AmongHeroes
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Always Searching For The Next Great Story
Hello there,
I am AmongHeroes, and I'm happy you're here. I am an experienced roleplayer, writer, and fantastical creator.
♠ - I am an adult in my 30's. As such, I prefer to write with other adults.
♠ - Though I am capable of embodying many varied characters, in 1 x 1 settings I prefer writing as a heterosexual male with a generally dominant/masculine aura.
♠ - Genres I enjoy range from low & high fantasy, sci-fi, horror, gothic, romance, dark romance and noir.
♠ - Adult themes are welcome including violence, sexual encounters, etc.
Do feel free to reach out to me for partnership inquiries or for friendly interaction. I look forward to seeing you 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑒𝑠 we create.
I am made from the stardust of Her heart. Linked beyond time and moons and stars, in every life a soul fitted indelibly to a universe woven in the shape of Her claim.
Most Recent Posts
Thanks for your participation, and all the good times Wordsmith. I wish you all the best, and if things ever get back to where you can't live without us, you're always welcome back.
Hello there all. Great to have some nice posts to read throughout the day. I know we have a lot of people with busy schedules, so I appreciate the work you all put in to get posts up.
Having said that, I know both Dot and Limey are waiting on me to post. I wanted to get one up yesterday, and failed because of work, and now it's happened to me again tonight. I got called in for overtime, so once again I'm going to have to beg forgiveness on that front. There should be time tomorrow for me to post, so it will be my top priority. Just wanted to let you guys know that I hadn't forgotten.
Hope everyone is having a wonderful end (or beginning depending on where you are) to your day.
Having said that, I know both Dot and Limey are waiting on me to post. I wanted to get one up yesterday, and failed because of work, and now it's happened to me again tonight. I got called in for overtime, so once again I'm going to have to beg forgiveness on that front. There should be time tomorrow for me to post, so it will be my top priority. Just wanted to let you guys know that I hadn't forgotten.
Hope everyone is having a wonderful end (or beginning depending on where you are) to your day.
Though Thomas was steadfastly defiant, his face could not refrain from cringing as the report of the first pistol shot rang out. So intent his focus had been upon Cooper, and the man’s own pistol, that Thomas could not comprehend who had fired. Even as strong arms enveloped his shoulders and sent him spinning round, Thomas could not be sure if was alive or dead.
A second shot thundered, and Thomas cringed again. Idly he realized that he would possess no capacity for such expressions if he had been perforated by a pistol ball through the forehead, and that thought brought his eyes open. His vision had little time to focus however, when a third shot followed in quick succession. Once again his eyes flinched shut.
“God’s blood!” he heard himself say as the echo of the three shots dwindled into the acrid powder smoke that drifted across the Dusk Skate.
He caught a glimpse of Jax, a spent pistol in his outstretched arm, and the First Mate clutching her own discharged weapon. Before her lay the bloody mess that was now Cooper, and Thomas had an instance of abundant relief and gratification before Antonia flung her arms about his neck, and pressed a body wracked with silent sobs against him.
Still half stunned from his brush with an untimely death, Thomas encircled the rogue with arms that trembled with the fading waves of adrenaline. As Antonia’s lips brushed lightly against his cheek and ear, Thomas let out a shuddered laugh. It was a laugh that encompassed all the fear, anxiety, doubt, relief, joy, and gratitude that had all managed to press itself into the tumultuous span of only a few minutes. It was a cathartic and liberating laugh as well, as Thomas looked up into the bright blue sky and felt an overpowering sense of renewed calm. His friends, his crew, had shown their true merit, and in doing so they had given him a treasure more valuable and precious than any chest of bullion. He had been given devotion, loyalty, and love.
Thomas smiled, hearing Antonia’s precious admonishments. He met her grey eyes as she pulled away, peering at the constellation of her features that made the rogue the exotic and striking woman that she was.
“I plan on staying alive yet another while longer,” he said. With his thumb he reached up to brush lightly over the gentle arc of Antonia’s cheek. “And besides, the Devil himself isn’t prepared to take me yet, for if he did, he knows my soul would be in the ceaseless pursuit to gaze upon your face just once more. And by God I’d rip the very gates of hell open just to do it.”
