Private Tales After the storm

[Lachlan Irwin]

Now Lachlan was grinning widely.

"Dawn. Dawn's Revenge does certainly have a ring to it!" He answered, following his friend to look down at the Arnim.

"She's going to curse my grave. Yours too. Sent her a letter before we headed off on this mission." His Nana would not be impressed, but soon will start to miss her grandson. At least he was making a name for himself other than charming every tourist that came to Vel Odren like his father.

"Oi! That sword by your feet! Place it with the decoy body that will be me. Should sell the story a bit better." He called out to one of the men down below. To Ivan, he showed his friend the twin sword he had picked back up after coming back on board after his dip in the water. "Irwin crest." A lighthouse above the cliff, etched into the pommel. "Fuck, Ivan. This may just kill her..." Worry tugged at his brows, furrowing them. She was the only family he truly cared about. None of the girls that clung to him at the Academy were worth any thought when it came to wondering how his grandmother would take the news of his supposed death.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "Now, that's a name." - He muttered, as much to himself, as to the initiate next to him. Secretly though, he counted his blessings for nanna Irwin's name being something that actually inspired respect, because he reckoned he wouldn't have had the heart to turn down Lachlan's name choice otherwise... and by Kress, sailing on something named the Henriette's Revenge sounded about as silly as it could get.

- "I think you overestimate how much she loves you." - He grinned. The feeling of having someone that actually cared for him waiting back home for his return was rather alien to him. He had seen it in others yes, those comrades back at the Academy that feared how the family and friends they'd left behind, would fare with them gone, but such sentimentality was - in all fairness - rather lost on him. - "In any case, you'll go back to her." - He clasped Lachie's shoulder. - "Though I guess how mad she'll be at you will depend on the manner of your return." -

Before them, the thugs had followed Lachlan's bidding and had, in the meantime, set the Arnim ablaze. Already the first columns of smoke could be seen rising from the lower decks.

- "Anyways," - He said, turning to the prow. - "then is then, and now is now; so let's enjoy the moment shall we?" - Another grin.

- "Pick a course Master Irwin, let's set sail." - ​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan stayed a moment to watch the smaller vessel take flame, watching his chance at taking it all back turn black in the smoke filling the minimizing dot upon the horizon. "Right, when I return." Now he shifted, facing Ivan as he leaned against the craftsmanship taken into the railing. "I suppose I can tell the Academy and all concerned 'Oopsies!' and call it a day." He rolled his shoulders, picking up the dry clothing he had found.

He crossed the distance to the captain's quarters, "I don't know, Skender... I barely remember where the fuck we are, but after I wash off the sea water and put on these pitiful clothes, then you and I can plot a course and determine our first destination."

The water was nothing like Vel Odren. There was less salt, less murkiness but he supposed the storm had not helped the currents. A lot of debris, dust, and earth would have found itself in the sea.

Eventide rolled by once Lachlan made an unappearance, looking scraggly in the larger clothing, but it seemed to work in his favour. His hair, pale and clean, fell into his face more than he'd like it to. Map in hand and a lantern in the other, he spilled it open and whistled to get Ivan's attention.

"Did you work out where we are?"

 

[Ivan Skender]

It had taken Ivan a surprisingly little amount of time after Lachlan had left to figure out where they were. Beyond his natural sense of direction, he also had Admiral Verceg - and his lessons during the trip to Malakath - to thank, as it'd taught him those few factors he had been missing on the high seas, that he'd relied upon while on dry land.

In any case, while Irwin had been busying himself with... whatever it was he had been doing, Ivan had immediately - and predictably - started getting absolutely hammered with the rest of the crew. Though the pirates hadn't had much gold on them, they sure had stocked up on rum.

As Lachlan returned onto deck, he'd find Ivan lazing about, sprawled over the flight of stairs that led up the stern castle, and drinking heartily with their new crew. He raised a brow as he heard Lachlan whistle from across the deck, reluctantly walking over to where his friend was. He poured over the map, pointing then to an unwashed piece of paper, representing the sea just to the south of the Cortosi Coast.

