Crossing the Line —The Pirate King & Neia (Patreon)

What you're doing requires delicacy.

You can't be too forward, or else suspicion rises, and the game is tipped. But you don't have the luxury of being too vague, either — if you talk in circles for long enough, he'll lose interest, and discard you as a rambling, probably coinless customer. Or worse, as someone with an agenda.

No, you need to play this just right, and as you lean on the counter, you put forth your best, most dazzling smile. "I've heard many things about your store, master trader George," you say, and your voice too is a class in persuasion. Silky and smooth, and with the right tilt to match the one of your lips. "It's hard not to in this town."

You watch George's face intensely. He's a heavy-set man with strong brows and a squared chin, and his beady eyes look from between his round cheeks like two blue pearls. A blue the color of fungi on an old cheese: faded and sickly looking, with white spots at the corners.

And those blue, sickly pearls watch you with mistrust. Damned. "Your name rings from every mouth, as does praises of your... skill."

You lean just a tad bit closer, just enough that your shirt loosens a bit, and the top of your collarbone slips into view. You see the blue pearls shift to watch it and then see the flash within, and part of you is disgusted, but when George looks back up, the distrust is gone and replaced by a curling, lustful grin.

"That so?" George asks, stepping up to the counter. His belly pushes against it as he sprawls his hands wide on either side of you. You can see the brown spots in his teeth, but most of all, you see him leering at your body. "What hav' you heard, sweetheart?"

A faint sound to your right.

It's so quiet, you only heard it because you're so familiar with it. The sound of a weapon being drawn from its holster, no matter how quietly, quickly catches your attention. I'm running out of time. You need to convince George now.

But you can't rush this.

What you're doing requires delicacy, it needs subtly and subversion. You need to make George eat from the palm of your hand, and as you tilt your chin down to peek up at him from beneath your lashes, your hand curls tight on itself, for it's hard to focus when you have two black, bottomless eyes boring into you.

You can feel their stare from across the room, like an arrow piercing your flesh and pooling blood at your feet. The stare burns your skin from within and makes heat rise from the back of your neck. You can see him from the periphery of your vision, a shadow perched in the darkest corner of the shady shop.

The Pirate King. He's slouched against the wall, one elbow propped casually on top of a shelf, hips cocked, and fingers idly playing with one of his axes. His severed thumb sweeps across the handle, shaped like a golden naked woman, and his canines flash from amidst the shadows. He's smirking, you can tell.

But you know from experience that usually signals danger.

If you could, you'd frown at him, but you can't, so you try to push the Pirate out of your mind and focus on George again. You're so close. "What haven't I heard?" you say in a light, breathy tone. You force another sultry smile and put your hand next to George's meaty one. He looks down and brushes your little finger, and it takes almost all of your willpower not to recoil. "But mostly, I've heard of your talent for acquisition. I was told you have interesting items. Items that..."

This is it. You pause and lick your lips, watching as George tracks the movement. You then go all in as you lightly drag your nails across his wrist. "You don't keep in the upper parts of the store, where the sun might reach, and wrong eyes might see them."

The Pirate's silhouette looms in the corner. You can feel his heat from the distance, his piercing gaze. You push him away again.

"If you'd be so kind as to show me your other merchandise," you whisper, leaning until you're practically lying on the counter. George's eyes go right where you want them to: the mounds of your cleavage. "I would be eternally grateful."

George seems stuck leering at your chest. Disgust once again curls in your stomach, but you wait in silence as he slowly lifts his fungi eyes again. His gums are red and bloodied as he licks his fat lips. "Gratitude is fine," George says, turning his enlarged fingers so he can latch onto your wrist. "But I want a little appreciation before."

He tugs on you, and you curse in your head. Lord's bloodied, fungi-invested fingernails!

"Pay me first, pretty thing, and then I might have something I can show you," he says, tugging you again, and you know then that it's all over.

From his corner, the Pirate moves. He swaggers closer, steps loose and unhurried with his axe hanging from one hand. He's smirking still. Smirking wide.

His eyes, however, are no longer on you.

"You damned fool, I tried to do this the easy way," you say to George with a disappointed sigh. You snatch your hand from his, shaking it as if to erase his touch.

George's eyes narrow. "What do ya—"

Crack!

The wood splinters open when a heavy axe cuts through it. The sharp, curved steel digs into the counter almost all the way in, just a few hairs' lengths away from George's hand. George screams in fear, eyes wide and gums bleeding as he stares open-mouthed at the King of Outlaws.

