#thread.lebas

Lebas was not new to hunger. But it had been an all together different thing when he’d been a boy. Now his toned muscles and his work demanded more sustenance. Sweaty and lightheaded after hammering away at the forge, he sat in front of Brimstone, a cup of water at his lips that he was sipping slowly. 

He looked up when someone neared the building, his muscles tensing. “If you need anything new? We’re low on supplies, mostly doing repairs right now.”

Lebas had been whispered about when he first returned to Tortuga, when the news of the last ship he served on having been pulled into the depths. He was - as far as he knew - the last survivor. The only survivor. And he might as well have been the one who send it to its watery grave with all its occupants with it. After all, he had lost love for the life of a pirate. There was some bad blood between him and some of the pirates, and they had not understood why he'd left them.

He'd ignored the rumors, there was nothing he could do about it.

And he'd tried to bury the fact that none of those he'd sailed with had survived. That they were all gone. It was easier to think they were still out there, creating havoc.

Still, the sight of one of them caught him off guard. And while he should be reluctant, he had walked up to her before he could stop himself from doing so.

"Mary?"

Having been raised at the Nest, Lebas held the Sirens who had been his parents at a higher esteem than maybe some of them deserved. He’d do a lot for them, he’d fight tooth and nail for some. He’d visit them when he could, especially the ones who’d long since moved out of the Nest, either too old or too wary to continue their craft. So when one of them had died under mysterious circumstances - from an illness that he thought was suspicious - he’d set out to investigate. His only lead being the caretaker who had been with them the last days of their life. 

She was famed, or at least well-known on Tortuga. He’d seen her around plenty, and now that he needed to be closer to her person, he couldn’t help the chill that ran down his back. He couldn’t help already having decided that there was no other explanation: she’d murdered them. He just couldn’t prove it, not even to himself. 

He didn’t have to do much to get the injury, he worked at a forge after all, getting hurt wasn’t new. He’d dropped the hammer on his foot from an angle where he was certain it would look badly enough but hopefully heal quickly. And then he’d slouched through town to Sawbone where Aphinya Dupont worked. “Got time for a sorry sod?” he asked, as he entered and saw nobody else present. “Dropped a hammer on my foot.” 

Lebas did not consider himself an artist, definitely not someone who created things out of nothing. He did his job, he managed, he made what was asked of him. He was more practical about the whole ordeal - and boastful since steel and iron was used by everyone. Some days he wished he could be more passionate about it. But he’d decided long ago that in this life he wouldn’t get what he wanted. He’d settle for the satisfaction of working in high temperatures without a shirt on and flashing muscle whenever someone entered the forge.

Even when that someone was the type who could probably do his work much better than him.

“Elijah! Hey!” He called, as he finished the set of thongs. He wiped off the sweat with an already drenched towel and moved to the area of the forge that wasn’t littered with work in progress. “You here for business? Or did you miss me?” he asked with a grin.

The apprentice blacksmith locked the door of the forge behind him, the sea air bringing in a gentle breeze that tried to cling onto his sweaty form. Within the stone walls of the place he could almost forget what was going on in the town itself. But once he locked up for the night, he could sense the dread in the air again. It was thicker than it had been during the blockade. Beforehand there had only been the fear of dying of hunger, now death had actually found its way to the port. Multiplied.

He watched a few charter soldiers pass through the street and greeted them like he would any other. Then once they’d passed, quickly ducked into an alley and made his way to the tavern, almost colliding with another soul. He side-stepped instead and collided with the wall. “Ah oef! Close call!”

Another sweep of the market stalls gave away that things were still dire, and getting anything fresh was impossible - or at least for most. Lebas didn't have the contacts anymore, and certainly didn't think any of his former pirate buddies would give him something. Jin still managed to come back home at times with food. Which didn't surprise him, his brother knew better than him.

His face snapped into a new direction, and a familiar face appeared through the crowds.

"Well if it isn't Tortuga's number one pirate and our dearest brother!" he said, jabbing Jin in the side and pointing him at Iseult.

Lebas sat up slowly when the door of the appartment opened, the small space housed his bed and most of Jin's belongings, since Lebas had yet to actually spend money on anything other than paying off debt collectors - his mother's debt mostly. It couldn't be anyone else than Jin, though he did make sure by listening intently to the footsteps outside to make sure they were those of his unofficial sibling.

Hunger was starting to come for his brain now, as he saw stars in front of his vision when he sat up. "Please tell me you managed to find something that even remotely looks like food."

Despite having grown up in the Siren’s Nest - be it mostly under its former owner - Bas did not think of the place as home. His mother had, of course, tried to make it so, but as soon as she’d died and several of the Sirens who had raised him with her, he’d began to see the place as just another business around town.

He rarely entered it these days, and when he did, it was only to spend his coins. He felt bad lingering in a place where he wasn’t going to purchase anything. And he feared that if he did walk over its threshold, he just might indulge himself.

So he waited outside for any of the Sirens to come out, waving Dutch over when his handsome head of curls exited the building. “Your boss in?” He asked. “Got the door hinges he ordered.” He took a look at Dutch. “Rough night? Or did you just wake up.” He almost reached out to run a hand through the hair, but stopped himself. The Siren’s Nest was no longer the place he’d grown up in.