Thomas leaned forward to kiss the rogue lightly upon her forehead before he looked up, his copper eyes moving from Jax to the First Mate.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “The both of you…” Thomas raised and arm, sweeping it around to indicate the entirety of the crew, “…all of you have humbled me today. I stand in your debt--”
He reached down to grip at Antonia’s hand, giving it a squeeze that was more for his own comfort than anything else. His eyes found Jax and the First Mate once more, his face becoming lined with gratitude and happiness.
“--And I am all the better for it.”
A second shot thundered, and Thomas cringed again. Idly he realized that he would possess no capacity for such expressions if he had been perforated by a pistol ball through the forehead, and that thought brought his eyes open. His vision had little time to focus however, when a third shot followed in quick succession. Once again his eyes flinched shut.
“God’s blood!” he heard himself say as the echo of the three shots dwindled into the acrid powder smoke that drifted across the Dusk Skate.
He caught a glimpse of Jax, a spent pistol in his outstretched arm, and the First Mate clutching her own discharged weapon. Before her lay the bloody mess that was now Cooper, and Thomas had an instance of abundant relief and gratification before Antonia flung her arms about his neck, and pressed a body wracked with silent sobs against him.
Still half stunned from his brush with an untimely death, Thomas encircled the rogue with arms that trembled with the fading waves of adrenaline. As Antonia’s lips brushed lightly against his cheek and ear, Thomas let out a shuddered laugh. It was a laugh that encompassed all the fear, anxiety, doubt, relief, joy, and gratitude that had all managed to press itself into the tumultuous span of only a few minutes. It was a cathartic and liberating laugh as well, as Thomas looked up into the bright blue sky and felt an overpowering sense of renewed calm. His friends, his crew, had shown their true merit, and in doing so they had given him a treasure more valuable and precious than any chest of bullion. He had been given devotion, loyalty, and love.
Thomas smiled, hearing Antonia’s precious admonishments. He met her grey eyes as she pulled away, peering at the constellation of her features that made the rogue the exotic and striking woman that she was.
“I plan on staying alive yet another while longer,” he said. With his thumb he reached up to brush lightly over the gentle arc of Antonia’s cheek. “And besides, the Devil himself isn’t prepared to take me yet, for if he did, he knows my soul would be in the ceaseless pursuit to gaze upon your face just once more. And by God I’d rip the very gates of hell open just to do it.”
Thomas leaned forward to kiss the rogue lightly upon her forehead before he looked up, his copper eyes moving from Jax to the First Mate.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “The both of you…” Thomas raised and arm, sweeping it around to indicate the entirety of the crew, “…all of you have humbled me today. I stand in your debt--”
He reached down to grip at Antonia’s hand, giving it a squeeze that was more for his own comfort than anything else. His eyes found Jax and the First Mate once more, his face becoming lined with gratitude and happiness.
“--And I am all the better for it.”
We've got a quiet OOC today. Busy week for anybody?
Ok, post is up. There was a lot going on there, so hopefully I covered it all.
Dot and LimeyPanda, I'm going to have another post in response to the ones you both put up, but I'm afraid those are going to have to wait until tomorrow. Sorry bout the added wait, but I think it will be worthwhile.
Dot and LimeyPanda, I'm going to have another post in response to the ones you both put up, but I'm afraid those are going to have to wait until tomorrow. Sorry bout the added wait, but I think it will be worthwhile.
Zakhar-Near the Great Room
Zakhar watched with silent and persevering indignation as the Reddick brothers fought and died inside of the great hall. The rain had been an ingenious countermeasure to the Wraithcloth that had cloaked the wolves, and the combined might of Bain and Hoyle’s personal band of misfits was more formidable than Zakhar had imagined.
Still, even as one brother stood in death throes with his body riven by bullets, and his heart clutched in the fist of a vampire; and the other lay bleeding out onto the herringbone floor, cut, pierced, and shot in countless places, Zakhar still played with the upper hand.