The Pirate snatches a ring-filled hand around your waist and presses you closer to his side. "You scream again, and it's your throat I'll tear next," the Pirate warns in a calm, almost soothing voice. "You'll be a cold corpse before any guard gets here, understand?"

George’s mouth flaps up and down, but to his credit, he keeps in complete silence.

The Pirate smiles. "Good. Now, how about you listen to my peach here and show her whatever she wants to see," the Pirate suggests with a pleasant voice even as his hand keeps a firm grip on the axe sticking into the counter.

You feel his fingers possessively dig into your hip. "And you'll be sure to give her a big discount too." The Pirate leans in then, voice hardening and smile sharpening. "Or I'll raid this filthy store myself."

George takes a shaky step back. "I— right away, sir," he mumbles, before turning on his heels and vanishing out the back.

You frown at the Pirate, who's staring after George with a clenched jaw. You can tell he wants to take chase, like a dog triggered by the hunting instinct. "You didn't have to do that," you say, not bothering to hide your annoyance. "You keep this up, and we'll be barred entry anywhere we go. We have to keep a low profile. I had everything under control."

The Pirate exhales through his nose and finally deems to look at you. He watches you for a moment, his face impossible to read, but then, the hand on your hip suddenly pulls you even closer as his other hand flies to the back of your neck.

And you're tugged into his chest as his lips crash against yours. His kiss is hard and demanding and filled with teeth. "No woman of mine needs to beg," he snarls against your mouth. "I'll plunder a thousand shores before I'm forced to watch you do it again."

- - -

Neia, the Dawnseeker sits in a corner.

Her heels are squared on the hard, hay-covered ground, and her knees are far apart so she sits with her legs spread wide. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she all but ignores the tankard that was given to her by a skittish, trembling maid.

She isn't frowning, she simply has her resting face, but her scar pulls her lip upwards in an eternal snarl, and her gaze is hard to meet even on the rare occasions when she smiles. Or well, it may actually be harder to face when she smiles. You've seen Neia smile, and it's not what most would call a reassuring sight.

It's pretty, you think, but certainly not for everyone.

In any case, Neia, the former Dawnseeker sits far from the center of the enclosure, but even still, it's like she tilts the floor and draws attention to herself. Such is the strength of her presence — she can never be ignored. Part of you isn't sure she'd ever like to be.

But ignoring her is exactly what you're trying to do.

The young mare whines loudly and hits her hooves on the sand. The ring isn't too wide, in fact, you think it's not wide enough. The horse is nervous about your proximity, and you'd like to give her a little bit more space. "Calm down," you whisper, lifting your palms in the air. "Calm down, girl, I promise I—"

The mare whips her head to the left, and her long, white mane whips you square across the face. "Ow!" you let out, your right eye stinging with the blow.

You hear a low, dragged chuckle.

You turn your chin and see her then. Neia's lips tear in a smirk, her yellow eyes amused as she watches you.

You feel your blood start to boil. Asshole. You asked for her help since you haven't dealt with a nervous horse before, but Neia only gruffed. "Best way to learn is by trial," she had rasped in her gravelly voice and sat down on her little stool.

There are more eyes on you. The riding ring is at the center of a town hall of sorts, with a bar on the side and tables spread through the area. Overhead, wooden beams and rustic arches provide shade from the sun. Riders hang from the stable’s stalls, and patrons come to find entertainment at your expense after a day's work. But it's Neia's gaze that has the back of your neck burning and your hands clenching, and you'll be damned, but you'll show her.

Taking a deep breath, you get a hold of your emotions. You can't let them run wild, for you know the horse can sense them. "Hey," you begin, starting to circle the mare. "I promise I don't mean you any harm."

"How about a name?"

You turn, surprised, to see a woman jumping over the ring's fence. She's lithe and with quick feet, but her shirt has torn sleeves, and you can see the wry muscles on her arms. She's wearing high-waisted pants and long boots, and her long, ebony hair is tied in a braid that swings on her back with every step.

"They like that, you know? A name to be known by. They’re like us folk more than we think," the woman continues. She smiles at the mare as she draws near but then redirects that smile at you.

It fits her face. Her bronze skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat, and there's a smudge on her right cheek but, if anything, it adds to her carefree charm.

"A name?" you repeat.

The woman nods. "Yeah. Look, it won't hurt, uh? What's the worst that could happen?"

