Fantasy 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓓𝓸𝓿𝓮 [IC]

[calypso]

 

[sheesh]

Holden

MOOD: flustered, tired.
LOCATION: the ship.
STATUS: healthy.

“...Someone from my hometown was talkin’ up a storm about some theory ‘er or idea for why things fall.”

“Fer’ what? Things just...fall. What’s he need ta’ explain it for?”

“S’what I told him! I said to him- I says…”

Four men sat around in their hammocks, idly chatting away the night. The water was extremely stagnant, and the ship hardly rocked and swayed as it did traditionally. In a way, the calmness was unnerving, at least to Holden. Usually unprecedented quiet was followed by almost if not equally unprecedented excitement, and out in the middle of the ocean wasn’t a place Holden wanted to see just what “unprecedented excitement” the water had to offer.

He liked to believe that everyone else was feeling the same way as he was, and they were just talking to distract themselves. Then again, he was the newest hunter on the ship, and this was his first time on the water. It was entirely possible he was just paranoid, and talking was a good way to keep his mind off of things. He wasn’t confident that anyone would have any solace for him -- not on this ship.

At the very least, not the three he was laying around with. The two going on about a crazed man and his concept for “why things fall” were two of the veterans on the ship: Derek and Dio. They’d both been hunters for over a decade. You wouldn’t have thought Dio was any older than Holden just by looking at him. His eyes had an energy that most people in their middle ages lacked, and he carried himself with a similar vigor.

Derek on the other hand, you would’ve thought was nearly into his fifties. He was similar in age to Dio - somewhere in his thirties - but the way he carried himself, the way he constantly complained about his back and joints would lead anyone astray any day. Out of everyone on the ship, Derek and Dio talked the most; specifically to each other.

Sometimes listening to them go on and on was helpful. Sometimes they unwittingly reminded Holden that they were new to sailing at one point too. Other times, listening to them was draining, and it was almost hard not to hear them with how loudly they spoke. Fortunately, due to it being the middle of the night, they kept their voices down, but listening to them bash someone for simply having an original idea was getting old quickly.

The last one, who similar to Holden, hadn’t said much, was Arthur. He held the candle silently while he and Holden listened. If there was anyone just as new as Holden was, it was Arthur. Holden thought he was a quiet person, but Arthur was so quiet you’d usually not even realize he was even in the same room as you. If it wasn’t for Arthur being the candle bearer, he would’ve been invisible.

Sharing a muted disposition while they listened to their seniors speak also led to them sharing equally as muted conversation with their eyes every few minutes or so, usually in reaction to something Dio had said; he had a habit of forming the most outrageous opinions. He’d been on a tame-opinion streak for the majority of the night though, and it left Holden and Arthur nothing to do but stare into the small candlelight, watching it dance, watching drops of wax roll down the sides of the candle and gambling whether or not it’d dry on the candle or drip onto the tray the candle stood on before it dried.

Arthur and Holden were on the hammocks below Dio and Derek’s. It would’ve been hard to go to sleep even if they tried their hardest, but Arthur had other plans, it seemed. He stood, without a word, and offered the candle to Derek, who took it absently without breaking conversation with Dio. Would he even realize that Arthur had handed him a candle? No doubt later on he’d look at his hand and wonder “when did I get the candle…?”

Wordlessly, Arthur left. What could he possibly be getting off to do at this hour? To Holden, that was far more interesting than listening to the two men above him. After a few second’s delay, he got up to follow Arthur. The ship’s hull was dark, and the few seconds Holden took to get after Arthur made it incredibly hard to track him. His best guess was that he’d gone above deck to get some fresh air.

As he approached the stairs that would take him outside, he heard a small voice from under the stairs. “Cross!” Arthur whispered, sharply. Holden had to squint to see that his head was peeking out from the trap door below the steps. Holden hadn’t been down there, but he assumed nothing else could be at the bottom of the ship besides two things: storage, or witches. It was likely both.

Arthur waved for Holden to come follow. “...For what?” Holden asked, shaking his head and remaining at the foot of the steps. Arthur wasn’t going to entertain his questions though. He rolled his eyes and tentatively descended the steep stairs to the lower hull. Holden looked around to see if anyone was watching him, but in this darkness, most people probably couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of them. Curiously, Holden opened the trap door and followed Arthur.

This part of the ship was no doubt below the water. Somehow, it’d become even darker than it already was. It was a wonder why Arthur didn’t bring the candle with him. How did he even get around this damn place? Before he could call out, gentle light flooded the room, but then was dimmed shortly after. Arthur had lit an oil lamp, but hooded it with cloth so that it wasn’t too bright.

The room was in fact both storage and shackled witches. At the same time the thought came to mind, it came to Holden’s mouth as well. “What are you doing down here?” He asked, hissing. Arthur didn’t respond at first. Did he come down here to just casually lay around? Arthur gestured for Holden to follow him.

The back end of the lower hull was where Holden guessed the witches were, and the further they got, the more nervous Holden began to grow. Neither of them said anything while they walked. Holden didn’t know why he didn’t just turn around. Maybe he was genuinely curious despite having his reservations. Maybe he just didn’t want to go back to suffering Dio and Derek’s discussion.

A few seconds walk felt a lot longer than it should have. Most of the space was storage. Just when Holden was starting to think there was absolutely no room to hold witches onboard at all, they reached the end. There was a wooden door, and before Arthur opened it, he held a finger up to his lips before he twisted the knob.

He didn’t open the door though.

“I’m not sure why, but...I just feel like if anyone can understand where I’m coming from, it’d be you.”
“Wh-”
“Beyond this door, there are ten witches. All of them, packed in there like sardines. I can’t speak for all of them, but, just for a moment, Cross. At least entertain the idea that all of them didn’t do anything wrong.”

Holden’s mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. He wasn’t silent because he was entertaining anything Arthur wanted him to. In fact, the only thing he was entertaining was waking up the captain. What was he even a hunter for if he was sympathetic for them? Holden shook his head. “What…?” Was all he could manage.

Holden hadn’t technically said no, and so Arthur took that as his sign to proceed.

On the other side of the door, ten witches shared a cramped space with each other. Their bonds were things that Holden had never seen before -- they were all seated, their feet were chained to metal rods that were just that it could go over their ankles. They couldn’t bend their knees even if they tried. Their hands were also bound to the rod by short chains stemming from wrist irons, chains so short they could hardly move their arms. The icing on top were the gags that all of them wore. They couldn’t do anything, not even speak.

How could they rest if they couldn’t even lie down? They couldn’t even straighten their backs without fighting and inevitably losing against a steel rod. This whole time, they just sat in the dark, sharing stale air? Not being able to at least rest their head? “Every time I come in here, I just…” Arthur trailed off. “I just have a strong urge to see these conditions imposed on a hunter.” His voice was tired. How many times had he come in here without anyone knowing?

“It’s what they deserve.”

Arthur shut the door slightly, looking back at Holden with disgust on his face. “What?” He asked, leaning closer as if he didn’t hear Holden clearly. “Arthur. They’re witches. They killed people. People like me; people like you! You mean to tell me you feel bad for them?” Arthur was quick to respond with his own sharp whispers: “Yes! Yes! But...not all of them. I just need you to come-”

“I’m not going in there, Arthur.” Holden asserted. Arthur was visibly angry now, and the sudden change in the air around him made Holden take a step back. Arthur was visibly angry with him now. The sudden change in the air made Holden take a step back.

Arthur, as quiet as he was, was a large man, probably the biggest on the entire ship. Holden was one the lucky one that got to experience if his strength matched up with his body type. Arthur threw the door open and placed the lantern inside, then a short struggle ensued between Holden and Arthur. Holden lost promptly, and for a moment he wished he would’ve just done what his father wanted him to do, though he doubted even if he had the build of a knight he wouldn’t be able to overcome Arthur; he was just freakishly strong.