In the initial chaos, the white-wolf had steered well clear of the Hoyle siblings, and had maneuvered into a position near the entrance of the keep. As Zakhar knew they would, once the fur starting flying and the intention of the attack became clear, Bain and Hoyle would herd their precious Aislinn with the tooth of Fenris in tow, towards the shade gates. That was where he had taken up station, well clear of the storm within the great room, and just before the exit to the promised escape path. The bumbling fools were dragging his quarry right to him.
Zakhar hefted his sword, feeling the balance for the thousandth time. He whispered a silent prayer to Mother Moon for the safe return of the Reddick brothers’ souls to their final destination. The two had served their purpose, and they had died a warrior’s death. Now all Zakhar had to do was assure their sacrifice, and all those that were giving their lives outside the castle walls even now, were not in vain.
Archibald Bain-The Keep
Bain allowed Victoria to take the gravely wounded Aislinn from him. Through the haze of the pouring rain, he could see the empathetic pain and worry in the crimson-haired werewolf’s eyes as she hefted the sister Hoyle upon her shoulders.
So much has gone awry. So many of our family are dying for a cause none of us yet comprehend. Bain reflected as he nodded his compliance with Victoria’s request to guide them to safety.
“This way,” Bain shouted above the din.
He struck out towards the vast hallway that marked the entrance to the great hall, and ultimately the keep. Just beyond a set of those doors lay their salvation, and Bain moved with a speed borne of necessity, not once looking back to see if Victoria and the others were following. He trusted them enough to know they would trail him.
As he passed beneath the stone archway, leaving the great room, he stopped to survey the space before him. It was dry, shielded from the rain in the great room, and lit warmly with many wall sconces that held flickering candles. Three sets of massive wooden doors branched off from the entryway, the first and centermost led to the main exit, and the elevators to the main floor of the castle. To the left was the doorway to Reginald Hoyle’s personal art gallery; and to the right was the exit to the room of the shades, and their ultimate salvation.
His keen senses perceived nothing out of the ordinary. Though he was very much aware that the absence of a disturbance had not assured safety, even just moments ago, the ancient vampire had nothing else to call upon at the moment to confirm his affirm his own observations. Time was of the essence, and Aislinn, along with the tooth, must be delivered to safety.
Bain turned back and waved to the group behind him. He pointed towards the doorway to the right.
“Through there, the shades are through there. Quickly now!”
Atticus-The Keep
Atticus watched as Semyon’s hail of gunfire pierced the flesh of the invisible form he had pointed to. Clouds of misty blood could be seen staining the rain, just before Siya slammed into the perforated werewolf, and added her own brand of unique pain to the creature’s violent demise.
With a tip of his wings, Atticus spun about in the air just in time to see a wolf, still half hidden beneath his magical wards, be impaled upon Gabriel’s angelic blade. From his vantage point, Atticus could see that the werewolf had suffered numerous cuts, stabs, and gunshot wounds, and he knew several of his friends had had a hand in dispatching the assassin. Blood pooled in a crimson puddle around the fallen body, the still torrential rain spattering the gore about the great room.
He heard Bain call out from beyond the entrance to the great hall, and Atticus knew despite their recent triumphs, they were still far from being out of harm’s way. Aislinn and her brother still needed to make it to the shade gates, not to mention the rest of the apparent assault needed to be rebuffed. Atticus didn’t know where Jay-Jay and Daisy were, but he prayed that wherever it was that they were giving the fucking werewolves all the hell they could muster.
Atticus let the air from beneath his wings, and swooped down to land beside Semyon, Nestor, and the broken figure of Reginald Hoyle. The incubus took a firm grip around Reginald’s shoulders, and hefted with all his might. Even in his demonic form, the werewolf was heavy and cumbersome, but he forced all his energy into the drag, and he made headway towards where Archibald Bain was standing.
“Semyon, Nestor, Max, Henry, fuck…anybody, can you see to his wounds?” Atticus indicated Reginald Hoyle, his teeth grinding with strain. “Siya, if you could end that worthless fucker’s life, and come help me, I could use it.”
Zakhar watched with silent and persevering indignation as the Reddick brothers fought and died inside of the great hall. The rain had been an ingenious countermeasure to the Wraithcloth that had cloaked the wolves, and the combined might of Bain and Hoyle’s personal band of misfits was more formidable than Zakhar had imagined.