- "Here." - He said, then adding with a shrug: - "If we just sail west, southwest, or south we'll land somewhere." - Truth be told, he didn't have much of a clue about what there would be in those places, but that was a problem for later.​

​

For now, the rum flowed and the sun was setting, a perfect time to drink and celebrate the capture of their new ship. - "Tomorrow we can figure out to which island we sail first, but for now let's have some drinks, shall we?" - He offered Lachlan a half-full cup. - "Get to know the crew." - He clasped the other initiate's shoulder, leaning his head slightly. - "You better, actually, your life may depend on it at some point." -

He then changed his mind, retracted the cup, and handed Lachie a full bottle of rum.​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

"My life may depend on it?" It brought a smile on Lachlan's face. The notion of befriending someone put him at unease. Girls had no problem flocking to him, giving him company to the point he knew that any girl worth pursuing was not the girl for him. He had once tried to decipher if Orchid tried to befriend him once, but the lad had been asking advice to befriend someone else.

It was fortunate for him that Ivan was charismatic enough to rope Lachlan in as if they were old friends, instead of newly acquainted strangers. The time spent traveling to the port had established their friendship, but the time at sea cemented just how trusting they were of each other. Equals, a world to convince that one day, each of them will be known for their greatness.

"Well, I would hate to leave you alone in this world." He grinned, accepting the bottle of rum and taking a hearty swig. Lachie made a face, when wine and whatever cheap ale he was able to get his hands on had been the only taste of alcohol he had experienced. His Nana chastised him back home, pushing Lachlan to not end up down the road his father took. She had always said she wanted to pass the family business down to someone worthy, not a waste of resource and unconditional love.

Lachlan wandered to the others, the crew gathered and sharing stories. He was quiet upon his approach, happy to listen to them talk, but their interests soon turned to the boys. Initiates, of Vel Anir no less, would have had an interesting life learning to become weapons for the Republic to deploy. They questioned him, before one of them piped up louder than the rest.

"You ever watched someone die from that whip of yours, boy?"

To even consider whether or not he would answer that question needed a long drink of the rum in his hands. The bottle sloshed as Lachlan dropped it to his knee, head hanging slightly as he wracked his brains. It was there, at the edges of his mind, pushed aside after a younger Lachlan realised how awful it was to witness it.

How was answering this going to make them all friends?

"Yes..." Lachlan's grip over the neck of the bottle of rum tightened, exhilaterated and fearful that he had admitted it. "I was eight. My cousin used to drag me along to see the rich folk come to Vel Odren on the boats, try and swindle some money. Hat tricks, card tricks... hell, we even learned how to touch fire without getting burned. One lord was entertained and tickled by our performance, inviting us to do exactly that at one of his poker nights."

Lachlan didn't want to say it, didn't want to remember it, but for his cousin's sake, he had to keep his story alive somehow.

"One of the guests was drunk. Way too fucking drunk, and it affected his game. He was losing, bad, and a good few hours into the night had the idea that each time he lost, he would take turns striking me. My cousin... he was older than me, able to fight back if he wanted to. Stood in my place, insisted on it. So the man ruined each round for himself, laughed about it, boasted how he was going to hurt my cousin." Fuck.This was definitely not a way to make friends with the men that fought alongside them against the pirates.

Lachlan shuffled in his seat atop a barrel, lifting his hazel eyes to look at each of the faces looking to him. Some looked as if they knew what would happen, where this story was headed. As if it were common where they had hailed from, but none had told him to shut up. Lachie took in a shaky breath, not needing to turn and see where Skender stood as he could feel those icy eyes on him.

"He was beaten to bad, I began to try and interfere. The lord told his butler to lock me in a room, and for hours, I listened to my cousin scream and cry. When dawn came, it was fucking silent in that house. I... don't remember going home, but I remember I got home without my cousin. They sent his body by noon, and my Nana told me to come with her. The man was to leave Vel Odren so soon, probably to get away from scandal. But Nana found him, brought the fucker down in an alleyway with the help of some of the men that work for her. She took my hands, put them on either side of the man's face and told me to get angry. It was easy to be blind, to get so upset I... yeah, that awakened my magic." And Lachlan left it at that.

"Dawn's Revenge." The crew member murmured after a moment. His boot stomped on the deck, a tribute to Lachie's Nana.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Though he might not have expected it, Lachlan would be able to observe as the entire crew mimicked his gesture, their boots all hitting the deck in unison, the clamouring of hard leather on wood enough to thunder well past the Dawn's Revenge.

