agnus dei.

{ L U C I D I T Y } nrpg task three

Curly narrowed his eyes at Isadora’s response like she was especially dull. “Of course it means something. If it doesn’t, then why can’t we leave?” He knew better than most on the island that despite his disagreement with Peter’s methods that there was certainly something other about him and it wasn’t just the odd colour of his hair. To think anything otherwise was stupid and Curly’s manners had certainly diminished with the landscape over the winter and wasn’t taking to recovery very well.

He inched back when she softened with the intimate knowledge of what the calm before the storm looked like. Curly dropped his hands to his sides, thumb grazing over the hilt of his dagger to remind himself of security. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?” he asked. A girl’s temper was foul and impossible, nevermind crossed with a pirate’s. Self-preservation pushed him backwards while his mouth was a rascal and insisted that he spit up more ill-timed commentary on why girls never survived the lot.

“Think about it,” he said once he was far enough into the trees to raise his voice across the expanse between them. “I trust that you know where to find me if you have a change of heart. I think you and I both know how fickle yours can be.”

“And yet I also remain here by choice. Can you say the same?” The pirate spat, irritation shinning through. It did mean something, but Isadora wasn’t about to contribute to the already gigantic ego Peter undoubtedly had. Even if only peripherally. She could leave technically, board another ship if she wanted to, knowing she would have her captain’s blessing. But she hadn’t the desire. Devotion to the crew and a seething hatred had kept her there. She had nothing to go back to anyways, convinced that anyone who might have cared for her on the other side was already dead or long gone.

Isadora might have pitied Curly, once. Eternally cursed to be in Peter’s shadow, his second and yet the boy who could live forever seemed to treat Curly a little better than one would treat dirt on the bottom of their shoe. Unfortunately, she had neither the inclination nor the capacity to feel anything for him at the moment and his tone was waning her patience.

No, she hadn’t wanted him to answer. It was more a test than question and as he began to back away she understood then just how empty his words were. He was still within range. Had she taken just a couple of steps forward she could reach him then, his throat uncovered and vulnerable, just begging to be lacerated the longer his mouth went on. She briefly wondered what would happen if she did kill Curly. Would Peter be angry? Come storming through the pirate camp and harm any of the crew? Would he even notice the boy was gone? Maybe she’d send his head back as a trophy. An invitation that she was just on the other side of the island, ready and waiting.

But she wasn’t about to let Curly have the satisfaction of getting under her skin. He was baiting her and she was no guppy. She watched his retreating form as he merged into the greenery. “Yes, I do. And I’d rather a fickle heart than having no spine. You must get so tired.”

Alana always admire people who could make more with their hands than simply death and destruction. The ones who can make clothes, who can turn mere wood into beautiful figures, the ones who can take trees and turn them into ships and boats— to be able to use your hands to create something beautiful and useful was a talent that she envied. All Alana was brought up to do was to kill, to cause the most pain. She looked at the block of wood, the sharpness of the edges dulling in her mind’s eye as she thought of what it could be. Something beautiful, like the other treasures at the bottom of the oceans.

She didn’t get to see many of the pirates. There had been a long winter, and the pirates were smart enough to stay away from the lagoon in general. Alana had always been intrigued by the camaraderie that Nod always seemed to speak of when it came to the other pirates. It seemed like each and every one of the pirates were completely different from each other, yet they all came together to be each other’s friends, when they have nobody else but each other. They protected each other, and they cared for each other. Alana wanted that, in a way that sometimes scared her. 

“Well, a miracle for a miracle,” she sing-songed as she swam just a little bit closer. “I won’t kill you, nor will I make a move to harm you— if you promise to make that beautiful.” A smirk pasted itself across her face, a challenge in her eyes. Alana would take any reason that she can get to leave the female pirate alone, and a mermaid not attacking a woman? That was definitely a miracle. “I think that’s a very fair trade, don’t you?”