Still, even as one brother stood in death throes with his body riven by bullets, and his heart clutched in the fist of a vampire; and the other lay bleeding out onto the herringbone floor, cut, pierced, and shot in countless places, Zakhar still played with the upper hand.
In the initial chaos, the white-wolf had steered well clear of the Hoyle siblings, and had maneuvered into a position near the entrance of the keep. As Zakhar knew they would, once the fur starting flying and the intention of the attack became clear, Bain and Hoyle would herd their precious Aislinn with the tooth of Fenris in tow, towards the shade gates. That was where he had taken up station, well clear of the storm within the great room, and just before the exit to the promised escape path. The bumbling fools were dragging his quarry right to him.
Zakhar hefted his sword, feeling the balance for the thousandth time. He whispered a silent prayer to Mother Moon for the safe return of the Reddick brothers’ souls to their final destination. The two had served their purpose, and they had died a warrior’s death. Now all Zakhar had to do was assure their sacrifice, and all those that were giving their lives outside the castle walls even now, were not in vain.
Archibald Bain-The Keep
Bain allowed Victoria to take the gravely wounded Aislinn from him. Through the haze of the pouring rain, he could see the empathetic pain and worry in the crimson-haired werewolf’s eyes as she hefted the sister Hoyle upon her shoulders.
So much has gone awry. So many of our family are dying for a cause none of us yet comprehend. Bain reflected as he nodded his compliance with Victoria’s request to guide them to safety.
“This way,” Bain shouted above the din.
He struck out towards the vast hallway that marked the entrance to the great hall, and ultimately the keep. Just beyond a set of those doors lay their salvation, and Bain moved with a speed borne of necessity, not once looking back to see if Victoria and the others were following. He trusted them enough to know they would trail him.
As he passed beneath the stone archway, leaving the great room, he stopped to survey the space before him. It was dry, shielded from the rain in the great room, and lit warmly with many wall sconces that held flickering candles. Three sets of massive wooden doors branched off from the entryway, the first and centermost led to the main exit, and the elevators to the main floor of the castle. To the left was the doorway to Reginald Hoyle’s personal art gallery; and to the right was the exit to the room of the shades, and their ultimate salvation.
His keen senses perceived nothing out of the ordinary. Though he was very much aware that the absence of a disturbance had not assured safety, even just moments ago, the ancient vampire had nothing else to call upon at the moment to confirm his affirm his own observations. Time was of the essence, and Aislinn, along with the tooth, must be delivered to safety.
Bain turned back and waved to the group behind him. He pointed towards the doorway to the right.
“Through there, the shades are through there. Quickly now!”
Atticus-The Keep
Atticus watched as Semyon’s hail of gunfire pierced the flesh of the invisible form he had pointed to. Clouds of misty blood could be seen staining the rain, just before Siya slammed into the perforated werewolf, and added her own brand of unique pain to the creature’s violent demise.
With a tip of his wings, Atticus spun about in the air just in time to see a wolf, still half hidden beneath his magical wards, be impaled upon Gabriel’s angelic blade. From his vantage point, Atticus could see that the werewolf had suffered numerous cuts, stabs, and gunshot wounds, and he knew several of his friends had had a hand in dispatching the assassin. Blood pooled in a crimson puddle around the fallen body, the still torrential rain spattering the gore about the great room.
He heard Bain call out from beyond the entrance to the great hall, and Atticus knew despite their recent triumphs, they were still far from being out of harm’s way. Aislinn and her brother still needed to make it to the shade gates, not to mention the rest of the apparent assault needed to be rebuffed. Atticus didn’t know where Jay-Jay and Daisy were, but he prayed that wherever it was that they were giving the fucking werewolves all the hell they could muster.
Atticus let the air from beneath his wings, and swooped down to land beside Semyon, Nestor, and the broken figure of Reginald Hoyle. The incubus took a firm grip around Reginald’s shoulders, and hefted with all his might. Even in his demonic form, the werewolf was heavy and cumbersome, but he forced all his energy into the drag, and he made headway towards where Archibald Bain was standing.