As those last echoes died down, complete and utter silence followed; sepulchral, and deafening at the same time.

- "And how did you feel afterwards?" - The blonde broke the silence. Should Lachlan stare back at Ivan though, he'd find the friendly, sly demeanour gone, fully erased from his face. In its place was... well, it would not be clear to anyone what that expression was. It was impenetrable, mysterious, inscrutable.

There was no comradery on Ivan's features, but neither was there hostility, or disdain.​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan sat up straighter when he saw the impassive expression his friend wore, but the question had been asked, and the others had ceased their tribute in stomping boots to listen keenly for the Stinger's answer.

"I was eight. I felt higher than the gods." And his grandmother, her crew, made him believe it. He felt like an Odren secret, being hidden away when the Dreadlords came to test him for magic. Money also had a hand in keeping him away from them, and his family had such quiet wealth. The whole crew did.

Would these men and Ivan think of him differently if they came to learn his name would be on the small but bustling casino when his grandmother passed?

"I was... fifteen when an Archon was holidaying and saw me using magic. My grandmother said it was up to me, now that I was old enough to make decisions. I chose the Academy." Because he wanted a taste of life that took him away from the sea, the island... "I felt like god again making that decision."

 

[Ivan Skender]

Spoiler: Trigger Warning

This posts contains distressing situations some readers might find disturbing. If you're easily impressed, please do not read further.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was one of sly understanding.

- "So you want power," - He said, taking his cup to his lips. - "and the freedom to use it." - As far as he was concerned, Ivan saw the two as complementary, rather than separate desires. What was power, after all, if one did not have the freedom to use it? He had always heard others call the arbitrary abuse of might as "tyranny", though, alas, he had never been able to bring himself to see why. Maybe it was due to his situation - having been raised as an initiate, a living weapon of power and destruction, and yet with his puissance always at the whims of others - that rendered having the freedom over how he used his power nothing more than a distant fantasy, but having a say over how to use his might, to have his fate truly in his own hands, now that was something he felt as an overwhelmingly intoxicating prospect.

He could've shared these musings - inebriated as he was by this point - however it would seem as though the crew had other plans.

- "What about you, Skender?" - He heard a voice ring out somewhere, its tone halfway between playful challenge and genuine curiosity. - "What's your sad story? Who was your first?" -

He snorted.

- "My sad story?" - He repeated, as though he was thoughtfully pondering the question. - "My sad story is the same as every other one at the Academy." - He snorted again, and shook his head.

Not many knew about that tale. It was not something he discussed; indeed, it was not something he liked talking about. Even in spite of the amoral, cold, emotionless demeanour he carried himself with, that episode of his life was something even Ivan himself preferred to keep buried. Livia Quinnick had caught a glimpse of the story, back in Tel Arran in that dark room in the silk merchant's abode, but not even she knew the full story.

- "I should've been around that same age when it happened." - He pointed with his chin to Lachlan. Eight or nine years old seemed about right, by his reckoning. - "Though it starts a bit earlier than that.” - He leaned his head, seemingly attempting to recall every little detail of that buried tale he was about to spew onto the others. - “I joined the Academy when I was about four years old.” - He said, his gaze fixed in some distant point in the darkness, focusing on nothing in particular. - "I was just an orphan. I didn’t have any family, any protectors, nor any skills, really. I was a sitting duck in the most lethal place in Aniria… But at least I wasn't alone.” - He set down his empty cup, and instead took out a full bottle of rum. He took a hearty gulp, as though the memory had triggered a painful reckoning of some sort within his mind.

- "There was this one kid.” - He started again, his eyes shifting once more to some nondescript spot in the darkness. - "He arrived the same day I did, from some shithole near Arnim. We were the same age, and so we ended up sharing a bunk bed.” - A faint smile flashed through his features, but soon died down. - "We became really good friends, really quickly. We watched each other's backs, against both our classmates and the proctors, we got into all sorts of shit together,” - He shook his head, furrowing his brow slightly at how silly all of it sounded now. - "and we even had the same life goals.” - He threw his head back, now overtly reminiscing at how ludicrous it all sounded to him now. - "To graduate into House Urahil, the house of the knights of means, and to live dashingly and courageously in the service of Vel Anir.” - He made a little flourish with his hand, making the dreams of his younger self sound even more of a sickly mirage.

