arabella alaire. (corsaired) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-02 20:49:00 |
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The shadow Ancelot Alaire cast was long, but Arabella never minded being veiled by it. People gravitated around her father like satellites, drawn in by his wit, his charm, his passion. He was the corsair of corsairs, a sky pilot of international renown, a crack shot, a rakish womanizer, and a man who never hesitated to buy everyone in the bar a round. She was the teenage girl at his side doing her level best to emulate his behavior, with the identical dark curls and the dual pistols at her hip. She used to feel like she could never compare, never live up to the man she idolizes so much, but that all stopped when someone jokingly referred to her as his sidekick. No, no, never a sidekick. He tilted Bella’s chin up with calloused fingers, and his mouth spread into a proud grin. My daughter is my partner. There’s nothing worse than letting your partner down. The note had been folded and unfolded several times. The edges were worn. It had only been in Arabella’s possession for three days, but she had spent so much time reading and re-reading it and studying it and memorizing it that it now seemed months old. Her gaze bored holes into the small piece of parchment, examining it for clues like some real-life Septimus House. There was nothing distinguishable about the ink or paper, and she didn’t recognize the handwriting. Hope sparked in her chest against her better judgment. It was probably a bloody ruse, a set up. A joke. But she couldn’t say turn the opportunity down, could she? Not after so many dead ends. At nine, Arabella was pacing a figure eight in her bedroom. At ten, she was cleaning her pistols. At eleven, she was out the door, her usual jewelry and attire replaced by somber black. She had expected a stranger. The man who strode into The Blue Bear at 11:30pm and lazily sunk into the chair across from her was no stranger. Arabella pressed her mouth into a thin, angry line, and all of her usual decorum and airs were noticeably absent when she finally spoke. “What the hell is this, Raffe?” Raffe was a portly old drunk who’d briefly held the title of first mate under her father. Ancelot Alaire liked a drink every now and then, but he’d had little patience for those married to the bottle. He’d stayed on the crew for a few more years, steadily dropping the latter of importance before her father had him kicked off for good. “Little Bella,” he rasped, eyeing the dingy pint glass in front of her. “My, how’ve you grown. It’s always a pleasure.” Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s cut the bullshit and get down to business, shall we?” She pulled out the note and unfolded it, spreading it out on the table between them. “You sent me this. Tell me why.”’ Raffe glanced down at the note. “Seems pretty self-explanatory, doesn’t it? Got information for you. Comes at a cost. You’re gonna want to hear this.” Her throat tightened in a flash of anger so palpable the old man recoiled. “It comes at a cost.” Arabella tapped her nails against the side of her glass as she stared. “My father was always kind to you, wasn’t he? It was your penchant for liquor that was your undoing.” “I got nothing against Ancelot, even now,” Raffe explained. “But times are hard, Bella. I got information I know you’re gonna want to pay a lot of money for.” The old corsair paused mid-thought, as if he was hammering out exactly how to phrase his price. “What is it?” Raffe’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. “It’s an unusual request.” There was a beat. “You know Ianto Honeycutt?” “The Icarus? I know him,” Arabella replied cooly, arching a brow. “What’s your business with him?” The man leaned forward, scrubbing his hands across his face. “He’s got something that used to belong to me. Quite a few things, actually.” “You want me to get your, er, belongings back, then?” Ianto Honeycutt was talented with a sword, but The Icarus was no match for her ship, and he was no match for her. “That can be arranged.” “Oh, no. I want you to take him for everything. Ianto took advantage of me when I was, uh, in a bad way. I want the bastard humiliated.” Lifting her chin, Arabella folded her arms across her chest. “You want me to cut down a fellow corsair because he embarrassed you? Pathetic.” “Do you want to know where your father’s killer is or not?” “Or how about this: you give up the location so I don’t start shooting your extremities off,” she said darkly. “You’re welcome