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Refrain- verb (used without object) to abstain from an impulse to say or do something (often followed by from ): The letter was like all the others before it. Thick, cream parchment rolled tightly and tied with a blue ribbon. He knew that if he brought the ribbon close it would smell faintly of lavender with small hints of whatever flowers she’d had in her room at the time it was sent. When he unrolled the letter, the scent of rose water and bath oils would curl out of the pages toward him, reappearing with every page turn or paper ruffle. This roll was thick, may pages over lapping one another. An outpouring of words she likely sat up all night writing, leaving behind a novel of thoughts and questions. The letters that came like this where his favorite. Not because of their words but because of the length of them. Longer letters meant she was safe, meant she’d had the time for flowing script, dotting all her “i’s” and crossing all her “T’s”. He lover all her letters long and short, but shorter ones always came at bad times. Her flowing script turned sharp and slanted, filling every word with anxiety and fear. The worst of her letters had been no longer then three sentences scratched on a page, sent with now ribbon and folded over itself. It had been a month before her next letter after. His eyes roomed the pages hungrily, taking in her words like a man seeing the sea for the first time. The ship creaked and swayed gently beneath his feet. Quiet had settled over his little nook at the bow of the ship, aided by the days end. Long shadows stretched around him, cutting dark rivets though the red-orange hue the deck had taken. Hearing footsteps he rolled the letter back up and tucked it away, turning toward his visitor. “Marco! You missed dinner!” Thatch had a plate in each hand and two bottles tucked in the space left between his fingers. “Someone has to keep watch.” He quipped back to his brother, taking a plate and a bottle from him. “We can’t all trick the newbies into doing our shift for us.” Thatch snorted, unrepentant in the face of Marco’s judging stare. “That’s what the babies are for! Besides,” He gestured up at the crow's nest. “Tommy’s on watch tonight. Nothing gets past Tommy.” Marco knew this, Marco also knew that Tommy had a habit of eating quickly on nights he was on watch and that he tended to wash down his half-chewed food with double the amount of liquid. Marco had started a habit of bringing out a little paperwork and giving the night watch “volunteer ” a bathroom break when it was close to dark. He was always happy to help out a brother, but it also gave him a chance to collect any letter she’d sent without anyone catching on. Kor had been trained to wait until sunset before coming close to the ship. While he didn’t get a letter every night, she did try to write as often as her circumstances allowed . Given the length of the last letter, he could expect another in a day or two. If nothing went wrong before then. Keeping a daily habit of bathroom breaks kept anyone form asking too many questions and brining paperwork with him kept them from noticing any letters. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his family, though Pops probably had at least a small clue of what was going on already, but they where playing a dangerous game and one wrong word at the right time to the wrong person would spell death for her. Given who her husband was, and what he already did to her behind closed doors, Marco had no doubt that the Marine would kill her if he found out she was having an affair. Much less an affair with a pirate. So this had to stay under wraps until he could get her somewhere she'd be safe. Ideally, the safest place for her would be here on the Moby Dick. Here where she would be folded into his family and kept safe. Treated as a sister by his siblings, loved as a daughter by Pops and, seas willing, one day called wife. But hers was not a gentle beauty. She was exotic in both features and coloring. She stood out anywhere she went and trying to hide a Marines wife on a pirate ship would be next to impossible. Add to that, her marriage had been a political one, to merge a strong independent kingdom with the Marine cause. She would be searched for intently and without pause. If he was to hide her away it would need to be somewhere he could guarantee that no one would find her. Somewhere completely off the grid, totally devoid of other people. But that wouldn’t be fair to her. So they continued on this way, her sending him letters, often, him finding her in private, rarely, until another solution is made or found. Wishing wouldn’t get him any closer to an answer so he settled against the railing with a plate of warm food and a bottle of grog, his brother a warm weight beside him and her letter pressed flush to his chest. A large form flew silently against the black of the night sky, far enough in the clouds that it was hidden from the naked eye. Over islands and into a new sea it flew, drawing nearer to home. The form let out a snort of disgust. This False-Nest was no home, it had never been home. But it was where mother was trapped and so it was home for now. His form shifted smaller and smaller the closer he got, scales and teeth shifting to feathers and beak. Smaller still as the sea gave way to land, to stone, to building, and town. Feathers shifted blue to pink, to brown and finally white, his smallest form yet, as he glided in an open window and settled on his mothers shoulder. He gave a soft peep and nuzzled himself under her jaw. A small, pale hand came up slowly to the back of a figure over his chest. “Hello little love. “ he felt displeasure come over him as his feathers fluffed. Mother sounded like that only after her False Mate came. Breathing deep he could smell the man and the activities he'd came for still lingering in the room. False Mate made him want to rage, to spit fire and pain down upon him. Made him ache for the feel of small bones between his teeth and the panicked squealing of trapped prey. He's sure Mother and True Mate would praise him greatly for it. But Mother said no, said he had to stay small and quiet, so he settled for ruffling his feathers and giving a disgruntled squeak. Mothers shoulder shook slightly as she laughed at him, cupping her hand underneath him as she lifted him from her shoulder. Curled up in the cup of Mothers palm, as her other hand smoothed down his feathers, and with the taste for the dried tastes True Mate had given him still lingering, Kor hunched down and started to doze. He'd gotten to see True Mate today and Mother was out of her bed nest and didn’t smell of blood or tears. It was as good a day as ever get in this false-nest.