“Semyon, Nestor, Max, Henry, fuck…anybody, can you see to his wounds?” Atticus indicated Reginald Hoyle, his teeth grinding with strain. “Siya, if you could end that worthless fucker’s life, and come help me, I could use it.”
Hello all,
Great to see some wonderful posts over the weekend. I hope that everyone had a nice break, and with any luck, a wonderful new start to the week. I'll be posting sometime today, either this afternoon or later into the evening, but definitely today.
Say the new Godzilla over the weekend as well. If you're a fan at all, I recommend seeing it. It had paid a lot more homage to the original feel of Godzilla I think than the last remake.
Great to see some wonderful posts over the weekend. I hope that everyone had a nice break, and with any luck, a wonderful new start to the week. I'll be posting sometime today, either this afternoon or later into the evening, but definitely today.
Say the new Godzilla over the weekend as well. If you're a fan at all, I recommend seeing it. It had paid a lot more homage to the original feel of Godzilla I think than the last remake.
Lillian's right, Dannyel. Your limiting yourself before you even begin. Don't be afraid to expand upon your character: half the fun is thinking up imaginative ways your character can adapt and overcome in the situations presented in the RP. Aoife doesn't have to be a warrior, or even fight at all, if you don't feel like that's her thing. But, that doesn't preclude you from having her react to whats going on. She's supposed to be an asset, enough so that Atticus called her in to help stop the coming of Ragnarok, so run with that. Again, like Lillian suggested, interact with those around your character. Have Aoife jump in a help pull Hoyle to safety, or have her try to tend to Aislinn's wounds. These are just suggestions, of course, but there are things you can do.
At the sound of the unmistakable Creole French, Thomas’ eyes widened in horror. The sudden and deafening sound of silence, like the calm before a storm, filled the cabin as Antonia stopped in mid-sentence. Thomas’ breath caught in his throat, and he found himself frozen in place. He knew what the rogue saw, and he thought in that moment that karma was collecting upon a debt of ill-fortune that had been long overdue.
Thomas turned his head to Antonia, just as her laughter, her painful and biting laughter, split the silence. The look of shock and betrayal upon her face burned into his mind, and his heart fell into his boot heels. In an instant the rogue was gone, the thunder of her own footsteps echoing the lighting shock of her admonishing and mirthless laughter.
He released himself from the First Mate, his body now shaking and slow to recover. His mind screamed at his limbs to chase after Antonia, to not let the woman who had unwittingly whittled her way to the interior of his soul leave without knowing the truth.
“No,” he muttered, almost incoherently, “dear God, no.”
At last, his own will overpowered his leaden feet. Thomas rushed from the First Mate’s cabin without another word, and he raced after Antonia. The stairs to the main deck were taken three at a time in great bounding strides until he was in the bright midday sun. Thomas spun about, following the still distinctive percussion of Antonia’s heels upon the decking. Her quick walk had taken her almost to the gangway, and Thomas sprinted after her.
Though he did not perceive it, the attention of the entire crew present on the Dusk Skate was singularly directed at the captain and the quarry he chased. Even some on the docks stopped their work to view the spectacle of Captain Thomas Lightfoot, running as fast as his legs would carry him, dash after the mysterious and exotic woman.
His legs bore him well, and Thomas managed to catch Antonia just as she reached the Skate’s port railing. Without thinking, he grasped at her trailing wrist, and whipped her around to face him.
“Antonia wait!”
It was only then, only when his mouth exclaimed those words that reality broke through to Thomas, and the import of what he intended to do shone in stark clarity. The eyes of his crew could be felt upon his back, and their silence spoke volumes. These men had followed Thomas for years. They knew him to be a rascal, a scoundrel, a killer, a womanizer, a drunkard, but never once had they seen him care enough to pursue a woman from his cabin. Never once had they seen him with love in his heart.
Though he did not take his copper eyes away from Antonia, Thomas thought of all of this. He realized that this very instant marked a shift in his entire persona, and the abounding and general wonder of all that implied set his skin to tingling. There was nothing for it now. The cards had been laid out before him, and he could either fold, or gamble and hope to providence that his winning hand lay just beyond the next turn.
