Hansel: Lottery

Crunch drew the first short straw.

They were splinters, really—detritus from the ship that was barely floating and bucked and heaved under them as they sat in a circle on the main deck. They were out of food. They were out of options.

The kenku let out a quiet mournful crow at her luck, and several of those who'd survived this far looked away. Corven—captain for only a few months now—opened her mouth, but Elitash spoke first.

“Nah. I'll go.”

Hansel finally found the words to protest, but barely even got out her name before she cut him off as well.

“Fuck it, I'm old.” She grinned at him. “Don’t complain just 'cause you think I'm gonna taste bad.”

He didn't know how to respond. None of this was funny to him—not the lottery, not the starving, not the thing that had attacked them, nothing that had led up to this. He didn't know how she could smile and crack a joke. He already felt ill.

Corven started, “It should be—,” and Elitash talked over her just as readily.

“We already decided. You don't get to martyr yourself just for bein’ the captain.”

“We decided on the lottery,” Corven said lowly.

Elitash shrugged. “Well, I decided on my own. Eat me or don't, you dumb fucks, but I'm not hangin’ out on this piece of shit boat with you all waitin’ to die anymore.”

She looked Crunch's way -- and to Chirp, her little brother nestled beside her, holding his mandolin like a security blanket. Hansel got it. He *understood*. He just didn't like it, and he wanted to say something to keep it from happening, but he wasn't brave enough. She probably wouldn't let him speak anyway.

But she looked to him as she stood, unstable on her feet and putting a hand out to catch herself on their remaining mast.

“Let's make it quick, yeah? Get it over with.”

His stomach gnawed into him, nothing but acid, and it had been days since he'd been able to think clearly over the ache. As the nausea washed over him, he finally found that clarity again:

*I can't do this.*

He stood anyway. They hadn't agreed that this part would be his responsibility, but it was Elitash -- it was her choice. He could hardly tell her no. She half stumbled into him and he caught her against his side, acting like he was bracing her when he wanted to just hold her. When had she gotten small? Her shoulders were still roped with muscle, but she tucked easily under his arm now, and she didn't fight it when he kept supporting her into the galley.

None of the crew said a word to their backs. They weren't brave enough, either.

The galley door was still intact enough to wedge closed, the wood complaining and needing a kick to latch. While Hansel paused to secure it Elitash pulled away from him, stretched out her arms and back, dragged herself to her full height again and rested her hands on her hips to appraise the room. She looked like herself for a moment, gray braid and all, and he didn't know if that made it harder or easier.

“The Blade was a fine damn ship, y'know,” she said. “Would’ve liked to die on it.”

Hansel didn't know what to say. He felt like he didn't know anything.

She gave him another grin—a last grin—and this one finally betrayed a little genuine emotion, but she covered it quickly. “This one's a real fuckin’ junker, though, Hans.”

He tried to smile and failed. The fact that she was slipping panicked him, somewhere deep in his chest. He had to do this, and she had to be okay with it, because he wasn't, and he didn't know how he could ever—

She sighed and stepped back towards him and drew one of the axes from his belt.

“Don't get sentimental, now.”

She pressed it into his hand.

He tried to say her name again, but she wouldn't let him.

# # #

It wasn't any easier the second time.

The third time, it was.