Idle hands are the devil's workshop and sitting still was never in Isadora’s nature. And neither was being timid. She observed with careful eyes as the mermaid inched closer, remaining calm. She noted how her tail shimmered despite being mostly submerged. God, they were exquisite. This wasn’t the first mermaid the pirate had encountered, the ocean was their realm and they were the rulers and so it wasn’t entirely unusual to come across them. But it was always from a safe distance. Speaking to them, however, was a significantly rarer occurrence.

Isadora could recall the blonde one, their strange, but intriguing conversation. It wasn’t as though the pirates never spoke to one another, but the merfolk had seen things, done things that no other human could lay claim to. This one seemed softer by comparison, even if it was perhaps all an act. They were predators by nature, no matter how enticing the package and while the company wasn’t entirely unwelcome, Isadora remained watchful. 

“Well, yes I’d rather not become anyone’s supper,” Isadora mused, before continuing: “But isn’t beauty supposed to be in the eye of the beholder?” She inquired as she began to fix the mess she had unintentionally created. “What if I make something I think is beautiful but you disagree?” 

It might’ve been foolish to show defiance to a mermaid, but Isadora was never one to back down from a challenge. 

“Hmm,” Isadora took a moment to consider her options. She had always had a mild fascination with the merfolk. Their ethereal beauty, the entire ocean their playground. Truly masters of their own realm. When she permitted herself, she wondered what it might be like to be one of the most fearsome creatures of the sea. The smallfolk, however, were quite mystifying, their ability to possess a rumor yet a terrifying prospect. Her mother had warned her of possession, how it twisted men’s hearts.

“Merfolk.” She finally concluded. “They are gifted hunters. Though, I could do without their constant need for flattery.”

“I don’t pretend to know what goes in the head of that bilge rat.” The pirate barked as if the question hadn’t caught her off guard. “Perhaps he got tired of having no one to fawn over him as she does. He’d probably die if he wasn’t constantly being worshipped.” 

OOC: The truth is, she really doesn’t know why she was chosen. She holds no illusions of who she is, whom she was born to. It’s something that has always itched in the back of her mind and she would have half a mind to ask Peter herself, but as much as she badmouths him she is still fearful of him. Hence, why it’s easier for her to just constantly insult him. 

“Are you sure? We all come here the same way and it’s not because we walked here ourselves.” Curly put his hands up when she snapped, showing just how empty and far away from his knife they were. He was still armed because he wasn’t a complete idiot, but he hadn’t come to fight. Moreover, he hadn’t come to incite conflict between the two factions when he knew a raid would be inevitable and bring them together sooner than later.

“Yes and no,” he replied evenly. He could see a light spark in her eyes as she glowered at him. A curious spark about what he had said, but he needed to play it smart. He needed answers to the island and it wasn’t about to sidle up to Hook when his loyalty still laid with Peter– who didn’t deserve it but Hook didn’t seem like the sort who deserved it either. 

“You want to know, don’t you? I can see it in your face that you’re curious as to why Peter decided a girl would be suited for this island. Well, I can tell you. For a price, of course.” Curly knew he was being awfully arrogant to think that he had any real value proposing something that he didn’t have certain proof of but his steady gaze spoke volumes of confidence he didn’t typically show. He had considered the added risk of Isadora choosing to turn on Wendy like a jealous mermaid but at the rate she had fled from Peter, he didn’t imagine there was much to be jealous of a girl who was bound to the island by a fantasy.

“A story for a story. I want to know about the Captain– but not any old story. I want the real one,” he said. “I’ve seen what girls can do to boys, I don’t imagine it’ll be difficult for you to get anything from Hook himself.”

“Just because we don’t how we got here doesn’t mean anything.” Isadora bristled at Curly’s insulation. Pan might have had some power that she couldn’t quite explain, something otherworldly than what her God-fearing mother may have taught her, but he had to have a weakness. He wasn’t invincible, no matter how he surrounded himself with an army of impressionable young disciples who were too scared or enamored to know the difference between a higher being and a boy who only thought himself a God.  

Ah, there it was. The truth behind the suspicion and the distrust. It was true, Wendy was partially the reason for Curly’s daring to even speak with her. It was perhaps also true that Wendy was Pan’s only weakness, at least, every horrible thing he has ever done always seemed to circle back around to the young girl. She had resented Wendy, the number of lives ruined over an infatuation, but she did not envy a girl who had the love of a devil.

