Uban looked surprised. “You don’t actually think we’d have trouble, do you? Sure, we’re not fighters  the same way you are. I’m not a swordsman. I do fine with a dagger but…” he shrugged, and as he did, he held out his hands as if asking for something and let a purplish arc jump between them with a loud buzz, making the hair on both of their arms stand up on end. “I can kill a man by touching him. And you know I’m reeeallly close to being able to make projectiles. And if you think for one second that Rohaan can’t fight well enough, then you’ve CLEARLY never given him a bath or tried to make him put on shoes. Like, the kid can sink a ship. Just him.” He scowled a little, his confidence waning into something closer to worry. “You can’t tell me that we’d actually meet our match with THAT,” he said pointing up into the rigging, “and as personal as this is to him. I mean…what makes them so special?”

—

Rohaan was beginning to feel restless. He loved being aloft, and he was more comfortable up there than any sailor ever could be, as it was nearly impossible for him to fall to the deck. He’d slipped many times, but in a flash he would flit back up to the yard or the shroud as a sparrow and that was all. This made him bold and very quick in the rigging. But at the moment there was little to do. A few adjustments to the sails here and there at Uban’s call, and then he would wait. 

At the moment, with all the day’s adrenaline still coursing through him (though considerably less than it was) this lull was a curse. If he wasn’t doing something, his mind would wander and he didn’t want to think about that anymore. 

Whoever once said that idle hands were the Devil’s playthings clearly had met someone like Rohaan. On the Borealis, he was typically good natured and though still a little wild, kept in line well enough under the watchful eye of Berlin. There, he had a purpose. A routine. But boredom brought out something wicked and evil in him, a mischief to rival all the stories of trickster gods there ever were. 

So naturally he began hocking spit down onto the deck, aiming for his forever foe, Wheel. He never tired of irritating him, mostly because he could get away with it...if Berlin wasn’t watching. Pieter had been known to call him off this game a few times, but Rohaan did not show the same reverence to anyone the way he did Berlin and would gleefully dance away from his swats. His first few attempts went very wide, and he began factoring in the drift of the wind. Mm, he needed to move further aft. So he swung as a monkey from one line to the other until, stalking his prey, he got closer. Another failed attempt, a quick adjustment and—

“Oop!” He squeaked in surprise victory. He didn’t wait to see if it landed direct, but he knew from its trajectory that it would at least get close enough for him to notice. The boy in the rigging disappeared and fluttered away as a bird, sweeping up to the Nest where he reverted forms and tried to look the picture of innocence. He never did this very well.

—


Berlin looked almost surprised for a moment, staring at her with a subtle frown that was almost severe. “Gentleman? No, I am no gentleman. I might have been as  a very young lad but those days are far behind me. You shouldn’t mistake my kindness for good character. I’m not evil, but I’m no paragon.” He said this matter of factly. “We’re all of us criminals, you know. Don’t forget that. Some of us, most of us, before we even became pirates. Uban didn’t lose that finger on the Borealis.” He gave a little laugh. “But aye, I might make a drunkard out of you. The only one of us who isn’t is Rheoaan and that’s only because all hell would break loose if that lad got drunk.” Another laugh. “Keep that flask. I got me a feeling you’ll need it again, and before long you’ll have a real taste for it. Try it with lime.” He offered a smile, smoothing his hair out of his face, which he was not accustomed to having loose.

He watched her try and curtsy, and the subsequent politeness that followed and he laughed softly. He had an infectious laugh that showed as much in his gray eyes as in his grinning mouth, and it was a warm, jovial sound. “You know, I meant what I said when we met. If you wanted, I’d take you to Ramos and leave you be. After all, I owe you a debt. That option still stands. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope you’d stay. Anyway, I have some…captainly business topside to see to…you know. High priority.” He smiled, tilting his fingers back like they were holding a cup. “If the boy gives you any trouble, Uban can help you.” And with that, he returned to Pieter at the fore, sitting down on the crate again with a woody creak. 

“Well then, where were we…?”