Holden would’ve shouted for help had Arthur actually been trying to hurt him, which, if he wanted to, Holden probably wouldn’t be able to do much to defend himself. Despite his struggles, Holden still wound up in the “cell,” in front of one of the prisoners and forced onto his knees right in front of the iron bars.

With the door shut, Arthur felt more comfortable lifting the hood on the lantern just a little bit. The light shone from behind him onto what was in front of him. Being this close to a witch would’ve made his heart race ordinarily, but there was little to be afraid of when they were locked down in the way they were. In fact, when he met the green eyes in front of him, he could feel his body soften significantly for only a few moments until Arthur spoke up.

“I’ve been coming down here for a while.” He admitted. “And at first, I was just like you. I hated them; I came down here just to spit in their faces and feed them invective. Even had the gall to remove some of their gags just to hear what they had to say for themselves.”

“And what did they say?” Holden asked, eyes still locked on the witch before him. “They gave me everything that I gave to them. If I didn’t want them to spit back, I had to learn to not take their gags off.” He chuckled lowly. “Don’t stare too long, Cross. She’ll think you’re weird.” Though it was a joke, Holden still flinched. “...Right.” He averted his eyes.

’Did I just look somewhere else to make sure she was comfortable…? I-

Holden’s thoughts were interrupted by Arthur speaking up again, “This one spat in my face too, at first.” He paused. It was hard to believe someone who seemed as timid as Arthur could even say anything bad about someone, much less spit at them. Then again, it was hard to believe a witch hunter would ever hear out a witch. “When I called the others murderers, they blamed humans for being weak. But this one denied killing anyone at all.”

“And you just...believed it?”
“Not at first. It took me a few tries to get her to elaborate.”
“And then you believed it?”
“You would too.”

“I doubt that.” The lawyer scoffed, folding his arms and shutting his eyes. Arthur was such a well spoken person. No doubt he’d gotten some kind of education. How smart could he really be to believe that a witch that hadn’t killed anyone existed? “She could tell you too, but seeing how you just called her an “it,” I’m pretty sure she won’t have anything for you.” Arthur put his lamp on the ground and crouched behind her.

”Oh no…” Holden said, sarcastically and half-heartedly. “What ever will I do?” He continued. Arthur, despite his peer’s clear lack of interest in anything the witch might have to say, loosened her gag regardless. Holden leaned back just a little. After all the talk about spitting, Holden wasn’t really eager to be in range. Reading the thoughts behind his action, Arthur reassured him. “Calm down. You’ll be fine.”

code by low fidelity.

 

[calypso]

anika

MOOD: shitty, exhausted.
LOCATION: the ship.
status: weak.
TAGS: @sheesh
MENTIONS: holden, arthur.

Luck really does pick favorites.

Sitting in the darkness with only the crashing of waves to break the silence, the young witch could only ponder how she had gotten herself into this mess.

Mess, ha. That was putting the whole thing lightly. No, this was far worse than just a mess. Messes imply that there's a chance you could clean it all up. There was no way to fix this, not now. Slowly shifting her eyes over to the doorway, Anika couldn't help but watch the slivers of light bounce in and out of view. What she would give to just feel the sunlight on her skin again. To pull a comb through her hair, and lay down completely. Have some dignity before her entire body went up in flames and her screams were drowned out by the cheering of the crowd who had come to watch.

If she could laugh, she would have. But alas, a nasty rag kept her from even humming to strive off the boredom. Perhaps it was a good thing all the witches were gagged around her. She would have gone truly insane by now if she had to listen to all of them. Instead, she just had to deal with the vicious stares they all aimed at her. It wasn't often that light got into the room, but when it did...

Anika shuddered in her spot. A man had come into the room once, late at night. He brought a lantern with him, and for a split-second, Anika could only stare back in shock as she saw the gaze of every witch levelled on her. They didn't even look to the man until he was right in front of him, but somehow their gaze always found their way back to her. She was used to glares and jeers, but the way they looked at her was truly venomous. As if it was all her fault, that they got captured and stuck on this ship. That they'll be burning at the stake because of her, not their own actions.

In a way, Anika secretly wondered if they were right. If she had just let herself...

No, she mustn't think that way. If these witches wanted these men dead, they could do it themselves. Anika wasn't getting her neck slit open for a cause that hated her. Of course, that had led her into the hands of a group who hated her just as much. Just for different reasons.

Shifting herself slightly, Anika couldn't even sigh. Her tongue was parched from the rag, and her back ached in ways she had never experienced before. The men that walked above her, she could only laugh at them. They called themselves righteous and just, but they were just as bad as those back in her Coven. They were two sides of the same coin who would never see eye to eye, and only stop once the other one was dead. One of those men had been coming down here rather often, too. He was a peculiar case.

At first, he just wanted to spit at them. (It always feels good to kick someone when they're down, doesn't it?) Then, he started to take off their gags. When he had first approached Anika, her entire body had screamed at her to get away. To kick him, to smack and claw him with her overgrown nails. Her restraints, however, told a different tale. Instead, she had to sit there patiently like a good prisoner as he removed her gag, his eyes unreadable in the low lighting.

Thankfully, she had still been able to tell where they were, and managed to land a good blob of spit right in one. With her mouth dry so now, she almost regretted wasting her spit on him.

Almost.

The man, of course, cursed loudly and shoved her gag back on, and left till the following night. Once again, he picked another witch to remove the gag from and speak to. Each one tried to spit and hiss at him, threatening to curse his bloodline. Pah, as if they could do something so grand on this dinky ship. Those witches all wanted to live, and the cost of performing a spell right now would send them straight into the afterlife. It wasn't like the hunters knew of such a practice, but it was best not to tell them. For whatever reason, they simply thought restraining the witches would prevent them from casting any spells.

By the time the man had made it back to Anika, his expression was tired and angry. Whatever answers he had sought down in the dark room, he didn't find. So when he removed her gag again and took a step back, she was shocked to hear the question he proposed to her.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

When Anika finally replied to him, her voice hoarse and low, he simply put the gag back on and left. If she trusted her vision more, she'd almost say he was deathly pale when he left. It was the first time she had smiled since getting captured.

☽☼☾

Snapped away from her thoughts, Anika was suddenly acutely aware of voices just a few feet away. They were hushed, but different. Had that man come back, or been caught? Surely they wouldn't punish him, but instead the witches for enticing him into their grasps. As always, nothing was their fault. Leaning forward as best she could, Anika fixated her gaze on the doorway and the light that danced right under it. Two figures disturbed the shine, and she felt her stomach drop. He had brought someone, he was going to finish the job early. Perhaps they wanted to find a witch to burn on the ship for fun, and sent him down here to find the best one.

The other women around her stirred at the noise, and followed in suit to lean forward and watch the dancing lights. Yet, they all snapped backwards and away as best they could when the door actually creaked open. Only Anika sat forward still, her green eyes wide as she tried to soak in the lantern's glow. It was the man who had been here before, no doubt about it.

But a younger man stood next to him, clearly unpleased with his situation. Seems like he didn't have much of a choice, however, as he was soon pushed down right in front of Anika.

Of course.

A bit of light shined between them, and soon she was staring at the hunter with a firm gaze. The other witches around her shifted away from the light the best they could, but Anika refused to budge as she stared at the young man. So this was who was stomping around up there, with far more authority than he needed.

However, the men were soon discussing her between themselves. Like she wasn't even there, or she was just simply unaware. Like some cattle who was being sold for slaughter. Her eyes shifted over to the first man, Arthur. She had caught his name when the two were exchanging hushed arguments. His hand was reaching out towards her, and soon the gag was removed from her mouth once again.

