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In Thalassa, bargains breathe and form,
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the ocean offers every dream,
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then ask its price in brine and ink.
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⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅
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Music and laughter spilled through the town center, and the air hung heavy with warm bread and market spice. The festival was already in full swing, but Captain Garret Gentry old, dutiful, and perpetually tired, never taking breaks, couldn’t let himself enjoy it. Not while he tore through the village square, all ribbons and flowers, in pursuit of a thief. It was his day off but an officer called in sick and was unable to go to work.
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The young girl darted between stalls and bodies, then slipped into a narrow alley that plunged into a stairwell. Garret shouldered through the crowd and followed her down.
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...
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The gods be damned if I ever get a day off, I thought to myself.
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Instead of enjoying my day off and the festival, I was hunting a brat who’d stolen an expensive necklace from a noblewoman. The girl had snatched it clean off the woman’s throat, either she was dumb as hell, desperate, brave, or all of the above.
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The stairs were a miserable descent. Going down was easier, sure, but the kid was quick, already halfway up the far end of the alleyway leading to a set of stairs that climbed back towards the market.
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If only the officer on duty hadn’t become shit faced the night before, if Markl wasn't always a drunk, I wouldn’t have been dragged in to cover for him when every other guard was on duty. If only I hadn’t been standing close enough to see the theft. If only—
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"Ack!" I yelped, pain lanced through my back, an old pirate’s blade that had quite literally, and figuratively, stabbed me from behind. Running had never been easy since, and the brat wasn’t making it any kinder. I clenched my teeth and doubled over, gasping for air.
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Gods damn it all.
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“What's wrong, old man? Need to lie down?” The voice above was teasing, taunting.
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I looked up to see the girl at the top of the stairs. Her teal-blue eyes glinted with mischief, and her mouth curled into a smirk.
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"I can wait for you if you want, my father always said to mind your elders" She leaned against the wall, as her smile widened clearly enjoying my turmoil.
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The little shit is enjoying this, isn't she?
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I pity the poor chap who had the unfortunate experience of fathering this untamed, infuriating, thieving welp for a daughter.
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“Yeah?” I panted. “Did he also tell you to snatch noblewomen’s necklaces and pick pockets?”
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“Nah.” She shrugged. “He taught me other things. This one was all me.”
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Her short black curls were a mess, the kid probably has never used a comb before, her long, dark turquoise colored cloak with a popped collar hanging off her like a second shadow. And it wasn’t some ragged street-rat scrap either, it was fine cloth, well stitched. Stolen, then. Of course it was.
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"Anyway" She pushes off the wall with a grunt "There's a pretty little boat waiting for me at Port Thompen, so...see ya" She gives a mock salute and darts off into the crowd leaving me at the bottom of the stairs. The first thing I'm doing when I get back to the guardhouse is firing Markl.
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That little piece of- wait, Port Thompen, port Thompen...
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I ran through the route in my head. If she was cutting to Port Thompen through the market, she’d funnel into Filmor Street, which was a long, narrow vein that ran straight to the docks. But if I took Long Men’s Road and looped around, I could slip in ahead of her and intercept her before she reached the harbor.
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I sucked in a breath and charged up the stairs. Something fierce lit in my chest...no divine blessing, just the delicious thought of wiping that stupid grin off the brat’s face was all the reason I needed. I cut into Long Men’s Road and sprinted.
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Long Men’s was less a street than a scar. An old dockside cut that the city had tried to pave over and failed. The stones were slick with years of spilled beer and brine, bowed in the middle where rainwater and refuse collected, and every step kicked up the stink of rot that lived in the cracks. Crooked timber buildings leaned over it, their upper floors nearly touching, shuttered windows and smoke. Between them hung lines of laundry, stringy and gray, and festival ribbons that had lost their color long ago.
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Taverns squatted shoulder to shoulder with brothels and pawnshops, their signs creaking painted women, crossed tankards, a laughing skull while bouncers watched from doorways with arms. Men and women spilled into the road in waves. Tavern wenches with trays balanced on one hip, gamblers arguing over dice, sailors singing off-key shanties, and drunks sprawled in the gutter. Somewhere a fiddle screeched, somewhere else someone vomited, and the whole stretch reeked of sour ale, sewage, and cheap perfume.