Isadora’s glare had faltered slightly then, Curly’s motivations and allusions revealed. There was always a catch, and she knew better than to even remotely think he was just going to tell her anything she wanted to know and if even what he knew was genuine. 

It was at Curly’s final proposition did the coil of the nostalgia-induced restraint Isadora was holding onto begin to snap. She knew she probably looked a traitor in his eyes. After all, she was the one who left. But to suggest that she would manipulate Hook for information, that her gender was a card to be played. (Like the others had assumed.) That was unimaginable.

She breathed in heavily through her nose, before exhaling an irritated sigh. “Let me ask you something, Curly.”  

“Aye, one of those.” Anna echoed with a self-deprecating chuckle. It was silly, really, that she even let it trouble her. But acknowledging the silliness of it didn’t make her feel any less troubled. She looked up from the cannon and toward Isadora as she spoke again, the corners of her lips tugged upward a bit. “That is precisely what Tristan would say,” Another chuckle, “And he wouldn’t be wrong, but I much prefer your plan.”

Anna tossed the handkerchief down onto the deck, abandoning her task for the time being, and reached for the offered flask. Heaving a sigh, she took a hefty swig and passed it back.

“It’s a trifle, really.” Anna wasn’t sure who she was trying to fool more, Isadora or herself. It was easily one of her worst scars, but there she was claiming the exact opposite. “It’s hardly the worst wound I’ve suffered, and the ache is dull and should be easy enough to ignore. The memories it brings with it aren’t quite so easy to disregard however…” Anna shifted so that her back was pressed into the side of the ship and gave Isadora another pained smile. She felt a swell of gratitude, not for the liquor although it hadn’t hurt, but for the camaraderie she’d found in her crewmates. She tipped her head back to look up at the stars. “Suffice it to say, not every crew I’ve sailed with have been as savory as you lot.”

“I think he would be quite scandalized right now by my medical advice,” Isadora smirked, taking the flask back before stuffing it back in her jacket but not without taking a quick swig.

Isadora continued to diligently work on the canon as Anna spoke, consideringly. There was rarely ever not something to do, whether it had been in the pirate camp or the Jolly Roger herself. It was easy to keep busy, easy to keep the memories at bay that way. Isadora surmised that was probably why she rarely ever saw Anna not being productive. Aside from the fellow pirate’s obvious abilities and experience, sometimes Anna’s friendly smiles never quite reached her eyes. But Isadora wasn’t one to pry and to open old wounds, no matter how long ago they were earned, could be troublesome.

“Sometimes we endure because we have no other choice.” She concluded. It was true enough of most of the crew, the ones who managed to live long enough despite how many scraps and battles they’ve encountered.

It was Isadora’s turn to chuckle then. She wasn’t quite sure what kind of pirate crew they were, considering its the only crew she had ever been a part of. “Savory, hm? I suppose we’re not very good pirates if that’s our reputation.” It was a jest, but she knew each of them had a past that trailed behind them like shadows.

“What were your other crews like?” A broad question, one open enough to leave Anna breathing room to answer as much as she was willing.

Nod nodded his head a few time, knowing that if he were to mention it to Kane, he would bring Isadora’s wrath down on him. He still had enough self-preservation to know not to do that. But only just. 

“I think I don’t know because I’m the first mate.  Who wants the first mate to tag along with them on secret adventures. The First Mate is the boring parent who always tells you what to do.” Nod shrugged and then added: “Well, I guess I really only tell you all to do the things that Hook tells me to tell you all to do.”  Nod had a more hands off approach to being the first mate. He hadn’t really wanted to be in charge, but James had needed someone he trusted standing next to him. Nod would walk to the ends of the Earth for James, but that doesn’t mean he magically became good at being a leader.