At first, Anika didn't move. Her jaw ached, and she could only slowly flex it up and down to regain some feeling in it. Her mouth and throat were still as dry as a desert, but it's clear he wanted her to speak to this younger hunter. So this was his plan. Convince another hunter that maybe they weren't all bad, so in the future they'd do something about it? It wasn't like either was leaping from their shoes to unchain her.

Finally, her eyes shifted over to the lad on his knees. Coughing a bit, she bowed her head forward and let her messy hair cover her face. A low laugh rumbled from her chest, wheezy and weak. Her head lifted up, and leaned forward as much as she could to stare at him. Only inches from his face, she pulled her cracked lips back to smile.

"Don't worry, little hunter. I'm all out of spit, thanks to your wonderful services here," she spoke slowly, her voice rough and low. If one listened closely, they could almost picture what she sounded like normally. When she wasn't starved and without water.

"Have you perhaps come down to feel better about yourself? Based on how your legs shook before, I'd reckon this is the first time you've seen a witch," she continued on, keeping that sly smile upon her lips. He was so close, and if she could just provoke him to come just a bit nearer...

"I do hope I live up to your expectations, though I'm afraid I must disappoint. I've yet to kill someone, though the time I've spent on the ship has surely made me wish I could now. These lovely ladies around me want me as dead as you do, it's quite ironic..." She trailed off, tilting her head to the side slowly. Despite her predicament, the witch was still rather well-spoken. Perhaps if she was a bit more insane, this would be a different interaction.

"So now what, little hunter? Are you going to hurt me? Spit on me, or tear my hair? Whatever you do, I've faced worse," she said, adding a bit of a snarl to the end. Even if she wasn't a murderer, she didn't want this man to think of her as less of a threat. Give her a blade, and she'd make swift work of those above her.

But for now, she could only hope. Hope that he leaned a bit closer to her, just a bit.

 

[sheesh]

holden

MOOD: angry, spiteful.
LOCATION: the ship.
STATUS: healthy.
TAGS: calypso
MENTIONS: anika, arthur

In a way, Arthur was right. Holden was fine. Fine in the sense that he managed to stay dry despite what Arthur had told him. In another sense, he wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped, he found. When the witch slowly came as close as she was allowed, two parts of his being - his instinct and analytical mind - began to fight each other in the same way that Holden and Arthur struggled moments before.

His instinct told him to keep away, to compensate for the closing distance between them by creating more. Even his instinct was torn. Part of it wanted to get away just because it never wanted to be so close to something so repulsive. The thing was parched and probably starving, and her cracked lips birthed some squirming from Holden. The other part of his instinct wanted to get away just because he knew what kinds of things witches did; he knew why they were here, in the bottom of the ship where no light reached.

His more rational thoughts told him to stay put, however. There was nothing the witch could do to him as she was now. No one save for Arthur and Holden could even move in such a way that they could hurt anyone. So why was his body trying so hard to get away then? Arthur wasn’t afraid in the slightest. He was nothing but a farm hand before he became a hunter, wasn’t he? Could Holden really stand to be outdone?

Similar to what happened when Holden resisted Arthur, his rational mind overpowered what seemed like every cell in his body was screaming to do, though this fight’s verdict was more down to the wire than what happened with Holden and Arthur. “Little hunter” was what sealed the deal. She was hardly in a position to call anyone little! Holden was rarely ever the biggest person in the room, but he was rarely the smallest either.

Holden did his best to steel himself the first time “little hunter” was thrown out, but the second time forced a black look, a smoldering glower onto his face. Suddenly, everything she’d listed; hurting her, spitting on her and tearing out her hair all sounded like extremely pleasant things Holden could partake in. He oh so badly wanted to do all of the above, and while his vision honed in on the witch before him, he could feel Arthur’s cool and large presence behind her still. Somehow he knew Arthur wouldn’t let Holden do anything, wouldn’t he? Still, it was his turn to respond.

He huffed sharply from his nose and straightened his back. “Why would I do any of that?” Holden asked calmly, tilting his head. “You’re filth, and I’m not one to get my hands dirty. I say, you’re hardly even worth my spit and probably not even worthy enough to clean my boot.” His tone slowly grew angrier.

“This isn’t what I brought you here for, Cross.” Arthur said, intervening. Holden no doubt had invective to follow his evaluation. Holden glared at Arthur. “What. Exactly. Did you bring me here for, then? You try to tell me “oh no Holden, not all of them are bad! They can’t all have done something wrong!” and then put me before a bitch who doesn’t even know her place! You think these things are capable of good?” He hissed. “You jus-” he stammered, spit flying, “just heard it say it’s never killed anyone and then believed it?” His breathing rate increased alongside his frustration. “What is wrong with you, man? Aren’t you a witch hunter too?”

“I’m more of a hunter than you are!” Arthur snapped, hissing. “You’re just a lawyer. You’ve never killed a witch a day in your life, much less even fought one, and you have the audacity to sit up here and question if I’m even a hunter? You nearly skittered out the door to crawl back in your hammock just because she leaned closer to you!”

“Fuck you!” Holden nearly broke his whisper. He opened his mouth to continue but Arthur started before him. “That’s your issue! That’s everyone’s issue. You all think you know better, think that you know every witch is a murderer; hating man is not the same as killing them. You’re all just afraid of them!”

“And we have every right to be! You’ve heard the same rumors, the same stories as anyone else has. They can send men flying like toy dolls, make them burst into flames or rip their own eyes out. You heard her say she’s ”yet” to kill anyone, didn’t you? Let’s say she’s not lying,” he rolled his eyes, “there’s no promise that she wouldn’t kill anyone.” Holden scoffed, not surrendering his turn at the podium yet. “And let’s say I agreed with you anyway -- what’s the point? They’re all dead already -- within the next day or two we should be reaching land. Then what? You spent all that time theorizing that every witch isn’t a murderer for naught.”

Arthur swallowed hard and looked away. As if he could feel Holden’s expecting gaze on him, he at least offered something: “Hmph.” He folded his arms. In the case Holden decided “oh you know what Arthur, you have a point!” What then? Did he expect Holden to propose stealing the captain’s keys and freeing all the witches? Or at least the one he’d ungagged? There’s no way she’d make it off the boat alive for two reasons: they were surrounded by water, and she was also a witch on an isolated ship full of witch hunters. She couldn’t free anyone else because allegedly they wanted to kill her too. The cards dealt to her were shitty from the moment she was captured, and probably even before then too.

Offhandedly, Holden wondered what the other witches thought of a witch who hadn’t killed a man. No doubt it was taboo. He’d even venture to say they looked down on her in the same way hunters did. Oh, to be something other than what your betters wanted you to be; the situation sounded vaguely familiar. He could’ve swore he’d read the trope in a book at some point.

He chuckled lowly, turning his attention back to the witch. “She won’t even get the chance to kill anyone, either. Your kind is the worst thing the world has to offer. The only thing you’re good for is starting fires, little witch.” He leaned in closer, so close that the tips of their noses almost before pausing. “You almost got lucky. I was just about to spit on you, too.”

code by low fidelity.

 

[calypso]

anika

MOOD: shitty, exhausted.
LOCATION: the ship.
status: weak.
TAGS: @sheesh
MENTIONS: holden, arthur.

If there was one thing Anika couldn't stand, it was a hunter.

Now that there were two in front of her, one could imagine her current state of mine.

Staring at the hunter in front of her, Anika could only muster a small smile. It was truly a shame she was such a bloody mess at the moment. Under normal circumstances, such a smile could mean so many different things. A secret shared between friends, a subtle flirt...

But right now, it was just to rile up the man who so clearly despised her existence with every fiber in his body. And she had to admit, it was working far better than she intended.