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Conceal (verb) -
to hide; withdraw or remove from observation; cover or keep from sight:
to keep secret; to prevent or avoid disclosing or divulging:
Thatch sat hunched over on the railing, head in one hand, pouting. Izo slid up beside him on the railing and punched his arm, hard. “OW!” Thatch flailed, struggling to keep his balance. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Izo snapped, ignoring his brothers scrambled as he crossed his arms and frowned. “At the moment?” Thatch wrapped both arms around the railing and twisted his torso to resume his perch, “You.” He glowered at the other man from what he thought (hoped) was a safe enough distance. Izo batted a hand through the air dismissively. “No shit. I mean what are you pouting for?” Thatch glanced around, making sure they were alone on the deck. Well, as along as one could get on the Moby Dick. “Have you- Did you notice-“He glanced around again before leaning in close to whisper. “Is Marco acting weird to you?”
“What did you do this time?” Izo asked expression flat and unimpressed. “ Me!? Nothing!” Thatch squawked, affronted at the, completely understandable, assumption. “Really” Izo drawled, one perfectly plucked eyebrow drifting up in mock question. “No paint bombs in the hallway, jellified personal property, no feather traps at all?” Thatch opened his mouth, paused, and then shut it again. The feather trap had been a thing of beauty. So had Marco’s flaming retribution. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He huffed crossing his arms. “I mean like, the sneaking around, the random smiles for no reason, the fancy letters, any of this ring a bell?” Izo frowned. “Fancy letters?” Thatch nodded “Like the kind sold in that one shop on Mimi.” Mimi was a noble’s island and every shop and store reflected that. The Whitebeards had never publicly been docked there, but a few of their informants lived or worked on the island.
Given that Thatch was in the Fourth, he shouldn’t know anything about the island. But with the Second not having a Commander still, the 8 and 9 tiers of the other divisions were helping where they could. The other Commanders had split the duties for the Second between them and anyone who could blend in well enough helped with field work. The shop Thatch was referring to was a stationary and packaging store right across from one of the Cafés they often met Yui at. Since it catered to nobility, the stationary they sold was high quality parchment, thick and slightly off white or tan depending on the price. It wasn’t something that everyone would use, both because of the price and the fact that parchment like that either had to be treated, which gave it a terrible smell, or had to be kept in an air tight container to prevent it from deteriorating. For someone to be sending Marco parchment….
“How many have you seen?” Thatch rubbed his chin in thought “almost every other night for about 6 months. Sometimes he won’t get anything for a couple of days, but otherwise it’s like clockwork.” He shrugged his shoulders, “and they look pretty thick.” This could either mean the paper was false parchment, more than one person was writing, or that whoever was sending it was sending a couple pages at a time. If it was fake, why bother with sending it to a pirate? If it was more than one person or only one, why so many and so often? Izo hummed lightly in contemplation. “Have you been able to look at one?” ‘Has your snooping found anything?’ Thatch slumped over, pouting down at his knees. “No. Either he’s not keeping them or he hides them better than his dried fruit.” Which considering the dried fruit was one of Marco’s few “DO NOT TOUCH.” items meant they’d be next to impossible to find. Izo lightly curled one finger underneath his chin and paused, thinking.
“Have you told anyone else?” He asked at last, his voice soft and understated. Thatch shook his head in reply. “I wanted to ask Pop’s about it, but if this turns out to be nothing.” He left the rest unspoken but Izo understood. Pops could go either way when it came to the past times of his children. Usually he didn’t feel the need to meddle or step where he wasn’t needed, preferring to let them come to him if they had any problems. But if he felt that any of his children were getting in over their heads then he’d happily take matters into his own hand. On a ship this large it was hard to have things that belonged solely to one person, but it other people or private space. So they tried to stay off of each other’s toes as much as allowed. If this was a small flight of fancy or pen pal situation and they all waded into it, Marco would never forgive them. On the other hand if it was something more and he never told then it could end like the Tomo incident several years ago. There were a lot of ways that people who couldn’t cut it or were unwanted tried to get on the ship. One of the easiest, in their mind, was to try and do so by finding a member and trying to manipulate them in some way. Izo had never thought that Marco would fall for something like that, but he knew that Marco had a deeply hidden romantic side. If someone had managed to find it and was using it to get to the crew it would devastate him.
