Hansel: Golden

In theory, Hansel had come to Skyport for a brief shore leave, intending to make the journey out to the Eldathyn monastery to visit Jonn and Lucienne for a day before coming back and reboarding his ship.

In practice, the first mate hadn’t kept his mouth shut about Hansel buying gifts for orphans, and after a day of it, Hansel had had to punch a couple of his teeth out. The boatswain took his side, of course, and then the rest of the crew who’d come into port with them did too, so Hansel had to fight all of them. It was a far cry from a fair fight, and he slightly regretted the knife he’d sunk into the boatswain’s gut, but that was mostly because he’d been intending to give that knife to Jonn. The pearl-inset handle was stained with blood, now. Really ruined the entire point of buying the kids nice things.

So there wouldn’t be any rejoining that ship when he came back to Skyport. Meant this whole thing wasn’t on any one else’s schedule anymore, which was fine with him, and he took the opportunity to ease his bloodied face against a cold glass stein in his favorite bar for a while. Maybe the rest of the night. He hadn’t decided yet when the half-orc woman leaned abruptly against the bar next to him.

“Not interested,” he said, before she could speak.

She laughed, a harsh guttural sound. “That’s sweet. Listen, my captain reckons you look like a man who knows how to fight. I figure you look like you know how to get your ass beat.”

He stood without even thinking about it, slamming his beer down and turning to her. “If you’re looking for a fuckin’ fight I’m happy to oblige.”

She gave him a toothy grin. She was shorter than him, but not by too much, with a thick black braid draped over her shoulder. Her clothes and scars and the gold rings on her fingers said pirate. “Y’know what, I like your fuckin’ attitude, kid, even if you do look like shit. Lemme buy you another beer, eh?”

Hansel made to punch her and found his face slamming into the bar, and his arm twisted painfully behind his back. She wrenched the arm a little further and then patted his back condescendingly and let him go.

“Elitash,” she said, and he tried again.

He found himself on his back on the floor, on top of her -- which would normally mean he was winning -- but with her arms locked around his throat.

“As I was saying,” she said, close to his ear, not even out of breath, “my name’s Elitash. Maybe you’d like to stop being a shithead and tell me yours some time before you pass out.”

Hansel scratched at her chokehold for a moment, then passed out for a moment, and came to again with her standing over him, offering a hand down. A smallish human woman with a scimitar in her belt stood beside her, arms crossed, supremely unimpressed.

“No,” she said.

“Aw, I think he’s cute,” Elitash said.

Hansel looked between the two of them and decided to take Elitash’s hand up. He wiped some blood off his lip -- where it had been pinched between a tusk and the bar when his face met it -- and regarded the human with an expression just as disdainful as her own.

“This your captain?”

“You don’t get to meet the captain,” the human said flatly.

Elitash jerked a thumb at her. “She’s the first mate. Don’t worry, she doesn’t like anyone.” She slapped him on the shoulder and directed him back to the bar, a course of action he decided it would be best to go along with. “How about that beer, eh?”

He shrugged, assuming he didn’t have much of a choice. The other pirates flanked him casually and Elitash waved down the bartender -- who had been unfazed by this scene, considering it was the kind of shit that tended to happen in portside bars.

“So, you got any attachment to the ship you’re on?” Elitash asked.

The first mate scowled. “Told you I don’t like him.”

Three fresh steins landed in front of them.

“Ain’t got a ship.”

“Huh. Got anything to do with the current state of your stupid face?” Elitash asked. “Get yourself kicked off?”

“Fuck you.” Hansel turned to spit blood onto the floor between them. “I won.”

She snorted and took a drink. “I ain’t questioning whether you can win a fight, idiot, I’m asking if you ever *do* play nice with the other kids.”

He glared at her, feeling like there was no right answer to this question. Honesty wouldn’t make him sound good and there was no point in lying if he was just going to join this crew and have to start another brawl. He wasn’t used to being fucking vetted before he signed onto a pirate ship.

“I never said I wanted to join your fuckin’ crew.” He downed the beer he’d bought himself and batted the one she’d bought across the bar towards her. “And I ain't here to be fuckin’ interrogated.”

He shoved away from the bar and she put a hand on his arm lightly, without looking at him. It seemed wisest to stop.

“Y’know you never introduced yourself, you rude little fuck,” she commented.

Given that he didn’t want to end up on the floor again, he answered. “Hansel Granger.”

“That’s one human fuckin’ name, kid.”

“Stop fuckin’ callin’ me kid.”

She looked back at him, and looked him up and down, and didn’t have to say a word to make her point. His fist clenched.

“You got a little bit of a temper, huh, Hansel Granger?” She laughed again. “Nah, it’s cute, right, Corven? The big ones that always think they can fight just ‘cause they’re big. It’s real fun puttin’em in their place.”

The first mate grunted and kept drinking.