Letting out a low laugh, the witch could only stare at the hunter as he brought himself closer and closer to her. That's the thing with these people. They were just little toy soldiers with a key in their back. Wind them up enough, and they'll start running off in circles. Dooming themselves to burn out like a candle whose wick was cut short. As he leaned close enough for their noses to touch and their breath to mingle, Anika slowly drew her tongue across her lips.

It was always the loudest who made the dumbest mistakes. Tilting her head to the side slowly, her voice came out in a sultry wave.

"Should have taken that chance, little hunter," she whispered out, before jerking her head forward. Instantly, her teeth found themselves biting down on his nose. It wasn't enough pressure to rip it off, but it was enough to draw blood. Even if her hands were bound and her mobility limited, men always found a way to fuck up. It didn't take long for the tang of blood to fall onto her tongue, and she ripped herself away moments later.

Leaning away from a potentially swinging hunter, all Anika could do was laugh. Blood stained her teeth, and a bit had gotten onto her chin. To them, she probably seemed insane. Perhaps she was enacting her final bit of revenge before her entire body went up in flames, turning the sky black with ash. It didn't matter what they thought, anyway.

Because she had his blood now. She had been so weak, so starved. There was no way for her to give up her own blood to break the bonds that held her so tight. But every witch knew that the blood of another, an unwilling, was far more potent than their own. Licking the extra bit off her lips, she could only lean back and smile at him with her bloody teeth.

"Sorry, little hunter. I simply can't help myself..." She purred out, rolling her eyes to the side. The witches around her were staring at the hunter with rapt attention, all of their eyes locked onto the wound fresh with blood. If they didn't hate her before, they must despise her now. The little witch who couldn't kill anyone had managed to secure blood from a hunter. A blood laced with hate and power.

"After all...I'm just a witch. Who has been spat on and kicked and punched for the last seven days, waiting for the day that I'll go up in flames for the crime of existing," she hissed out, her voice becoming sharper. She jerked forward the best she could, glaring at the man in front of her with as much malice as she could muster. "Isn't that what you want to hear? That I'm awful person who revels in pain and misfortune? It'll certainly help you sleep better at night, knowing that the next day the ashes in the sky belong to a woman you helped bring down," she hissed out, a bit of his own blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.

"I can see it in your eyes, you're uncertain. You're all uncertain, every last one of you. You've never even killed a witch..." She said, her voice trailing off as it became lower. "Have you ever smelled burning flesh, little hunter? I have, far too many times. Sometimes they don't burn the body all the way, and the other witches come to collect it. They dump the body of the witch burned where everyone can see it, see the look of pain twisted on the unrecognizable face," she seethed out, her eyes growing wider. The longer she spoke, the more contempt grew in her voice. Curiously enough, it didn't seem aimed solely at the hunters.

"But go ahead, go sleep in your little hammock tonight. I'll be here, waiting. Waiting till I'm tied upon a stake and burned in front of cheering children. When my body is torched, I'll be dragged back to my old coven for them to screech and laugh at. The little witch who couldn't kill, burned by the people who claimed to protect the innocent. I simply cannot wait."

With that, the witch leaned back and simply stared at the hunter. Whatever reaction he had during her speech failed to deter her. Now, it seemed like she had shut down completely. Even if he screamed and yelled at her, or shook her back and forth, there would be no answers from this little witch.

 

[sheesh]

holden

MOOD: angry, spiteful.
LOCATION: the ship.
STATUS: healthy, but been better
TAGS: calypso
MENTIONS: anika, arthur

Holden squinted closely at the witch. She was...smiling? It wasn’t a wide smile like one would give when seeing an old friend for the first time in a long while; there was little energy behind it, and the energy behind it was easily presumed to be less than wholesome, but it was definitely a smile. If Holden were kept in a dark hull for a week he wouldn’t even want to live, very much less smile. After everything he’d said, what could she possibly be smiling for at a time like this?

He suddenly felt his hairs standing on end, his ears muting the world part way through the whispers. His entire body tingled, his cells suddenly charged with the energy needed for exertion, and while he was ready to act, his body and mind couldn’t quite shake hands on what they needed to do. Even while his perception slowed down, all he did was watch as the viper’s jaw opened and snapped shut on his nose.

For a moment, he was anything but bleached by the stars of repulsion and pain. In fact, he didn’t even begin to feel it until the witch started laughing — then the pain and realization began to set in. The moment he opened his mouth to loudly tell the entire ship exactly how he was feeling, Arthur was on top of him, his forearm wedged in between his jaw and muffling his voice. Obviously Arthur couldn’t have him waking the entire ship up, but it wasn’t like having his mouth forced open, keeping his bleeding nose scrunched was going to make him want to shout any less.

Holden was more shocked than in pain, and he would’ve liked to let Arthur know that, but unfortunately nobody but himself could tell when he transitioned from trying to yell to trying to tell Arthur that he was fine. After a few seconds of struggling, he eventually stopped trying to fight Arthur to get his message across. He was fine.

Holden couldn't tell if he was more upset with himself for clearly having an opportunity to get out of the way but freezing, upset with the witch for biting him, or Arthur bringing him down here to hear about how all witches weren’t killers just to have his nose bitten instead. Regardless of whom he was angry with, his nose wouldn’t stop bleeding and unfortunately he couldn’t make himself angry enough to intimidate his wounds into closing themselves.

However, if anyone could make Holden angry enough to do it, the chances of it being the one who bit his nose to begin with were quite high. The evidence? Arthur's choice to keep Holden held down was proven to be wise after she’d made the absurd claim she couldn’t help herself, but how absurd was it really? She was a witch; that’s all the backing she needed. Still, whether she could control herself or not wasn’t even an afterthought.

His jaw was beginning to grow tired, but it was for the best Arthur kept his weight on Holden. She spoke on being burned for the crime of existing like just being born wasn’t her first sin. If he could actually get up, he’d certainly be able to show her what an actual crime looked like. Where his mind was now, he wasn’t even sure hearing her admit something he already knew was going to help him sleep any better tonight. Since she wanted to bite things so badly, he very much wanted to make her bite the heel of his boot — maybe that’d make him sleep just a little bit better.

Maybe.

“Calm yourself, Cross. If you do anything dumb you might wake someone up. Then what?”

He wanted to call Arthur daft and spit on him. He asked “then what?” but Holden was sure that if someone came down here it’d be painfully easy to just tell them Arthur’s a witch sympathizer and have him tossed into the sea. He imagined Arthur could frame him for the same thing; it all came down to who told the story first. Then again, with Arthur’s sleeve in his mouth it didn’t seem like he’d be telling anyone much of anything if they came down here until he calmed down.

Still, when he met the witch's almost sedated look, looking as if she didn’t have blood - his blood - stained on her mouth, as if she didn’t just put bite wounds on his face, he found it extremely challenging to calm himself down. The best he could manage was a glare, though it probably didn’t seem like much given the way he was restrained.

He put his head back on the floor and stared at the ceiling. Unfortunately for Holden, doctors never really got on these kinds of ships. He was sure he was going to have to explain why his nose looked so misshapen. Whatever would he say? He had the rest of the night to think about it, and no doubt he would. He of course needed to put something over his nose before he went to bed; wounds on the face tended to bleed a lot longer than most other places.

Finally, Arthur uncovered Holden’s mouth after seeing he was over his shock. Before Arthur could even say anything, words were already flying out of Holden’s mouth. “What was even the point of this?”

“She didn’t kill you, did she?”
“No, but...just in case you hadn’t noticed: My. Face. Is. Bleeding.”
“There are worse things. You could’ve died.”

If Arthur was similar in size and strength to Holden, he might’ve started swinging on him then, sleeping crewmates be damned. “Get off of me. I’ve had enough; I’m going to bed. This was all such a stupid waste of time. I'dve rather listen to Dio talk than come down here.” Holden couldn’t even begin to think of what possessed him when he thought that he should follow Arthur. He could’ve been asleep by now, and with his nose fully intact. Maybe he should’ve listened to Dio.