“Antonia,” Thomas said, his voice quiet and ragged, “please, I can explain. It wasn’t what it seemed, to all the gods of the seas and the stars I swear it.”
He took his other hand to clasp it around Antonia’s, not wanting to give her the chance to flee before his courage failed. “It was not what it seemed because I follow the stars, and you, Antonia, are the only star I ever want to guide me home. I am a man of imperfections, and a man plastered and defined by my past deeds, but I swear…”Thomas allowed his voice to climb in volume “…My heart is yours, and yours alone if you will have it.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” A rough voice said from behind Thomas, and it was immediately accompanied by the snick of a pistol hammer being locked into place. Before he could turn, Thomas felt the barrel being pressed against the base of his skull.
“You expect us to just sit back and smile like good little dogs now that you’ve got your cock tucked between your legs, Cap’n?” The voice continued.
Thomas scowled. The voice was plain enough to him now, though it sounded as though the man was speaking through sail cloth. Cooper
Releasing Antonia’s hand, Thomas turned to face Cooper. The pistol barrel now faced squarely between his eyes, but Thomas did not shy away. His features spoke of defiance and exacting disdain, as if Cooper was nothing more than a pile of horse shit that had soiled Thomas’ boot.
Cooper’s steely gaze faltered slightly beneath the withering stare, but he continued. “Ever since you brought those two cunts aboard, this ship has turned into nothing more than a floating hen house. We deserve better than that, for all we’ve been through. For all the blood we’ve spilt.”
“We deserve a captain not hamstrung by the smell of quim, eh boys?” As Cooper continued to speak, he began glancing back and forth to the other sailors upon the ship. The steel of his conviction bending without the accompanying laughter of his compatriots.
Thomas pressed his forehead against the pistol. Unadulterated ire now oozed from him like the plague, and if his eyes had shone any brighter, they would’ve been alight with flame. When he spoke, his voice boomed challenge, and spat malice.
“Then pull the trigger you sniveling piece of shit. Put your money where your mouth is, and cast your lot.”
Thomas raised his arms, encompassing the entire crew of the Dusk Skate.
“Have I not brought you fortune beyond your wildest dreams? Have I not seen to sate your lusts, fill your bellies, and quench you thirsts? Have I not fought and bled right alongside you?”
Once again Thomas turned his eyes to bore into Cooper. “If I am wrong, then I say once more: pull that trigger.”
An eternity seemed to pass. Sweat beaded upon Cooper’s quaking face, and it ran in rivulets down his cheek and jaw. All sound seemed to have ceased, as even the lap of the waves and the call of the gulls did not reach Thomas’ ears. In the back of his mind, through all the exhilarated fear and adrenaline, Thomas realized in that silent and endless moment that if he were to die this very day; having declared his faith in a woman whom he called his Right Hand, and having pledged his whole heart to another with eyes of grey, that it would not have been a wasted life.
Thomas turned his head to Antonia, just as her laughter, her painful and biting laughter, split the silence. The look of shock and betrayal upon her face burned into his mind, and his heart fell into his boot heels. In an instant the rogue was gone, the thunder of her own footsteps echoing the lighting shock of her admonishing and mirthless laughter.
He released himself from the First Mate, his body now shaking and slow to recover. His mind screamed at his limbs to chase after Antonia, to not let the woman who had unwittingly whittled her way to the interior of his soul leave without knowing the truth.
“No,” he muttered, almost incoherently, “dear God, no.”
At last, his own will overpowered his leaden feet. Thomas rushed from the First Mate’s cabin without another word, and he raced after Antonia. The stairs to the main deck were taken three at a time in great bounding strides until he was in the bright midday sun. Thomas spun about, following the still distinctive percussion of Antonia’s heels upon the decking. Her quick walk had taken her almost to the gangway, and Thomas sprinted after her.
Though he did not perceive it, the attention of the entire crew present on the Dusk Skate was singularly directed at the captain and the quarry he chased. Even some on the docks stopped their work to view the spectacle of Captain Thomas Lightfoot, running as fast as his legs would carry him, dash after the mysterious and exotic woman.
