with_my_teacup | (no subject)

(no subject)

[Public. Really]

[A bedraggled but unharmed friar greets whoever he can reach. His sackcloth habit is torn and some is wrapped over his head to shield his pale gray eyes from the sun.]

If God is willing, we'll need no funerals today. But the storm was rough and landing not easy-- is any man or woman injured or in need? It doesn't matter to me what ship bore you here.

And who is a physiker, to minister when my poorer skills fail?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Captain-- has anyone heard from the Captain? If there is approval from that quarter I will read the funeral rites for them. [Yes even if you burn them.]

Captain's busy. Likely rounding up the rest of the survivors now.

[Christopher raises his eyebrows expectantly]

Only you and me here, Papist.

[Another long silence. Dick is praying for guidance.]

God made the first man from the dust, and he will raise these poor souls up to him whole again from out of the ash.

And the wind can carry them out to sea in the meanwhile, rest in peace.

...I'll go get driftwood for the pyre.

I'll gather the dead and read the rites.

Don't hurt their souls, Papist. God's watching, he protects pirates same as anyone. Don't you cast them into Hell when my back's turned.

[But he gets up, starting to gather wood in a pile]

[Dick gathers the fallen, a body over each shoulder on every trip along the shoreline. Once they are laid out side by side he kneels over each of the sad remains to pray, a simple prayer for God to reach out for his lost children and guide them into His kingdom.]

-and in that Kingdom never know war or want. Amen.

[Sitting near the pyre is Christopher, striking a bit of flint against a rock near a smaller pile of wood]

Amen.

[The sparks alit; the small flame springs to life, and from that flame Chris sticks a bundle of driftwood, bringing it over to the pyre]

[Dick helps him consign his crewmates to the flame, and wipes the sweat from his head-- between the roaring fire and the sun even his hot blood starts to flag.]

I'm sorry for the loss of your friends.

They weren't my friends.

[Chris watches the flames pick up, backing away before he has to look at the melting flesh]

Your mates; your crew. I've known pirates a long time-- I understand that there is a compact between men and women aboard those vessels.

Don't go trying to understand pirates, Papist. I mean to say is that this was a new ship for me. I hadn't made friends yet.

[He smiles wryly.]

Richard Mutollah was no pirate but a mercenary, of Chillingsworth's crew. He had truck with pirates before you were born.

[Chillingsworth. Now there's a name that evokes madness, an evil woman, and an evil crew.]

[Chris' smirk fades and he turns to look at the priest next to him with anxious, worried concentration]

...You're not.

I swore to God I would never shed blood again, or harm another living soul even to save my own life. I am a sinner, Christopher, and the Dutch East India would see me hang for the cargoes stolen and the men killed, but I try to do God's work as best I understand it.

I am sorry that you lost your mates.

...It's...they're with God now.

But you're a holy man now. They wouldn't go and hang a holy man.

[A headshake.]

I took passage on the Rage because one of their bounty hunters had tracked me down. Johanssen still has one of my pistol balls in the meat of his back: we knew each other long ago. He will see me hanged if he can, and his masters care more for their purses than for holy orders.

I don't think I'll hang soon, though. I still remember how to disappear, and the places I'm needed most are places a gentleman like Johanssen likes least.

You'll hang here, if they catch up to us on this island before we've made headway into repairs.

If they can catch me. I hope I'm quick enough on my feet still that that's easier said than done.

Don't worry. It'll be as it was meant to.

And if it wasn't, God'll strike you down and trip you up, won't he, Friar?

God, I think, leaves us to our own devices. I am not such a great figure that he'd speed or snare my feet. If I can escape I will, and if not, I will die. All men do.

Surely you don't want to die young.

No. But I won't harm anyone or shirk my duty to save my skin.

I had thought half an hour ago you'd have been happy to see me in irons.

You irritate me, Papist.

But you're true pirate. That goes without question.

Protestant reprobate.

You won't want to hear, I think, that I feel we are all a family, all mankind, even the Navy. Even Johanssen.

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-fade to black?

Sounds good to me!