Holden left shortly after the announcement of his departure, leaving only Arthur and the only thing he could use to prove his thesis. Arthur wanted to leave himself as well. There wasn’t much else to do now that Holden was gone, and he wasn’t really interested in having an extensive conversation with a dead witch. Though he probably wouldn’t be any more interested in talking to one that wasn’t going to be burned soon; or really any witch other than the nose biter.
“I’m not too confident the witches in your coven will be the ones to have the last laugh.” Arthur remarked. He reached into his pocket. “I’m not too confident you’ll be the one either.” The light from the lantern caught the reflection of something metallic as he withdrew his hand from his pocket. “My, I’m not even sure if this is a good idea at all, but I’ve got something that might help your chances just a little.”

With his confession of low hopes, he revealed a piece of a key. The bow was broken off, and so was most of the shank. There wouldn’t be much to hold on to if you tried to put it deep enough into anything to unlock it, but it was a key all the same. “The captain fell on his arse a few nights ago...I’m betting he fell on his keys and one of them broke. I was lucky to manage to grab this without anyone noticing. It may not even be the key.”

He placed the key between her feet. “I wouldn’t try and use it right away. It may be just me, but there’s no way you take on every sailor on the ship, and even if you could, unless you can sail the ship yourself, or you’re somehow a blessed swimmer, I would wait until we reach land. To try and do anything...I’m not sure what you could do then, but, what do I know about escaping bondage?” He snorted.

“If you want another chance at life, this is all I can give you.” He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt bad, only having a key that may not unlock her irons to offer. It was the best he could do. He wasn’t a thief, much less a very good sneak. No way he’d steal the captain’s entire key ring and get away with it. “It can be hard not to hate, but the same way I don’t think every witch is evil, I think you could find out not every human is evil.”

He began to refasten her gag. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to kill every man you came across; I would too.” He paused. “I don’t know much about where you’re from, but I’d say that you probably hate your coven, aye? You wouldn’t be much better than them if you wound up taking a life.” He finished with her gag and picked his lantern back up.

“You don’t really owe it to me or anythin’, but if you do make it to freedom by some chance, just, uh…” He trailed off. He wanted to say “be better than them,” but it was probably useless. Putting himself in her shoes was pretty difficult. He’d never been subjected to this kind of cruelty, or bondage at all. He imagined that if he was captured by someone, then told to “be better” by his captor, he’d be furious.

He wasn’t sure what else he could say. He already felt like offering any amount of kindness, much less what he was showing now, was vastly out of place. Then again, a hunter being somewhat sympathetic for a witch was almost as strange. He took up his lantern again, and shifted his weight between his feet for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. After nothing came to mind, he left, casting another look back into the room before he shut the door behind him.

’Now that I think about it...maybe bringing Cross down here wasn’t as wise a decision as I thought.’

code by low fidelity.

 

[calypso]

anika

MOOD: somewhat hopeful.
LOCATION: the ship.
status: weak.
TAGS: @sheesh
MENTIONS: holden, arthur.

Licking her teeth slowly, Anika couldn't help but shiver at the metallic tang of blood. No matter what that hunter thought of her, Anika was no killer. Hell, she wasn't much of a fighter in those regards. The only blood she had tasted was her own. A witch who wouldn't kill was only good for two things in life; Killing as a sacrifice, and a punching bag in the meantime. Even as she stared at the men in front of her, all she could do was recall past wounds. Of fellow witches yanking her up in the air and slamming her back down until her vision was dotted with darkness, or when small cuts began to appear all over her body and wouldn't stop until she begged on her knees.

Never once did they leave a scar on her. The magic that so often made her bleed was easily used to stitch the wounds back together, and to erase the physical evidence. Imperfections weren't frowned upon in the Coven, unless you were a very special person.

Unfortunately for Anika, she was a very special witch in all the wrong ways.

Still, there was another taste in the blood. Past the metal and aches of her youth, Anika could sense something else. It was rare for witches to consume the blood of their victims, so no one ever spoke of the consequences. Swallowing dryly, feelings welled in the center of her chest. They leapt inside her and faded just as fast, leaving Anika with only an impression of what they could have been. Someone lost, a life taken too soon. Grief, threatening to swallow someone whole.

But then there was rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. It filled her veins in an instant with a hot flash of anger, and red threatened to sneak across her vision. In a moment, however, it was all gone. The red-hot feeling that coated her insides began to slip away until all she felt was the familiar pang of hunger once again.

Shifting her gaze towards the two men in front of her, her eyes focused on the hunter she had taken a bite from. It was his anger, and his grief. Even as he struggled against the larger brute, Anika was left with muddled feelings. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the man has a life outside of being a hunter, and that includes feelings of grief and anger. Yet she found it hard to believe that someone who spent his time looking for women to kill could feel such a loss.

Moreso, she hated how much his feelings matched those of witches.

Witches died often enough. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in her world, though it was certainly unwanted. Whenever a witch died and the sky was blackened with her ashes, Covens would whip themselves up into a frenzy of rage and anguish. They’d mourn the women they couldn’t bring home, often together. Yet at the same time, they’d stir the rage that was always sitting beneath the surface. Rage towards humans, and rage towards the hunters.

It was just another way Anika felt disconnected from the witches. She was never friends with any of the others in her Coven, so when one died, she often slipped away to her own room. Through her closed doors she would hear the wails of those in mourning, and the screams of those ready to kill. It was the same, every single time.
Maybe that’s why Anika felt so disconnected from it all. Because when she died, there wouldn’t be mourners. No one would break a wrist for her, just to snap the neck of the man that killed her.

No, there would be cheers. Cheers as her blood stained the altar she died on, as her body rose into the air. When she died, so did the hunters. Her blood would be spilled for a purpose, and good one at that.

Focusing slowly on the men in front of her, Anika simply returned her gaze to the blank look she had practiced for years. It didn’t matter what the hunter had felt, or was still currently feeling. She would never have to see him again after tonight. She’d never see the witches next to her again, nor the men who dragged her into this cursed ship.

All because she had a little bit of his blood. His unwilling blood.

At this point, the men had finally stopped scuffling with each other, leaving the bitten one angrily snapping at the bigger one. It didn’t take long for the little hunter to stomp away, leaving her alone with the big one. Something told Anika he wouldn’t exactly be singing to the captain about his little encounter down here. Not unless he wanted to be thrown overboard the moment he opened his lips. The thought almost brought a smile to her face.

Almost.

When he finally spoke to her again, Anika couldn’t help but hang her head. This time, it was to hide an actual smile.

This time, when she spoke, her voice was much softer. It was the voice of someone who had been hurt over and over, and someone who was going to be hurt again.

“I wouldn’t be too surprised. They’re a nasty bunch of bitches, my Coven,” she said, raising her head to show a bit of the smile. Though the little hunters blood still stuck to her teeth, it was hardly visible at this point.

The smile soon dropped from her face, and was instead replaced with an unconcealed look of shock. In a quick succession of movements, the hunter had placed a piece of broken key between her feet. Thoughts instantly raced through her mind. A weapon, a way out, a joke.

Her eyes shot back up to his as he continued to speak to her. Even as he reached up to refasten her gag, she moved her head to the side. Only for a moment, just to speak back to him.

“I know not every human is evil, at least not one of them,” she spoke to him, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew no one was perfect. No one was the shining example of all things good in the world.

But there were those who tried, even when it went against everything they knew. Even when it could get them burned at the stake or thrown over the side of the ship.

Perhaps they weren’t too different after all.