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Gods, I hate this place...
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My coworkers loved it here, all the drinks, the women, the easy trouble. I only ever came because they dragged me along, and I left the moment I could.
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Then, near the street’s mouth, I caught sight of familiar black curls and a turquoise colored cloak bobbing through the crowd. She hadn’t noticed me, not yet…close enough that I could have reached out and grabbed her.
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There you are!
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Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Before she could slip away again, I threw myself forward and took her down. We hit the cobblestones hard, the breath leaving my lungs. Her eyes went wide as she struggled beneath me, but I made my arm tighter and pinned her shoulders to the stone. The little whelp still thought she could wriggle free of my grasp.
Struggle all you want, brat.
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The noise around us shifted, there were footsteps slowed, voices rose as curious onlookers gathered in a loose ring.
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“So,” I said between breaths, leaning in just enough for her to hear, “what was that about minding your elders?”
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She glared up at me, teal eyes sharp as steel. I didn’t care. For the first time all day, I savored the taste of victory, no smirk now, only fury carved across her face.
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“Ah, you remembered. For a moment there, I thought you were going senile.” The brat still had a quip ready, even pinned to the cobblestones.
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I bared my teeth. “I’m not the one flat on the ground. Now say goodbye to that pretty little boat of yours, cause you won't be seeing it for a while.”
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I was about to drag her up when something shifted beneath her cloak. A flicker of motion, and then black tendrils slid from the sleeve on her left arm, they were slick as ink.
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I slammed her cheek to the cobblestones and caught both her wrists in a brutal lock before anyone in the ring of onlookers could see what I’d seen.
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Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Of all the days...
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She wasn’t just a thief, but sweet Sol how I wish she was one. It would have made my job a whole lot easier, of all the things why did she have to be a pirate, and one of the tattoo-marked no less. The kind who cut deals with sea demons and called their power through living ink and Kraken bones. Blasphemy. The worst sort of pirates. And I had one right in my grasp.
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I hauled her head up just enough for her to breathe, my grip still strong on her arms.
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“Call off your demon,” I growled, “or I’ll introduce your face to this road. Hard.”
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She smirked, amused even. “And what if I don’t want to?”
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I pressed her down again, the stone scraping her skin, then lifted her once more. “Next time, it’ll be worse.”
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She only stared back, chin raised defiantly.
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She held my gaze for what felt like three long minutes before finally letting out a sharp sigh. The tendrils slipped back into her sleeve, and the restless shifting beneath her cloak stopped but her eyes never left mine, blazing with anger and humiliation.
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Did I bruise her pride? Good. She’d earned it.
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I rose slowly, keeping a firm hold on her wrists. With my free hand I fisted the back of her collar, hauled her to her feet, and steered her toward the guardhouse. Before we stepped inside, I searched her pockets for the necklace. She squirmed and complained as I patted down her cloak and dug through every hidden pocket imaginable, until my fingers finally caught a small satchel at her belt.
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The necklace lay coiled inside, heavy and cold against my fingers. In the dim of the entryway of the guardhouse, the jewels caught what little light there was and flashed so bright as if the stars of the heavens had fallen on earth.
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Mesendite crystal by the look of it. Anything from the Mesendi Kingdom fetched a fortune. This wasn’t just expensive, it was the kind of treasure that could buy a house… or hundreds of acres of land.
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She rolled her eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just a bit of knick-knack.”
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I stared at her, my hand still holding tightly around her collar, wondering if I’d slammed her head too hard on the cobblestones or if she’d always been this oblivious. Calling a necklace worth decades, maybe a century, of military pay a knick-knack was beyond reason.
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“This ‘knick-knack’ is worth more than a hundred years of my salary, pirate welp” I said.
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A sheepish grin tugged at her mouth, and she scratched at the back of her head. “Well… no one told me it was that expensive.”