- "Yeah, we were pretty alike, however we were not the same. He, for one, still had a family, and one night - after we'd gotten beaten up much harder than usual - he tried to leave the Academy and go back to them.” - He steeled his voice, trying to hide from the others just how painful it was for him to talk about it still.

- "Of course he didn't get far, and soon enough he was dragged back, screaming and kicking.” - His gaze shifted, sweeping through the rest of the crew before coming to rest on those opposite him. - "You see, the Academy doesn't deal well with desertions, so the first thing the Proctor in-charge that night did, was to wake up the entire class so that we would witness what happened to a traitor.” - He inhaled deeply.

- "First, he had us beat him up… violently. I refused.” - He tightened his grip on the bottle's neck. The next part was always hard, no matter how long it had been. - "And so this fucking Proctor just hands me a knife and then says that for every step the deserter took away from the grounds, I was to take a cut off his skin… and that if I refused again, then he would be the one to do it instead.” -

He leaned back, tossing his head backwards, as he came to stare blankly at the night sky.

- “And so I did it. It was for compassion, you see. Because if I was the one to carry the punishment out, then I could save my friend from most suffering that fiend of a Proctor would inflict on him. ” -

He snorted again.

- “Turns out I should've stayed still. The Proctor would never have let anything too serious happen to this kid. Initiates tried to run from the Academy all the time. That is no reason, in and of itself, to mangle or murder a promising pupil. But me? I was young and inexperienced. I didn't know what I was doing, and so, in my compassionate drive to save my friend, I ended up cutting too deep, and drawing too much blood.” -

He turned to face the crew yet again.

- "I killed him. I stood there, as those last shreds of life escaped his body, and as that last light dimmed in his eyes. I still remember his expression: pain, fear and betrayal. He didn’t want to die, he had not expected to die that night, and certainly not by my hand.” -

He then took the bottle to his lips, and chugged the entire thing in one go. Though, through his words, it was rather easy to see he was in pain, the suffering did not seem to take hold of his features. His face remained as serene, as impassable as it had been before, even as he drained the very last drop out of the rum bottle.

- "What I did was as good a lesson for the class as the punishment of a deserter would've been. It taught us that compassion is not a virtue, but a flaw; a weakness. Friendship should never stand in the way of you performing your duty for Vel Anir, lest you ended up like Ivan Skender: broken over the corpse of a traitor.” -

He leaned back again, admiring the stars with an empty glimmer in his eyes.

- "That night the Proctor took me out for drinks. My very first time. He told me forgiveness lay at the end of those bottles. I puked my insides out three times before I realised what he meant. That there was no possible forgiveness for what I'd done, there was no escaping the pain. The best you could do was to dull it until you forgot what ailed you so." -

And that was how the Academy broke them. By aiming at their weak spots, and bashing them in until there was nothing left but a broken shell behind.

- "The next week he dragged me to Arnim with the corpse, and made me break the news of my friend’s death to his family in person.” -​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan watched Ivan as he told a story that was familiar but told in other ways on different tongues. The fact some of the girls that graced his bed nonchalantly spoke of their own horrors of the Academy back in it's heydays often left him not in the mood, but they were quick to show him other things they learned.

He did not move from his half perch on the barrel, but lifted the bottle his friend had given him earlier. "To the friends and family we lost on the way." On the way to fulfill the wishes of others. His Nana wanted him to feel power, and so he did. Nana wanted Lachlan to become the threat to stop their opponents from damaging their business, and so he became the threat. Perhaps he could learn to empathise with the Initiates that were at the Academy from the age of children...

"I've never told anyone but you lot about my first kill." It was surprisingly easy to tell, perhaps the idea of revealing to the prisoners that had himself and Ivan cornered hours ago seemed silly enough to tell them of the deaths they had missed by allying with them. Was that how a crew was made? "Even lied to many girls that asked the question." He chuckled dryly, shaking his head before staring out to the horizon and the disappearing sun. That pirate captain would be dead once the last light fell beneath the furthest reaches of the sea.

