking the tools they used to keep us down and making them his weapons and armour. He never stopped being Zaun, not even in the last breath he whispered into my face.
Fortune is the same. Sheâs is all of those things, but for Bilgewater.
Oh, add style and comfort, those too. That big four-poster bed at the back of her cabin looked like it belonged in some Piltie aristocratâs boudoirâand mightâve been plundered from oneâif it werenât for all the carved serpents and krakens on the dark polished wood.
Standing there, I caught my eyes flicking enviously back to it. Hell of a lot cosier than swinginâ round in a hammock in a crew deck full of snoring, farting, belching, mumbling pirates every night. But then I barely sleep anyway, so in those first months on the Syren, I spent more time catching my one-eye open forty winks hiding tucked in the nice cool dark of the cargo hold behind some pile of crates or dangling my leg from the crowâs nest under a giant moon weeping silver on the black glossy ocean than I ever did below decks.
âHere is my offer.â
That first time in her cabin, Fortune laid down her proposal, straight and frank. Serve her crew, on the gun deck. Turn my considerable talents to maintaining and upgrading those cannons, and the crewâs personal arsenal. Keeping the gunpowder stocked and procuring appropriate munitions at port. Keeping the Powder monkeysâha, oh the first time I flinched hearing that name, but the little buggers are so cute with their flamey lilâ tailsâin lineâŚ
And in return, food, lodgings, the camaraderie of her Crew, and a stipend of gold Krakens representing my cut of the take.
âHave we an accord?â sheâd purred in her honeyed, sultry voice, the voice that had sent a hundred sailors to their knees, but not a one of them to her bed.
My eyes had narrowed then. I was a cocksure kid, eighteen-maybe-nineteen-probably-donât-actually-know, big chip on my shoulder from being a crimebossâs daughter, terror of the twin cities, figurehead of a revolution-that-never-quite-was, bitch-slapping a government with a Hextech rocket, bitch-slapping a populace with their own toxic waste, bitch-slapping an invading army straight back to Noxus, facilitating the bitch-slapping of a mad Hextech fortune cookie demigodâŚ
Jinx, Vilest Villain, Big Damn Hero, Legend in her own Time, high on her own supply, thought she could make demands.
âJust a couple of amendments,â Iâd announced, full-chested (though her chestâs a helluva lot fuller than mine, shoulda been a sign I wasnât gonna win this), âfirst! I want a really big hat. Second! Iâll be upfront with ya, Red. I want my airship.â
âYour airship.â
âYup! It was in pretty good nick before you stripped it. Bit of love, spit and elbow grease and she could still fly againâbut not if we let âer rot into the sea, so thereâs a time limit on that, see? All my gold Krakens, they can go into that if you wanna, but thatâs what I want. I do my time for you, spruce up your guns, blow up your grudges, and make you look damn good doing it. And you help me fish out my ship and gimme leave to kit her outâŚâ
Iâd leaned in, given her my narrow Jinx eyes, my manic grin, so impressive.
ââŚend of that, when youâre done with me, I flutter off into the wild blue yon full of fond memories of our time plunderinâ the olâ briny, and then Iâm somebody elseâs problem. Orâif you keep it interesting? Allied captain to your growing, majestic fleet, death to your foes from above on command. Youâre the big fish, leadinâ the pack, Iâm the lilâ bluebird with the real loud ca-kawww, right?â
My reckless, feckless shrug.
âNet win for you, either way. Whaddya say?â
I never saw the trap in Fortuneâs full, smiling, devil-red lips. I was too young and stupid and full of my own demons, too used to an Underworld where the mythologizing of my unhinged psycho rep and my dead dadâs looming shadow did half my work for me. This was a different, saltier, soggier Underworld, and there were two shadows spreading over it, one shark coming for another, bigger shark, biding its time until it smelled blood in the waterâŚ
And the shadow that was growing was hers.
I had no idea Iâd just indentured myself to Sarah Fortune in ways I couldâve never imagined. Might as well have sold my soul to the River King.
âWhy, Jinx. What an ambitious proposal. I admire that.â
Sheâd smiled that devilâs sweet smile at me, pulled the string on a dark cloth purse sheâd plucked from her coat.
A gold coin slipped into her palm. Turned over in her hand.
âSymbol of our accord,â she announced, and as she held it up to me, gave a light, surprised laugh and arch of her brow as her eyes fell on what she held, âWell, what do you know? Lookâitâs a rare mint.â
True, it was no typical gold Bilgewater Kraken sheâd plucked without looking from her purse. It couldâve been plundered or pilfered from the coffers of a dozen different lands; it doesnât matter which.
One face, as she turned it in her fingers, was a woman, long hair unbound and a fish tail, perched on a rock in the sea. The other, a flying bird, a ravenâŚ
Or a crow.
âA sign, this accordâs meant to be,â she smirked, âFortuneâs smiled just for us.â
âThat mean weâve got a deal?â I asked.
Her leatherbound hand took mine, fingers strong and uncompromising, and her eyes flashed up to mine with the smouldering inevitability of a lit cannon wick.
Pushing the coin into my palm between us. Her first gift to me; one day, itâll be her last, too.
âDeal,â she said, and the deal was done.
And so was I.
Didnât know until much later that Fortune wasnât just on a pleasure cruise around these balmy isles knocking off a few shinies from Piltie merchants and running contraband into Noxian vassal states for fun and profit.
She was a hell of a lot more like Silcoâlike meâthan I couldâve ever imagined from her flirty banter and charming, smirky masquerade. She had her eye on the big league. She had a mission. A cause, and a prize.
His name was Gangplank. Biggest fish in these waters. Leathery, nasty, cunning old killer, whole town on their knees to him, terrified of a whisper of his name. Heâd shot her parents, shot her, and burned her life down when she was just a kid. One of those stories.
Under her feathery hat and vanilla-and-sea-salt perfume and warm, throaty laugh, Sarah Fortune was an unstoppable force, aimed in one direction. She was going to kill Gangplank, crush his empire, and take a steaming piss on his every legacy; dead, dead, dead, tolled the bells behind her eyes, and she didnât care if half the sea burned with him.
Captain Sarah Fortune was going to war, and Iâd just become her secret weapon.
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