Watching his movements in the low-lighting, Anika moved to let him refasten the soured piece of cloth. It didn’t matter at this point if he put it back on, since she’d be taking it off again in a mere few minutes. Still, those few minutes of freedom were enough to make her forget just how bad the thing tasted. She visibly made a face once it was on, though the dull ache of pain it brought no longer bothered her. She had felt worse at this point.

Watching him leave, Anika could almost laugh at his final sentence to her. She knew he meant to be thoughtful in the moment, but the loss of words was clear enough to her. What he wanted to ask her was an impossible task to do. To be something more than a witch and a hunter combined.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try in the end.

Only when the door was shut and the darkness returned, could Anika feel her heartbeat pick up. The key and the blood. It was almost too perfect. Before, she didn’t know if she could really do it with just the blood alone. But now, with the key at her feet…

Curling her toes inward, she nearly jumped at the feeling of the cold metal against them. With one jerky movement, the piece slid across the floor and into her fingers as she bent forward. Her hand closed across the jagged item, and her eyes instantly shut.

The hunter had wanted her to escape at some other point, but there was no time. The blood would be gone by then, and if the key didn’t work now, it would be absolutely useless then. No, Anika had a better plan. With the little hunter asleep in his bed, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak back in and get a bit more blood from him. With what she had now, it wouldn’t be hard to cast the spell she needed.

She had never been good at hurting anyone, but she could perform practical magic better than no other when she got the chance. With the blood of someone else in her system, transforming her own appearance into theirs could work, even if it only lasted a few minutes. A few minutes to sneak upstairs and find the hunter again, and to drag him away from the others and stick him down here. It’d be a bit more complicated to change his appearance into her own, but by the time they docked and she was gone, the spell would wear off.

As much as she disliked the hunter from her short encounter, she’d never condemn him to her intended fate of burning at the stake. The worst he’d get is a slap on the wrist, and some sympathy from his fellow comrades for being magicked.

Shifting the key slowly in her hand, she turned it to face her. She couldn’t reach the keyhole without unbinding her wrists, nor could she turn it without the bow. No, she’d need to do a bit of magic here too. Anika didn’t have much to give but her own blood, which meant this process was about to be very painful.

Looking down at her own hands, she blinked slowly until the golden strings began to form in the air. They laced around her fingers and connected to the other witches around her, and trailed under the door and into the rest of the ship. Where they went, she didn’t know. She was far too weak to reach anywhere besides her own body.

That was all she needed, however.

Slowly, her eyes focused on the golden string that ran under the shackles and against her palm. With a small mental tug, it began to unwind slowly. Blood instantly followed after, and Anika was suddenly grateful for the gag in her mouth as she bit down in pain. Still, she continued to tug the string until her entire palm had a slice down the center. Blood welled and threatened to spill onto the ground, but she wasn’t done yet.

In an instant, the strings began to wrap around the blood and key like a cocoon. Binding them together as one, until one couldn’t tell where the key ended and the blood began. Straining against the gag, sweat began to form against Anika’s forehead. Just a little bit more.

The newly formed key began to slowly rise in the air, before it turned against the golden strings that held it. They wavered in the air, before a soft click was heard as the key shifted into the keyhole of the shackles. Another click sounded as it turned, before she felt the slack of the cuffs against her wrists.

A gasp instantly sounded, and the strings vanished from her sight. The shackles dropped to the floor, and Anika was left panting and huffing into the gag. She didn’t waste another moment, however. In an instant, she had torn off the gag from her mouth and rapidly wrapped it around her bleeding palm. When she was on land, she could fix that up much better. For now, however, she’d have to deal with a rag for a bandage. Her free hand quickly worked to undo the shackles on her legs, another satisfying click sounding.

With that, all Anika could do in the moment was fall backwards. She didn’t dare make a noise, but the relief on her face was palpable. It had been far too long since she was able to relax her neck and back, and for a second, she was tempted to just lay there until the ship docked at port.

But she couldn’t do that, and she knew it. No, she got to rest when she was as far as possible from the travelling hell. Sitting up slowly, she didn’t rush her process to standing. She had barely any energy, and that spell did a number on her.

Bracing her body up against a support beam, she could only heave in near silence. A minute to gather herself wouldn’t do any harm. Better than her stumbling out there on unsure feet, that’s for sure. Just a moment alone to get her legs used to standing again, so she could walk and run once more.

Yet as she stood there in the darkness, she couldn’t help but hear the noise from the outside. The splashing against the windows had become far louder in the past hour or so, and the wind could be heard howling above.

How often did storms occur on the sea? She had never been on a ship before, so she couldn’t exactly tell. It didn’t matter. Ships were made to be on the ocean, and made to withstand storms. She knew that much.

Yet the next time the wind howled above, the hair stood up on the back of her neck. No. This wasn’t a normal storm. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong-

Slowly turning her head around, Anika could barely make out the other witches in the room. Yet when she stood a shaky step forward, she could feel something wet under her feet. She didn’t need a light to know what it was.

A flash of lightning struck nearby, and the room exploded with light for just a moment. Sitting in front of Anika was the body of another witch, her blood leaking onto the wooden floor below her. Another witch was bent over the body in her shackles, blood slipping out from her lips.

In a split second, the witch looked up and grinned at Anika, her eyes completely white. Darkness flooded the room once again, and all Anika could do was stumble backwards.

The witch had killed another - Somehow. She must have snuck something aboard, or was planted by another Coven. She had killed a witch, that would get her hung by her own people. She’d be ruined, and tortured-

As her stomach churned, realization dawned on Anika. That witch didn’t intend to make it off the ship alive, nor did she intend for anyone else too either.

She had summoned the storm.

Another flash of lighting slashed across the room, and with stumbling feet, Anika began to run for the door. She had to do something to get off this ship.

Yet the second she touched the handle of the door, it swung upon with a powerful gust of wind. No natural wind could reach down here. Shouts echoed on the deck above as a wave washed over the men, and horror dawned on her face.

She had to find the hunter that freed her. If he gave her some blood, she could save them both.

She could save them.

With stumbling feet, Anika ran from the room and onto the ship.

 

[sheesh]

holden

MOOD: "why the fuck...?"
LOCATION: the ship.
STATUS: healthy
TAGS: calypso
MENTIONS: anika

The odds that Holden was able to relax in bed right after what he’d just experienced was slim; the odds that he’d actually be able to get any sleep were somehow even slimmer. His nose still ached ever so slightly, and with every pulse of varyingly intense pain, he experienced a cycle of emotions that consisted of the same feelings, just in different orders. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself for marching himself into that situation. Had he just minded his own business, he could’ve skipped the entire night and been tending to his duties as a deckhand.

Next was a conglomeration of angry thoughts and negative emotions all geared towards Arthur. Sure, if Holden had stayed in bed he would’ve been just fine. Hell, Arthur might’ve even been the one with a bloody nose. Still, all the blame for Holden’s nose couldn’t rest on Holden’s shoulders. He was on a boat, full of hunters, carrying witches that are very clearly sworn enemies of hunters. It is the last place you would expect to find someone who sympathizes with them.

Thoughts of Arthur were often followed by what he was supposed to do next. At the current moment, the captain was asleep. Even if he did wake him up to tell him about the events that transpired, nothing would take place until morning. Holden would rather wait until everyone was up to say anything. Despite having that in mind as the plan, he still felt rather hesitant to go through with it. Whatever point it was that Arthur was trying to prove, it fell on deaf ears. Whether or not it was more his fault or the witch’s was a topic for debate.

Most of him didn’t want to believe Arthur’s idea had any merit to it at all, but he couldn’t discern if he actually believed that, or if he was especially determined to vilify that particular witch. The way his mind worked was flipped upside down, turning backwards, and mirrored when it came to her. Somehow he felt like it shouldn’t be a hard question when deciding whether or not a new bite mark or being called “little hunter” bothered him more. He scoffed.