Someone to his left guffawed, clapping him on the back. "I bet you have many girls crawling into your beds, the both of you! Fuck me, and you're only boys! The fuck they feed you at that Academy?"

Lachlan shrugged, a sly smile curving his mouth. "Bloodlust."

 

[Ivan Skender]

"To the friends and family we lost on the way."​

- "And to the freedom we've picked up instead!" - He echoed, picking up yet another rum-filled bottle, and raising it in a toast. A loud cheer rose from the crew at the words of the two boys.

- "So take a deep breath, men." - He restarted shortly afterwards, his words ringing eloquently, at least for his inebriated mind. - "For tonight, on this deck, we have freedom,  true freedom." - Ivan shook his head, as he glanced at the members of their rag-tag crew. From the way they looked, the blonde reckoned a few of them would have their fair share of interesting stories to tell. - "And so long as we have each other, and this ship, there is nothing anyone can do to us. Not Vel Anir, not the fucking Academy, nor even your Nana! We are free men, for this night, and all the nights to come!" - Another cheer, this one louder than the one before. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the newness of their situation, or the victory they had just scored, but all of them seemed to be in high spirits, and for his part, Ivan knew fully well how camaraderie within a team was fundamental to the success of an enterprise. If they were to thrive in this endeavour, they would need to act as one; they would have to trust each other.

It was then reassuring when he heard Lachlan mention how this had been the first time he'd told someone else about his first kill... though this wholesome feeling of trust soon gave way to sly smugness as the crew suddenly started discussing the initiates'... other achievements. The comment on bloodlust did bring a smirk to his face.

- "Well, that and trauma." - He added, his brow raised over a smug expression. - "Turns out, even brutalised killing machines need a coping mechanism. That tends to make it easier." -

In a rather nonchalant movement, he then lifted his shirt, revealing his incredibly well-toned six-pack for all to see. Even when sitting down, the shape was clear-cut and defined.

- "Of course that these also help." -

Lachlan Irwin ​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan let out a chuckle and shook his head as Ivan lifted his shirt, showing off what years of training at the Academy rewarded him with. Bottle to his lips, he was still smiling as he looked to the rest of the crew, waving off Ivan's chiseled abs. "Fucking wanker." Lachlan didn't have the same physique, but was fit enough.

"I looked like you when I was a boy." One of the older crew mates piped up, standing up so all could see. Lachlan could see it, past the poor health and hygiene was the aged looks of someone that once could have been a good looking guy. "I was in the Guard, and we rotated between barracks. Got me plenty of girls, but after a few years... shit gets old. We are human, we will always want something more. I wanted more money, and got into the black market. Used to have a hand in poaching animals in the Savannah... didn't get caught until recently."

"S'all right Harry. You only got a brother to worry about you... got a wife and daughter at home that want nuffin' to do with me!"

Lachlan looked between the two men, noting the similar clothing they wore, and the large tattoos done in the same style. "You two worked together then? Poachers?"

The one called Harry looked at the young boy and gave a deep sigh, as if there were some regrets there. "Aye. Bad deal gone wrong, and we were caught. We were angry... up until those pirates came looming over us. I thought to myself, 'I don't wanna kill these boys.'" Harry now approached Lachlan, placing a hand at his shoulder. "You got lives still to live, y'know? Still boys..."

The other crew members watched, and even the youngest seemed to be in agreement with Old Harry. "If you ever get stuck in life, and need an answer on what to do... find someone, a nice girl, and settle down. There are plenty of years to fuck around, but when life gets old and your bones are weary, that family will be there for you. Don't listen to Bael over there. His wife will forgive him after a while."

Lachlan looked over to Ivan, as if to say 'this guy is losing his marbles' without moving his lips. "Marry a girl? Tsk, I want to see the world first before I sell my soul to one girl." He laughed, knowing that every girl he had spoken to wanted to stay in Vel Anir and serve. "Ivan is made for the sea. Ever seen a girl want to be on a ship for months on end?"

Some of the crew members laughed, but Old Harry shook his head at Lachlan. "Be it on your own head, boy. One day, you're gonna curse my name for being right."

"And I shall name my child after you, if you are indeed right." He grinned.

 

[Ivan Skender]

His eyebrows rose over a playfully amused expression as he looked at his initiate comrade with a face that said:

"I know, right?"