to try it,” Raffe said slowly, and Arabella was surprised by the force behind his words. Raffe had never been a bold sort, even before age and drink had eaten away at him. “I ain’t long for this world, and I want to see Ianto Honeycutt get his before Faram welcomes with me with open arms.” Arabella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I doubt that’ll happen, darling.” “Is that a yes?” “This information better be solid, Raffe, or so help me I will—” “Yeah, yeah.” Raffe finally reached over and picked up Bella’s drink. “I read you loud and clear. You ruin Ianto, you get your daddy’s killer.” Arabella’s cool gaze didn’t waver. “I will kill you, Raffe.” Her finger was already itching to pull the trigger. Two days later, the gossip trickled into the seedier taverns and pubs. Amused whispers were exchanged at the Docks and Aerodome alike: “Didja hear about Ianto and The Icarus? They say he got too close to the Sun.” “Crescent Moon Island?” she repeated, her voice tight. “S’what I said, isn’t it?” Raffe said distractedly, stubby fingers picking through his new chest of treasures. A low moan of content escaped from the back of his throat. “Faram help me, I haven’t seen this watch in years. Used to belong to my wife, back when we were—” Arabella cut him off by cracking her pistol across the man’s forehead. “Shit!” he yelped, dropping the watch to clutch his wound. Blood slipped between his fingers and dripped into the open chest, onto his prized belongings. “What in Faram’s name—” “You said you had bloody information, Raffe, but here you are giving me a children’s story. Crescent Moon Island’s not real, you ass, but the bullet I’m about to put into your brain is.” Raffe’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you, mad? Crescent Moon’s as real as you and me, Bella. I’ve been there.” Arabella threw her hands up in exasperation. “For Faram’s sake, the liquor’s addled your brain. It’s not real, you can’t have been there.” “I’ve been there, I swear on my wife’s grave. With your father. That’s where I got—” “I don’t want to hear this,” Arabella hissed. She vaguely realized she was trembling with anger, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not now. “My father told me all about it: Crescent Moon Island, a pirate haven for corsairs that need to lay low for, well, ever. A tropical heaven full of riches. Oh, and it doesn’t exist. I’m going to kill—” “Well, it’s really not that fantastical, all that’s bullshit. But you’re not going to kill me because I can give you coordinates.” Arabella’s eyebrows practically shot up to her hairline. “That’s very clever, Raffe. You send me off on a wild chocobo chase for an island that doesn’t exist while you flee the city.” But Raffe was busy rummaging through his chest again, swearing under his brother. “I have the fucking map, woman. I have the map, and I swear on both my wife and my mother that she’s there." There was a pause before he added, “And I fear her more than I fear you.” Arabella froze in place. A chill ran up her spine. “It was — her, you said?” Raffe pulled a rolled up map out of his chest and held it out, meeting Arabella’s eyes in a level gaze. “It’s all here,” he said quietly. “And… I’m honestly surprised Ancelot never told you about it. The truth.” The corsair felt like all the wind had been knocked out of her, and her hand fumbled for the edge of the desk, for something to hold onto, something to anchor her to reality. “I think he did.” As a little girl, you make your father tell you stories. You do not receive the traditional Emillion tales of girls and bears, or red-cloaked girls visiting their grandmother, or princesses waiting for kisses. You hear stories about swashbuckling pirates, and phantom ships that steal riches and people alike, only to disappear into dense fog. You hear about sirens and mermaids and sea creatures and monsters that conceal themselves in clouds. But your favorite story, the one you make him tell right when you know you know sleep is about to take you, is about the island haven for men and women like them. With perfect skies and seas, golden sand, and hidden treasures waiting to be unearthed. He kisses your forehead when you tell him you want to go there and he murmurs, one day. But I want to go now, you say, and he laughs and promises to take you when you’re older. You’re older now, but the magic is gone and so is your father. There’s nothing worse than letting your partner down, but when the Rising Sun sets off one crisp winter morning, Arabella is determined to make things right. |