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Unbelievable. I could almost feel more gray creeping into my hair with every word that came out of her mouth.
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We passed a pair of guards who recognized me and snapped to a salute. I returned it with a curt nod, steering the girl toward the desk to make a report.
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A man with light-brown hair and dark gray eyes sat there, holding a pen above a ledger.
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Lieutenant Fenwick Rowanbark. He was young, barely into his twenties, but already reliable enough that I’d pushed for his promotion.
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Recognition flashed across his face as he stood. “Captain? I thought you were on… a day off?”
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I let out a long sigh. “Markl couldn’t make it. Got shit-faced the night before, so I took his post.”
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Fenwick blinked, scandalized, and scratched at the back of his head. “Do you want me to dock his pay, sir?”
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“No,” I said. “I want him fired. But first, there’s something more important.”
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I shoved the kid in front of me. A nervous smile was pasted onto her face, like it might fool someone.
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“Well, welp?” I said. “Aren’t you going to tell us your marvelous tale?”
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She opened her mouth. “Well, since you asked, I started my day—”
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“She stole a bloody Mesendite crystal necklace,” I cut in. I tossed it to Fenwick and he caught it neatly, as a surprise expression flashed across his face. He ran his fingers across the gemstones, staring as it threw shards of light across the desk.
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“Log it as evidence,” I said. “Then return it to its owner.”
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“Who’s the owner?” Fenwick pulled a small box from the desk drawer and set the necklace inside.
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“Lord Krysen of Flo'er’s wife. She’ll be here soon enough and she can decide what punishment the welp earns.”
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Fenwick looped a chain around the box, sealed it with a key, and called to one of the soldiers outside to store it on the top shelf of the evidence room.
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“Umm, gentlemen,” she tried, “let’s not get hasty—”
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Cutting in before her bullshit yet again "And that's not the only thing she's got"
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I yanked up her sleeve to show Fenwick.
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Adorned on her skin was the cursed Tattoo, it resembled octopus tendrils coiling up her arm and vanishing beneath her collar, the tattoo kept going all the way to her back. She squirmed and tore free from my grip.
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Fenwick didn’t speak. His mouth hung open as he stared at her, like a fish on land.
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“She’s…” His voice came out very quietly. “…she’s tattoo-marked.”
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“Aye. That she is.”
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"I'll- I'll get the navy" He gives a curt not before exiting the room, leaving the two of us.
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I turned to the girl. She stared at the floor, all her cockiness gone as if the wind had died and left her sails.
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Guilt? Maybe. Too late for that now. She was already in the guardhouse.
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“Don’t try to sic your demon on us,” I warned. “Got it?”
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I led her toward the cells. She stayed quiet the whole way.
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She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. Besides, Tiamat sleeps a lot, so you don’t gotta worry about it.”
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Tiamat. Was that the sea demon’s name?
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Tattoo-marked pirates weren’t supposed to set foot on land. It was one of the prices of that unholy magic, so the story goes. The soil of their birthplace turned poison in their veins, it made them sick. It killed them.
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My brows knit. Good god, she's just a kid...
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She was a brat, sure but still a kid. A child like this shouldn’t be carrying a curse at all. It never should’ve ended up in their hands, not with a whole life still ahead. But pirate children inherited their family’s blasphemies early, like it was nothing more than a birthright. They're just kids..
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It makes me sick.
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I looked at the girl. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, fingers fiddled with each other. I dragged a hand through my hair, brown-grey strands falling into my eyes, I almost felt sorry for her.
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“So…” I said. “You got a name, welp?”
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She hesitated, then lifted her head. Confusion flickered across her face maybe even wariness, as if she expected a trap.
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“What?” I asked. “Never had a name before?”
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She bristled and tipped her chin up again.
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“Excuse you, old man. I’m not some street rat without a name. And even if I was, I still wouldn’t tell you.” She crossed her arms and glared.
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“Fine,” I said. “How about a trade?”
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Her brow arched.
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That got her attention.
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“I’ll trade you my name for yours. That way you can get your revenge on me later.” It looked like she pondered my offer.