And maybe it's because you're so frustrated, but you decide to give it a try. "Fine," you say, turning to face the horse again. She's a beautiful animal. Tall, strong legs, a long mane, and two eyes that shine with intelligence. "... Flora."

It's a goddess name, one of the forbidden ones. But the woman doesn't have to know that. No one does.

The woman puts her hands on her waist. "Go on, then. Call her."

She seems to be used to giving orders, and while the fact would normally annoy you, you can't help but... find it charming. She doesn't do it to be superior, you can tell. This is just a part of her personality. So, you do as she says. "Hey, Flora," you call. "Do you like that? Do you like the name, Flora?"

Flora shuffles her hooves, but after a beat, she neighs softly.

"Heh, I reckon she does," the woman says. She glances at you, then, and gives you a wide smile. "I'm Josie, by the way. Saw you struggling a bit. You don't mind me helping, do ya? Got nothing else to do, really."

She extends a hand.

You see a flash of movement from the corner of your eye. Turning your chin to the side, you cross eyes with Neia. The yellow burns brighter than the midday sun, piercing straight into you. She's leaning on her chair with her elbows on her knees, and her head pushed forward. Her jaw clenches tight, and she seems to dwarf the room as, even seated, Neia grows with each second.

You can tell she's displeased, but you turn your head away to smile at Josie. "I don't mind at all," you say and clasp her hand.

With Josie's help, it doesn't take long for Flora to calm down. You manage to step close to her, and then, following Josie's pointed instructions, Flora lets you strap the saddle to her back. "Ah!" you cry in triumph when you secure the last bolt. You shake Josie by the shoulders. "I did it!"

Cheers erupt from the watching patrons, and a rider smacks his whip in the air. You have never felt more elated.

Josie laughs with gusto. "You sure did, lass. Now, go on, mount her." She takes your arm and spins you around, grabbing both sides of your waist.

You see another flash of movement from your periphery, but you don't care right now. Right now, you're high in the sky. Flora pounds her hooves anxiously, probably because of all the excitement, so you forcefully calm yourself down. Josie is a reassurance at your back as carefully, gradually, oh-so-slowly, you reach for the reins...

Neigh!!

Flora throws her head back, and Josie's hands tear from your waist. You spin around but are made speechless when you come face to face with Neia.

"Fuck out of here." Neia grabs Josie by the shoulder and roughly pushes her away from you. Josie stumbles, falling face-first on the sand. She springs up, and rounds back, her face contorted in anger, hands bawling, ready to—

She freezes.

Neia looms before her. The tall specter has her chin down, her lip twisted in a snarl and her broad shoulders cast a shadow over Josie.

Josie slowly closes her mouth. "I was just helping."

"Sure, you were," Neia growls, and jerks her chin to the exit. "I won't tell you to fuck off three times."

Josie looks at you, and falters... but then, she turns around and jumps out of the fence. You were so shocked, you just watched in stunned silence, but as Neia exhales, twisting her neck left and right, you feel the anger begin to build. "What the hell are you doing?" you demand, hissing up at her. "Neia, you—"

"Shut up," Neia commands, closing in on Flora. The horse whines as the specter approaches and tries to bolt away, but Neia snatches the reins near her mouth and pulls her head closer. Flora tries to fight, but Neia's grip is made of iron, and slowly, the horse is forced to touch her forehead with Neia.

Neia stares deep into Flora's eyes, her other hand making soothing circles on her cheek. A moment passes...

And, to your astonishment, Flora unwinds. Her breathing deepens, her body relaxes, and Neia smiles before letting go. "Good girl," she praises in as gentle a voice as she can. She looks at you, then. "You can ride her now."

"Did you hear me? What gives you the right to treat Josie like that?" you demand, crossing your arms and scowling hard at her. You won't let her see your amazement.

Neia pauses, head cocking to the side. "Josie?" She all but spits the name. "You know her name, uh?"

You scoff. "Of course, I do. She helped me, Neia, and she didn't deserve that."

Neia closes the distance between you. "Let's not talk about what she deserved," she says, slipping to your back. You turn to follow, but Neia grabs your waist, just like Josie did, but unlike Josie, she doesn't simply guide you.

Her strong fingers grip you tight, and the next thing you know, you're being lifted in the air. "Neia!" you shout as she hoists you on top of Flora's saddle.

"Grab the reins, sweetling," she rasps near your ear. Neia's so tall that she's almost at your height even while you're mounted. She puts a hand on your thigh, and her smile doesn't have a shred of reassurance, but you can't deny it.

It is beautiful.

“You’re going for a ride.”