Fuck, Hansel really wanted to knock that shit-eating grin off her face. He was still riled up from the fight before, frustrated from the fact that he’d lost his job over something so fucking simple. Who the fuck did she think she was, walking up to some random person in a bar and picking a goddamn fight, trying to -- hang on. She *was* just trying to get a rise out of him. She’d already proven she could kick the shit out of him, and now she was trying to get him to give her a reason to.

Well, fuck that.

He made himself take a breath and settle, and sat back down between them. Elitash’s grin changed.

“So, Hansel Granger. Fuck’s up with that name for a goddamn half-orc?”

“Raised by humans,” he grumbled.

She slid the beer back to him. “Fuckin’ unfortunate, that.” She said something that he recognized as being in orcish, but no one had been around to teach it to him, so he only looked at her blankly. “Ah well. No other orcs on the Blade. Woulda been a point in your favor if you’d given me someone to talk shit about the rest of the crew with.”

She took a long drink, and he squinted at her. The Blade? The Red Blade, or some other ship trying to cash in on the name, steal some of its infamy?

“‘Course, cap’n knows orcish,” Elitash went on, ”so he’d’ve been eavesdroppin’ anyway. No big loss.” He assumed she was needling him again, saying *he* was no big loss, but then she added, “Other hand, I could teach you how to speak your own fuckin’ language.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ language.”

The first mate -- Corven -- finished her beer and slammed the stein down, distracting him. It seemed to be the announcement of her decision to leave, because she didn’t say anything before standing and sauntering away. Hansel watched her go, not at all trying to conceal that he was, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to anyway -- tracking her back to a table in the far corner of the bar. It was a little too crowded for him to see, at first. All he could make out was Corven slouching against the wall beside the table, arms crossed again, head turned as she spoke to someone.

“Yeah,” Elitash said, “told you she doesn’t like anyone. S’too bad, kid. I think you’re all right.”

Hansel barely heard her. The crowd shifted and he could see the captain of the Red Blade, sitting next to Corven, head tilted as listened to her. He was -- fucking beautiful, and that was just an objective fact. Golden hair, and flawless skin, clothes too fine for your average pirate, a jeweled rapier at his hip. So this was Mishka Haeth. The captain of the Red Blade, the bitter enemy of Pirate Queen Dread Jones. They said his magic could blast holes clear through a galleon. They said he’d stolen a scale from a dragon’s belly. They said he’d killed a trickster god and painted his flag with her blood. They said Jonesy hated him because he’d slit the throat of her shadow.

As Hansel was staring at him, his eyes flickered from Corven to meet Hansel’s.

*Shit.*

He turned back to the bar, still the absolute image of stealth. Elitash laughed and jammed her elbow into his side, making his bruised ribs twinge.

“Anyway, now it doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, “why *did* you get kicked off your last ship?”

Yeah, it didn’t matter. No fucking way was he being scouted by the actual fucking Red Blade. Especially not now, looking the way he did. Might’ve had a chance if he’d looked fucking presentable. Figured.

“I got kids. I mean, not my kids, but these orphans I’m fuckin’ … helping, I guess. Anyway, fuckin’ first mate thought it was goddamn hilarious. Wouldn’t drop it. So I had to fuckin’ fight him, and then I had to fuckin’ fight the entire fuckin’ crew, so …”

She barked out another laugh. “So you had to fuckin’ kill’em all, right?”

He scowled. “Didn’t say I killed’em all.” Didn’t mean the boatswain had necessarily survived, either.

“How many, eh?”

“Five.” Six counting that one brave swabbie who’d gone down from one punch. Didn’t seem entirely fair to count him.

She whistled. “Can’t say I ain’t impressed, kid. And that’s just your fists, huh?” She glanced at his back. “You any good with that trident?”

“Wouldn’t carry it if I wasn’t.”

“Oughta invest in a shield, is what you oughta do,” she said, nodding at her own suggestion. “Get your face bashed in a little less while you’re still young and pretty.”

He grunted noncommittally, and she snickered.

She was saying, “Not a priority for you, eh?” when Corven reappeared on Hansel’s other side, startling him and making him choke slightly on his beer.

“Captain’ll talk to you, if you like.”

“What.”

She shrugged, and he looked to Elitash, who offered the same.

“He ain’t a fuckin’ king -- he’s not gonna demand your presence,” she said. “He don’t want you if you’re not interested in showin’ up.”

“I didn’t say --.”

Corven cut in. “Offer doesn’t last forever. We leave port tonight.”

She left again with the same amount of pageantry as before, and Elitash slapped him on the shoulder before following. Hansel turned to watch them rejoin their captain and the gathered crew of the Red Blade -- a white-haired elf woman eyeing him disdainfully, a Calishami human who seemed more intrigued than anything, a tiefling with wicked-sharp horns who wasn’t bothering to look his way at all.

Mishka Haeth was looking at him steadily over the rim of a wine glass.

Fuck.