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A few seconds of silence before she answered.
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“Hmm? That's it? I thought you'd trade me something more valuable than that."
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"Well, I can’t keep calling you welp all the time, can I? I wouldn’t want someone as smart as you to be mistaken for a mindless calf."
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She thought for a moment, her arms were crossed as she contemplated for what seems to be a few seconds before turning back to me.
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"Hmm, you make a compelling case. Okay! But expect my revenge to be met with a swift response”
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A small smile etched on my face.
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“It's Garret, Garret Gentry captain of the guards here in Port Thompen.” She gave a curt nod, which was surprising because I thought she would give a little quip.
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“Alright Garret, the name's Norma. Norma Blackwell”
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Blackwell, huh? That's a pirate surname
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Some pirates were born into it, those who came from long bloodlines steeped in salt and violence. They tend to use colors as a prefix or nicknames of their ancestors, these names weren’t just surnames, they were reputations passed down like heirlooms. Names like Bloodhound, Goldhorn, Redgraves and the likes. The newer pirates didn’t measure up, not against pirates like that, and not against the demons bound to their skin.
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Speaking of skin, I noticed her cheek was scraped, probably from me slamming her face on to the pavement. A sudden feeling of guilt gnawed at me. I rubbed my neck before starting “Oh—and um… Your cheek? Does it hurt? ”
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She rubbed the side of her cheek where the scratch was “Yeah, that shit hurt. You were relentless like some kind of fucking hound.” She dramatically gestured to her face.
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“Hey! language.” I warned.
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She giggled and it seems that she wasn’t going to take my advice and would swear to just get a rise out of me.
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I sighed. Kids these days.
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I checked my left pocket and pulled out an ointment I carried from time to time: a small green vial with an ornate flower on the lid.
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“Anyway, here.” I tossed it to her, and she caught it neatly in her hands.
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“What’s this? You tryna poison me already?”
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“It’s ointment, kid. For your cheek…unless poison is still what you prefer.”
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She opened the vial and began rubbing the ointment onto the scrape. “Either one is welcome, if you must know—.” She gave a small gasp, that’s the sign that it was probably working. It was supposed to numb the pain. She looked at the vile in disbelief, and back at me and smiled.
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“Ya know, your not that bad but your still, like—a million years old”
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“Hey! You want me to take that back”
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She pulled the vile away from the cell and hid it “Nope”
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I sighed and rubbed my hair. It was sort of nostalgic in the way she acted and the way she spoke. She reminded me a lot of my earlier days, when I was still in school. I wondered if she went to school too. No, she wouldn't. A pirate wouldn't have grown up with the proper education most of us had.
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She poked a hand through the bars. I tensed at once, half-expecting her to call on her demon to hurt me or something.
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She stared at my face, puzzled, until the understanding dawned on her. Then she laughed.
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“What?” she asked between breaths. “Never had a handshake before?”
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I relaxed, but only slightly. “Why?”
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She raised a brow. “Common courtesy isn’t something you’re familiar with?” A mischievous smirk was plastered on her face. “And here I thought all soldiers were taught the rules of etiquette. Or are you too old to remember your manners?”
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“Again,” I said, “why?”
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For the first time, she looked genuinely unsure, like she’d expected me to understand without asking.
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“Well… um.” She scratched the back of her head and stared at my hand through the bars. “You told me your name. I told you mine. My father always said that when you meet someone and you do the whole name thing, you’re meant to shake hands.” Her mouth twisted. “It’s, like… common courtesy. Or whatever.” She scratched her head, racking her brain for an answer.
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A familiar scene, one I was all too used to seeing. He’d been a stubborn brat too, far too familiar with these cells. Memories of a cheeky smile and bright eyes flashed through my mind. Those were the good old days, when life was much simpler.
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“Heh” A soft chuckle escaped my throat.
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She’s a lot like…
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I stopped myself before I could finish, the memories came flooding in and I didn’t want remember.
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Not ever…
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Stop it. He’s already gone, this kid isn’t him, she’ll never be him and it’s all your fault.
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and then Add to home screen.