Izo shifted his hand to curl more in front of his mouth as Jory came up the stairs with a mop and bucket. “Keep an eye on it.” He spoke softly, Thatch turning to face the sea as he leaned a little closer to hear. “If it’s nothing, then it’s his business and it’s not our place to meddle. But if it’s not nothing then we need to be ready.” Ready for the fall out if this managed to blow up in their face. Tomo was never quite the same after they failed to catch on to that one in time. “So we just wait? That’s it?” Thatch’s voice was just audible over the waves slapping against the ship. But his town showed his displeasure at the inaction. “For now.” Izo allowed. Waiting wasn’t anyone’s strong suit when it came to the family, but it was the best way to keep this from getting out of hand before they had all the pieces. Just because Marco was the eldest sibling didn’t mean they couldn’t watch his back when needed. Besides, it was the younger sibling’s prerogative to meddle in the affairs of the older.
“Milady.” Pale lids slid open a fraction, reviling a sliver of amethyst that slid over to the partition of the bathing chamber. The faint shadow of feet showed as Tamera stopped just before its edge. “Your Lord Husband has departed.” Her eyes slid shut as a long, soft sign shuttered out of her, gently rippling the bath water. ‘Finally.’ She felt her remaining tension in her neck and shoulders remove its self. She’d known he was leaving but it was always tense until his ship actually left Shadows Harbor. She knew that it wasn’t gone forever. The tension had followed behind her husband since their wedding, dogging her steps every time he came back to her. It was the God’s mercy that she didn’t have to live in Marine Fort with him. Her status as royalty afforded her one of the kingdoms strong holds after her marriage. Though technically her husband was Lord by marriage, he’d never had an interest in the keep or the islands around it. “Milady?” She opened her eyes again, Tamera’s shadow still lingered. “Thank you Tamera, that’ll be all for the night.” Tamera didn’t voice her objection but her shadow remained unmoved and her silence was distinctly disproving. She fought the urge to let out another sign. “I’m fine Tamera. The mixture that Healer David provided has helped greatly. Which was true. The herbal mixture, lathered on her skin and mixed with the bath water, provided a numbing effect to her bruises and kept her cuts close over a little. It didn’t hide the pink tint the water had taken, nor did it remove the fell of her Lord Husbands affections, but they did mask the coppery scent she’d started to carry during his visits. A bit of moon tea after her bath and everything would be as it should. “I’m just going to soak for a bit more, I’ll be fine.”
“Of course.” She could just imagine Tamera’s sharp nod. “I’ll bring your dinner to you solar.” She thumped her head back against the lip of the tub. Tamera was seven years older than her and had been her handmaid since she’d moved from the children’s nursery and into her own chambers. The woman was polite and every aware of the difference of status between them. But she was also her closets and oldest friend. That she was afforded to keep her after her marriage was solely do to her mother’s meddling in the marriage contract. Tamera was as stubborn as a bull and slyer then a fox, she wouldn’t be surprised if her Lord Husband had an accident in another few years. But Tamera wouldn’t make a move until her line and heir was secure and she couldn’t bring herself to carry that man’s child in her, not yet. Maybe never, if the God’s carried any favor with her. “No.” She called out, head still tilled back. “Take it to the Lady’s Chambers.” She could practically feel Tamera’s smug, satisfied air and her shadow wavered as she curtsied. “At once, Princess.” Near silent footsteps carried her dearest friend out the door without so much as the thud of a door or creak of the hinges.
Her eyes slide closed again as she sank a little deeper into the cooling water. “Not a Princess anymore, Mera.” A slight twinge in her arm had her eyes opening again and sliding over to where her arm sat on the rim of the tub. A dark green paste covered the back of her hand and encircled her wrist, crawling up her arm about four inches. The paste was water soluble so she couldn’t draw it into the tub to sooth it, but the paste was more important. Rather live with an aching arm and shoulder then bare the scars of her husband’s last parting gift. She’d soak for a while longer; let the paste and bath do their work, then she’d get out and head to her rooms. Given that Tamera was refusing to leave her just yet, she’d help her wrap what was still raw and then she could turn in for the night. But first she needed to sit down and finish her letter and if her God’s Luck held then maybe she’d get a feather in return.
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Okay, so full discloser. I’m not abandoning this story. I like the idea that this story was born from and I still have that idea somewhere in my head. But my writing has changed and a big part of that is because I stopped writing for a long time. I got really down and nothing really made me want to write and so I personally feel like my writing deteriorated. I’m not satisfied at all with what is on my account right now, in regards to these newer batches of stories. But I still love the idea of them. I’m not going to take anything down, but until I can write in a way that doesn’t make me want to delete my whole account, I’m not going to be working on them. This story, and others, are being put on pause and I’m not 100% sure when I will get back to them. But I am still writing in my spare time so I hope to have my writing back to something that doesn’t make me cringe. I am back in school so my spare time did become more limited, but I’ve set aside time to work on myself again and part of that is doing things that I enjoy. I’m sorry that I disappointed anyone who was waiting for an update and I’m sorry for having to put these stories on hold. Thank you to everyone who commented and left kind words for these train wrecks, it really meant a lot to me that someone out there enjoyed what I was writing even if I myself didn’t. Hope to be back soon~Eternityscry