“...Little hunter…”

The sound of his voice took Holden outside of his head and back into the real world. He took a moment to remind himself how it felt to be more than just a few trains of thought; his skin was still freezing from stepping out onto the top deck for a moment. He had hoped to just have a drink while looking out at the water, but not only was it especially cold out tonight, but at some point the tide had become violent. It’s effect was sneaky — he wouldn’t have even realized the ship was rocking a bit more than what he’d prefer if he hadn’t gone outside for a minute.

He stared into his cup of brown ale. He didn’t want anything strong, but he wanted something a bit harder to swallow than water. He found the kick that alcohol had helped him keep his focus until he had too much. He only needed a single mug tonight. At some point he knew he’d wind up telling himself not to think about it too much. In due time, the witch would be dead, and he’d forget she ever even existed. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to see Arthur again. Whether or not that was the case because Arthur died was something he was going to have to sleep on.

“Alright.” He said to himself, quietly. He felt cool enough to at least attempt to go to sleep. He picked up his mug and brought it to his lips, intent on chugging the rest. But he didn’t. His eye twitched, and he frowned, clearly annoyed by something once more. He growled quietly.

“Little hunter.” He repeated, near slamming his cup back down on the table of the ship’s nearly cramped dining room. Just when he’d thought it was time for him to get some rest, he wound up refreshing his own annoyance. Part of him wanted to go back downstairs, maybe take it out on that witch in particular, then see how he felt after. But as he was earlier, still, he was split on making a decision. It’d be better to just try and erase her from his mind; seeing her face wasn’t the best way to forget she existed. Then again, trying to convince himself to believe in a new reason to have a scarred nose would probably be pretty difficult.

“I’m not even that little either...I mean, anyone would look little when they’re in the same room as him.” Holden rolled his eyes and gulped down a mouthful of ale. The heart of the issue was that a witch was living in Holden’s head without paying her dues. Holden considered he may be too concerned and focused on the bells and whistles that came attached to that issue. Holden took another gulp of ale and stared down into the cup to observe his own reflection. As long as he was on this ship with that thing, it was going to be awfully hard to forget about it.

The ship shook, shuttered and groaned as the storm to come announced it’s arrival. The sudden jarring motion caused Holden to slide to the edge of his seat, and even more alarmingly nearly caused him to spill what was left in his mug. Maybe something about the wave that rocked the ship a great deal would help clear his mind, and if that didn’t, the shouts that followed would be an ample distraction at the least.

Holden didn’t know much about sailing to begin with. He doubted the night crew needed his lack of expertise at the moment, and if they did they wouldn’t get it. Holden knew there was a chance he could be swept overboard and drown, furthermore believing his skills were a lot more valuable than a group of hunters and sailors. “It’s…” He finished his ale, “out of my hands.” He finished, nonchalantly before standing up.

He certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep through this, but he was sure enough going to try. Holden started towards the door, and as he entered the hallway, he heard quickened footsteps a little too late before he was nearly put on his butt. In any other scenario he probably would’ve been angry that someone was running through the halls like an excited, oblivious schoolboy, but given the state of the ship, it was understandable someone might be in a hurry.

“Oh! Terribly sorry...about…”

What was less understandable was why a witch was just running around the inside of the ship. Holden’s mouth opened and shut a few times while he processed. It’s times like these he wished he carried a weapon on him.

He pointed a finger out at her. “It’s…it’s you!”

code by low fidelity.

 

[calypso]

anika

MOOD: terrified.
LOCATION: the ship.
status: weak.
TAGS: @sheesh
MENTIONS: holden, arthur.

As the ship groaned around her in protest of the storm, Anika only had one single thought repeating over and over in her head as she ran from the room.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck.

The uneven boards of the ship seemed to find every cut in her feet, giving her a violent reminder of just how weak she currently was. If someone was to shine a lantern down the path she was taking, she had no doubt in her mind that a trail of blood would lead right to her. They wouldn't even need to bring out the bloodhounds to find this witch. No, simply follow bloody footprints of a very pissed off and tired woman.

At the moment, all Anika wanted to do was collapse in the middle of the hall and curl up into a ball. She just wanted to relax and give up for a little bit, but that was simply impossible. It was impossible because she was on a ship in the middle of the ocean, filled with men who wanted her burned at the stake. Impossible because another witch had killed and summoned a giant storm to swallow them all. At the thought of the storm that raged around them, the beast seemed to shudder in response. Another flash of lighting lit up the hall, and Anika nearly saw stars at the brightness of it all.

Heaving a cough, Anika stopped for just a moment to catch her breath. What was her plan, even? Find the hunter who had just a bit of kindness towards her, and convince him to just let his fellow men die at sea while she casted a spell to save them? Absolutely brilliant, Anika. Just an amazing plan you had right there.

Even if they did survive the storm, then what? Where the hell was she supposed to go? It's not like she just waltzes into the nearest town with a hunter on her hip, especially one who should have been in the sea. There was no guarantee that the hunter would keep his kindness, either. A shackled witch is much easier to speak with, rather than one walking right towards you.

Still, what other option was there? Either she died alone on this ship, or she went out trying to save someone. And if she was being honest to herself, which she rarely was, Anika didn't want to die alone. If she was going to drown in the cold sea, she'd at least like to go down with someone who had said something nice about her. Who had thought she could be something more than the role she was born into. It sounded far more appealing, at least in her head.

Pushing herself off the wall with a firm shove, Anika began to run down the hall once more. When she was first dragged onto the ship, Anika only got a brief look at the layout. As the ship struggled around her and men shouted above, she was having a considerably hard time remembering which way she was supposed to go to find the barracks. Was it left? It's not this ship went on forever, all she had to do was not run into -

In a second, the little wind that Anika had in her was completely knocked away as she rammed into the sturdy figure just around the corner. Had she just run into a support beam?! How stupid could she possibly be-

Her arms reached out to grip the pole in front of her, though she soon found her fingers curling around fabric. Fabric that was attached to an arm. An arm that was attached to a very surprised hunter who was flapping his jaw soundlessly like a fish.

Swallowing thickly, Anika slowly looked upward at the man she had crashed into. Her eyes were wide, like a deer who had just noticed the leopard stalking behind it. Or, more accurately, a witch who had just run right into the hunter she had bit the nose of.

Still grabbing one of his forearms to keep herself steady, Anika could only mimic his jaw flapping in return. Though, he was able to produce two words to accuse her of being herself. The ship shuddered once again, before a wave crashed into the side violently. A window nearby shattered, water instantly flooding in for a brief moment. Stumbling to the side as the wave hit her, Anika released his arm, only to hit the wall a moment later.

Great, now she was wet.

Gasping and coughing, Anika pushed some hair away from her face to stare at the water that was now sloshing in and out of the hall. Men screamed above as another bolt of lightning struck, the sound of thunder instantly booming throughout the small space.

Raising her voice, Anika nearly cringed at how rough it sounded. Sea water wasn't exactly a thirst quencher. "We have to find your friend! One of the witches killed another, and used her blood to summon this storm! This entire ship is going to go down!" She screamed over the sound of waves, her back pressed against the wall as another wave slammed through the now broken window.

"I can save us! All three of us can live if you bring me to him, I promise!" She said, looking over to him with pleading eyes. There was no malice there. No lies, no misinformation. With both of their blood, she could do it. She could save them both.

"You have to trust me, please!" She said, holding out one hand from the wall towards him. The makeshift bandage had fallen away from her wound, revealing the blood that was dripping into the rising seawater.

 

[sheesh]

holden

MOOD: "What have I done?"
LOCATION: the ship.
STATUS: healthy
TAGS: calypso
MENTIONS: anika

All Holden wanted to do was go to bed and get the night over with. Sleeping would’ve been difficult with the storm going on, but being a day closer to seeing that witch burned would’ve been motivation enough for him to sleep through it. Unfortunately for Holden, though, he’d encounter the witch for a second time, except this time she was freed from her shackles to his dismay.

She looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. He looked between her and a weak hand that was using him for a moment of support. It took a moment for him to consider breaking free before a sudden crash and torrent of water decided to be kind enough to sweep the witch away for him. In a similar fashion, he too, stumbled into a wall from the force of the wave. His hair fell over his face, blocking his vision for as long as it took him to brush it out of his eyes while he rebounded.

For a moment, he was angry at the ocean itself for being so unruly; if he wanted to get wet himself, he would’ve been on top deck helping to keep the ship from going under the waves. He spat seawater from his mouth and lifted a foot out of the water that was pooling in the hall. If he didn’t have a certain unwelcome company, he’d be more concerned about wet boots than anything else.

Speaking of unwelcome company, said company voice blurted out a quick explanation for the storm. Holden wanted to be surprised, he really did, but as long as he’d been on the boat he knew that wherever witches were there was likely to be a series of unfortunate events leading to tragedy. Of course the witches caused the storm. Undoubtedly she was weak, and with her back to the wall there wasn’t much place to run. He imagined if he attacked now, with a bet of effort he may be able to kill her with just his hands.

He wasn’t an idiot though. Killing her and believing that it would make the storm go away would be a fool’s errand. He wanted to think that she was lying, and he wasn’t sure if Arthur’s “they’re not as bad as you think” jargon was getting to him, but he believed that she wasn’t willing to die at sea just to kill a boat full of hunters, sailors and witches. If he had a few hours to think about what to do next, he imagined he wouldn’t be so willing to trust her. It was slightly funny to Holden that he didn’t have that luxury.

He looked at her outstretched hand. She needed blood to do magic, right? Wouldn’t that require more biting? He doubted she had time to find a blade for however long she’d been running around the ship. If she was going to do any magic, he didn’t want to be a willing donor, but the crack of thunder outside reminded him that his hands were as good as tied behind his back. He’d have to find Arthur. Unfortunately, he was in the same boat as the witch, as he didn’t know where Arthur was either. He was a strong type, so he was probably above deck helping out with keeping everything afloat.

There was also the chance that he had tried to go to bed whenever he’d left the lowest level of the ship. He may be somewhere trying to use a bucket to keep as much water out of the hull as he could. Was there time for him to run around the ship and find him? The ship was rocked by another wave, thankfully from a different side so that Holden was spared the experience of being twice as drenched as before. He took the wave as an answer from the ocean itself that if he was going to look for anyone, he was going to have to move now. He took her hand.

“For the record, I don’t trust you and I fully expect to die. Try to disappoint me.”

Holden reckoned there were very few that weren’t on the top deck at this point. Anyone who was still below was probably equally as tired of having water in their boots as Holden was, and were trying to toss water back into the ocean. It’d be efficient to check their first, however, as Holden thought before it, Arthur probably wasn’t wasting his strength with something like that.

Holden rushed to get to the surface, towing the witch along with him. Climbing the stairs to get to the top deck was nearly a battle on its own. The wind clearly didn’t want anyone else joining the effort to save the ship. Little did the wind know, Holden wasn’t trying to save the ship more than he was trying so save someone. The wind was going to be the least of Holden’s struggles though, as he came to find out that the chaos he expected on the top deck was a few times greater than what he had in mind.

Everyone was running around even more frantically than a chicken with its head cut off. The sails were deeply reefed, but Holden imagined that the helmsmen was still dealing with a nightmare. Arthur was a big person, he wouldn’t be terribly hard to spot. If anything, trying to steer in this storm would be difficult enough as is, and if he remembered correctly, the ship’s steering wheel was pretty heavy on account of the ship being a product of older engineering.

Fortunately, everyone was too busy trying to save the ship than wondering why there was a random woman, who clearly wasn’t a hunter based on the rags she wore, running about the top deck being pulled along by the resident lawyer. Holden would’ve hated having to explain what the hell he was doing exactly, but under normal circumstances he wouldn’t even be touching a witch to begin with. If he made it out of this life, he would have to clean his hands with fire if it was available.

On making it out with his life, he wasn’t sure if he had a better chance with the storm, or the witch. He wasn’t capable of magic himself, however, what could you possibly do to stop a storm? Especially one this bad? He assumed if magic could start one it could stop one, but it made no sense why stopping the storm would only save three of them. Then it hit him.

She never said anything about stopping the storm. The way the situation looked, the ship had no hope..

He managed to grab hold of a passing sailor. “Arthur! Where is he?!” He shouted over the rain. “Are you mad? Let me go, I have to help save the ship!” He responded, yelling over the crash of a wave that rocked the ship, causing many people who didn’t have anything to brace on, or at the very least good footing, to fall.

“Dammit man! Tell me where he is!” He shouted his request once more, but the sailor simply tried to pull away once more, grabbing Holden at the wrist to pull his hand away. It was at this point, Holden became aware of a knife at the sailor’s hip. The witch needed blood, didn’t she? He thought back to how he’d been treated by Arthur back in the ship’s hull. Why should he be worried about him? He didn’t even know the man’s last name.

He entered a familiar state where things seemed to slow down, down to the point where he swore he could pick out an individual raindrop. Thunder cracked, and Holden used that as a cue to make his move. He grabbed the sailor’s dagger and removed it from its sheath after freeing up his other hand, letting the witch go. It was going to be Holden over anyone else when the stakes were this high.

The sailor hardly had time to shout before a knife was embedded into his lung. Still, the sailor had some fight in him yet, and the two began to wrestle. Holden wasn’t very strong, but he didn’t take his knife just to grapple with him. Again, Holden stabbed him, this time in the gut, driving every inch of the knife into his body down to the handle.

Holden stabbed him a third time, and it was around then that he realized what he was doing. He was committing a murder to save his own life. Suddenly the sailor was on the ground, clutching his wounds and barely moving. The rain began to mix with his blood, and the water on the deck around him began to change color, but only subtly as the rain pounded the ship.

He became numb to the situation he was in, dazed at his actions; he wasn’t able to hear the shouts of the men, the roaring waves around him or the wrath of the clouds above. What had he done? He couldn’t call it his resolve, but more like an act born from a selfish nature. He took a few steps back. The steps soon turned to aimless staggering around while he tried to fight off an onset of vertigo on top of the crashing waves. He dropped the bloodied knife and looked at his dominant hand, which was stained with blood. He would’ve thought the rain would’ve washed it away, and it did. The brief moment his hand was covered in someone’s blood, however, was seared into his mind immediately and forever.

He would never live this moment down. Holden had never killed anyone before, and undoubtedly this moment would be immortalized and follow him no matter where he went. He clutched the sides of his head. “Oh god...what have I done? What have I done? I-.” He struggled to find words to express his shock. He began to look around frantically, as if searching for something or as if he’d forgotten where he was.

When his eyes settled on the witch again though, suddenly he could hear the rain again. The ocean’s fury was made known to him again, and the wrathful clouds and gale joined in reinforcing their presence. He’d been grounded by something, and he realized now was the least preferable time to lose his head.

The ship rocked violently, and Holden fell over. Quite frankly, he wasn’t entirely sure if the ship had taken another wave head on, or if he was just dizzy and the unsteady footing was enough to make him fall. He rebounded quickly and sat up. “The knife...I-” he reached out, “I need the knife!” He searched for it, but it must’ve slid away while he wasn’t looking. How was he supposed to draw his own blood now?

He made a note not to give anyone but himself credit for the idea of biting his own hand between his thumb and index finger, which he did promptly. If he didn’t have adrenaline flooding his body, he wouldn’t have been able to do it. He stood and presented his hand to the witch. “Is this enough?”

code by low fidelity.