Perhaps the liquor was making the usually bristly pirate mushy, but Isadora presently felt relaxed in Nod’s presence. Sure, Nod outranked her, but even Hook was their captain neither had ever abused their power as to make any of the crew feel less than and more so a part of, a valued family member. Isadora gently play-punched Nod, her aim somewhat compromised from her consumption. “Well, don’t worry, I won’t tell Hook you lost the whole crew.” She chuckled, before pointing at her person. “’Cept for me.”

Hopping down from her perch, she stretched her arms out and over her head as her joints creaked in protest. “So, should we go look for them? Make sure they’re not dead?” It should’ve been a joke, but honestly, with the nature of the Island, it was a good idea to check up on the crew regularly.

Isadora had enjoyed the opportunity to get away from the ship and stretch her legs. It wasn’t that being around her crewmates was the problem in so much as her restlessness always caught up with her. The mountain range was risky, but with the warmer climate, it also meant less ice. Trailing behind Kane, the man seemed to have no problem climbing over the terrain, easily able to traverse without much effort. She was keeping up with him, but she was smaller and certain boulders required some strategy to safely get around.

Isadora rolled her eyes. “If you left me here, you’d have no one to protect you.” Isadora grinned, whilst eyeing the narrow-looking passage. Nodding affirmingly at Kane, Isadora aligned herself with the passage wall as close as she could ready to mimic Kane’s actions. “You better not, otherwise I’m coming back as a ghost and haunting you.” She mused, to quell the bubbling dismay at just how endless the cavern was. She knew she didn’t need to worry, for much like the mountain at her back, Kane always had the crew’s.

Time didn’t seem to have changed Ace at all. He still looked the part of a rambunctious, youthful boy unblemished by the treacherousness of their environment. He might’ve even been her favorite during her time spent at the lost boys camp, had she allowed herself to be so sentimental. 

It was why the slightest twinge of guilt had needled the pirate’s chest, his words laced with reminiscences of a time that had been smothered a long time ago. They were enemies, pitted against each other in a war that had waged long before either of them were even born, which was the only reason why she granted him ignorance instead of engaging in a fight. 

It was a brief moment of weakness on her end. For killing and death had followed her before the island and long after joining Hook’s crew. Killing men was different. They often had tried to take beyond their means or simply refused to take no for an answer. Whatever brutality she unleashed upon them was earned and she didn’t regret a single second of it. 

A child, however, might’ve still had a chance and Ace appeared to be no more than perhaps a couple of years older than Charlie. 

“You need to leave.” Isadora clipped, eyes scanning the area for any other movement. (It was better than looking him in the eyes.) It wouldn’t be below Peter to use any of his lost boys as bait and Ace had the advantage of appearing the most innocent.    

The memories of the lost boy camp had become fuzzier over time, but their faces still remained lucid. It was the only reason she had stayed her hand in the first place - how simple it would be to cut him down - but time had warped his features. Rougher around the edges, tired eyes undoubtedly from whatever fresh hell the Island had put him through. It was foolish, outright self-destructive for a lost boy to come here alone that Isadora had to consider what level of desperation (or ineluctable insanity) drove him here.

There was no room for sympathy, however. Not when it came to Pan.

No matter how she might have known him from before, Curly was still loyal to a fault. A trait she could certainly relate to, but it didn’t aid him in convincing her of his sincerity.

“Watch it.” The words spat out as a warning at his proximity. He might’ve been taller than her, but that didn’t stop the pirate from squaring off. His question, however, struck a chord inside her, one she so diligently repressed. She had been plucked from a lowly port city, she had never been anyone of importance. Even her last name was not her own, just a general name that was given to bastard children whose fathers didn’t deem them worthy of claiming for themselves.

The pirate crossed her arms as if that would shield her from the memories presently rushing to the surface.

“Chosen? He’s not God, Curly.” Isadora sneered, even if she had wondered why. “And as for the girl, I already know. She is the reason you’re here, isn’t she?” 

“She was a hard woman, but she had to be. The world is not kind to those who are faint-hearted.” 

“No. And I don’t regret leaving if that’s what you’re trying to get at. Except that if I stayed, I might have had a chance to slit Peter’s throat in his sleep.”