His legs bore him well, and Thomas managed to catch Antonia just as she reached the Skate’s port railing. Without thinking, he grasped at her trailing wrist, and whipped her around to face him.
“Antonia wait!”
It was only then, only when his mouth exclaimed those words that reality broke through to Thomas, and the import of what he intended to do shone in stark clarity. The eyes of his crew could be felt upon his back, and their silence spoke volumes. These men had followed Thomas for years. They knew him to be a rascal, a scoundrel, a killer, a womanizer, a drunkard, but never once had they seen him care enough to pursue a woman from his cabin. Never once had they seen him with love in his heart.
Though he did not take his copper eyes away from Antonia, Thomas thought of all of this. He realized that this very instant marked a shift in his entire persona, and the abounding and general wonder of all that implied set his skin to tingling. There was nothing for it now. The cards had been laid out before him, and he could either fold, or gamble and hope to providence that his winning hand lay just beyond the next turn.
“Antonia,” Thomas said, his voice quiet and ragged, “please, I can explain. It wasn’t what it seemed, to all the gods of the seas and the stars I swear it.”
He took his other hand to clasp it around Antonia’s, not wanting to give her the chance to flee before his courage failed. “It was not what it seemed because I follow the stars, and you, Antonia, are the only star I ever want to guide me home. I am a man of imperfections, and a man plastered and defined by my past deeds, but I swear…”Thomas allowed his voice to climb in volume “…My heart is yours, and yours alone if you will have it.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” A rough voice said from behind Thomas, and it was immediately accompanied by the snick of a pistol hammer being locked into place. Before he could turn, Thomas felt the barrel being pressed against the base of his skull.
“You expect us to just sit back and smile like good little dogs now that you’ve got your cock tucked between your legs, Cap’n?” The voice continued.
Thomas scowled. The voice was plain enough to him now, though it sounded as though the man was speaking through sail cloth. Cooper
Releasing Antonia’s hand, Thomas turned to face Cooper. The pistol barrel now faced squarely between his eyes, but Thomas did not shy away. His features spoke of defiance and exacting disdain, as if Cooper was nothing more than a pile of horse shit that had soiled Thomas’ boot.
Cooper’s steely gaze faltered slightly beneath the withering stare, but he continued. “Ever since you brought those two cunts aboard, this ship has turned into nothing more than a floating hen house. We deserve better than that, for all we’ve been through. For all the blood we’ve spilt.”
“We deserve a captain not hamstrung by the smell of quim, eh boys?” As Cooper continued to speak, he began glancing back and forth to the other sailors upon the ship. The steel of his conviction bending without the accompanying laughter of his compatriots.
Thomas pressed his forehead against the pistol. Unadulterated ire now oozed from him like the plague, and if his eyes had shone any brighter, they would’ve been alight with flame. When he spoke, his voice boomed challenge, and spat malice.
“Then pull the trigger you sniveling piece of shit. Put your money where your mouth is, and cast your lot.”
Thomas raised his arms, encompassing the entire crew of the Dusk Skate.
“Have I not brought you fortune beyond your wildest dreams? Have I not seen to sate your lusts, fill your bellies, and quench you thirsts? Have I not fought and bled right alongside you?”
Once again Thomas turned his eyes to bore into Cooper. “If I am wrong, then I say once more: pull that trigger.”
An eternity seemed to pass. Sweat beaded upon Cooper’s quaking face, and it ran in rivulets down his cheek and jaw. All sound seemed to have ceased, as even the lap of the waves and the call of the gulls did not reach Thomas’ ears. In the back of his mind, through all the exhilarated fear and adrenaline, Thomas realized in that silent and endless moment that if he were to die this very day; having declared his faith in a woman whom he called his Right Hand, and having pledged his whole heart to another with eyes of grey, that it would not have been a wasted life.
Thomas stood there. His feet, though planted firmly upon the deck, seemed weightless. So stunned was he by the First Mate’s sudden embrace, and the breathy words she spoke against his neck, that he felt as if he truly must have never awoken from the previous night’s drunken stupor.
It was real, and she was real, however. The tears that had sat upon her cheeks, both perfect and marred, soaked into the thin cloth of his shirt. Her shuddered sobs and intakes of breath warmed his flesh, and the smell of shining golden hair filled his nose. Yet amongst all the many notes that called his senses to her, it was the press of her figure, the firm embrace of her arms, and the proximity of her full lips that froze him in utter and complete absorption.
His mind raced, a thundering storm of emotion and thought that worked to the beat of his bounding heart. Thomas had not meant for this, had not anticipated Nicolette to open to him in such a violent torrent of torn wounds and renewed vulnerability. He had known her to be secretive and reserved, but what she had shown to him was more than he had fathomed to lie buried beneath the angelic surface. The mark upon her cheek spoke to a past of pain and torment, but this was more than that. For the second time that morning Thomas cursed himself and his own arrogant dreams, and what it had forced from the woman who now embraced him.
Another part of him, the darker portion, the one that had been fed and tended by the free and scoundrel lifestyle of a pirate captain, saw opportunity in this moment. It called for him to seize the First Mate’s vulnerability, to possess this rare and damaged flower. The struggle against this part of him was so fierce, that Thomas again felt shame flood into his pounding heart, and spread like chilled water through his veins.
How low a man am I truly? These demons that I entertain, who is master and who is slave?”
In the end, it was the glittering image of stars that came to his mind’s eye that affirmed his conviction. He thought of the North Star, the Home Star, and how its sparkling aura had come to mean so much more to him reflected in the grey eyes of a rogue.
“You are welcome here as long as you wish. As you are, and no different. I would have it no other way,” he spoke at last. His voice was quiet and calm, and his breath teased the few loose strands of gold upon the First Mate’s head.
He brought an arm around to return the First Mate’s embrace, while the other reached into his hip pocket to withdraw a well-worn and stained kerchief.
The absurdity of his offering teased at the corner of his lips just slightly, and he hoped Nicolette would find the gesture equally as softening to the moment.
“It’s not pretty, and it certainly isn’t lace, but I can assure you it’s clean.” Thomas paused briefly, “Well, clean enough anyway.”
It was real, and she was real, however. The tears that had sat upon her cheeks, both perfect and marred, soaked into the thin cloth of his shirt. Her shuddered sobs and intakes of breath warmed his flesh, and the smell of shining golden hair filled his nose. Yet amongst all the many notes that called his senses to her, it was the press of her figure, the firm embrace of her arms, and the proximity of her full lips that froze him in utter and complete absorption.
His mind raced, a thundering storm of emotion and thought that worked to the beat of his bounding heart. Thomas had not meant for this, had not anticipated Nicolette to open to him in such a violent torrent of torn wounds and renewed vulnerability. He had known her to be secretive and reserved, but what she had shown to him was more than he had fathomed to lie buried beneath the angelic surface. The mark upon her cheek spoke to a past of pain and torment, but this was more than that. For the second time that morning Thomas cursed himself and his own arrogant dreams, and what it had forced from the woman who now embraced him.
Another part of him, the darker portion, the one that had been fed and tended by the free and scoundrel lifestyle of a pirate captain, saw opportunity in this moment. It called for him to seize the First Mate’s vulnerability, to possess this rare and damaged flower. The struggle against this part of him was so fierce, that Thomas again felt shame flood into his pounding heart, and spread like chilled water through his veins.
How low a man am I truly? These demons that I entertain, who is master and who is slave?”
In the end, it was the glittering image of stars that came to his mind’s eye that affirmed his conviction. He thought of the North Star, the Home Star, and how its sparkling aura had come to mean so much more to him reflected in the grey eyes of a rogue.
“You are welcome here as long as you wish. As you are, and no different. I would have it no other way,” he spoke at last. His voice was quiet and calm, and his breath teased the few loose strands of gold upon the First Mate’s head.
He brought an arm around to return the First Mate’s embrace, while the other reached into his hip pocket to withdraw a well-worn and stained kerchief.
The absurdity of his offering teased at the corner of his lips just slightly, and he hoped Nicolette would find the gesture equally as softening to the moment.
“It’s not pretty, and it certainly isn’t lace, but I can assure you it’s clean.” Thomas paused briefly, “Well, clean enough anyway.”
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