He shook his head.

- "Yeah, yeah. All of you love-stricken lot only say that because you've never met a Skender." - He took the bottle to his lips, and drained a touch more of the rum within before facing the crew once again, a sly look on his face. - "If you had, trust me, you wouldn't be going around praising the virtues of familial love." -

Indeed, his family's track record was enough to throw into question just about everything old Harry had said. With a history of common fratricide, filicide, patricide and many, many other types of kin slaying, the Skender clan had never quite regarded its own flesh and blood as beyond harm, and indeed, some of the House's greatest leaders had ascended to power, not through common means of dynastic inheritance, but rather by a well-placed knife on the back of a sibling.

Alas, though Ivan knew he had a good point, he would not get the chance to press his argument further as someone else cut him off.

- "The Skender, hey?" - A voice rang out from some obscure corner of the deck. Ivan's gaze darted frantically through the crew members as it sought to locate the origin of the voice until, finally, it landed on the agent of the comment. Seemingly in his mid-thirties, the man had a rather mundane look to him, truth be told. He had scruffy brown hair, a slender build, which verged on scrawny, and a very plain face that one could be forgiven for forgetting a mere few minutes after meeting for the first time. In short, he was the kind of individual that never seemed to draw any attention to himself, no matter how hard he tried.

- "Ah! I knew it!" - The man declared cryptically for the whole crew to hear. - "I knew I had recognized those ice-grey eyes, and that piss-yellow hair from somewhere." -

The rest of the crew seemed to be about as puzzled as the blonde, though the initiate did a far better job at dissimulating it.

- "Just what are you talking about, Admir?" - Old Harry asked, shaking his head at the sudden outburst of the usually quiet member of their little group.

The man named Admir remained silent for a moment, keeping his cryptic façade, and his hazel-brown gaze fixed on the initiate. Ivan, on his side, stared unflinchingly right back at the man in a standoff that lasted until the former criminal finally seemed to remember he was surrounded by people who really were having trouble understanding just what he was going on about.

- "That is him." - He said at last. - "He's all grown up now, but that's him, the kid I told you about that one time." - Admir motioned with his chin from Harry to Ivan, which seemed to awaken in the old poacher a vague memory of what his comrade was talking about. - "Is he now?" - Old Harry asked, before sitting down once more, his tone confusingly between that of a genuine question, and a rhetorical one.

- "Aye, sure of it." - Admir replied, shifting his gaze back to the blonde. - "That's him, the Margrave." - Now that did manage to catch his interest. Ivan shifted in his seat, his expression one of piqued curiosity. Admir, on his side, looked around at the crew, staying silent for a moment more, as he realised he owed the rest of them an explanation as well.

- "I grew up in the shadow of Valdorren." - He said at last. - "The old seat of House Skender." - He then motioned with his chin to Ivan once more. - "His House." -

Admir then walked further into the little circle the crew had coalesced into.

- "I served under his mother, Alisa, until the day she died." - In childbirth, Ivan completed mentally, his birth. He wondered if the man harboured any resentment towards him for that fact, but if he did so, then he hid it extremely well. - "And after that," - The brown-haired convicted continued, this time more for Ivan, than for anyone else. - "I left along with everyone else when they locked the fortress and spirited you off to Vel Anir." - Admir took a deep breath, then turned back to face the crew, as it unfurled all around him.

- "Kress, he was a loud one, he was." - He then boasted flamboyantly, triggering a round of muffled chuckles as the crew seemed to be caught entirely by surprise with his change of tone. - "He whined and wailed non-stop, all the way to Vel Luin." -

Even Ivan drew a smile at that. The ebbing and flowing of Admir's tone, combined with the story, and the mystery, had utterly captivated him... though maybe the rum had had something to do with it also.

- "But after that," - Admir restarted once more, to deliver that final leg of the journey's story. - "I never saw him again. Thought he'd ended up dead in some ditch somewhere." - He walked over to the blonde and clasped his shoulder. - "Glad I was wrong. Good to see you still alive, kid." - ​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan had been curious of the origins of his friend, only knowing enough from what he had gleaned in his short time at the Academy. Some Proctors poked fun at his circumstance, some called him a shit. Initiates had plenty to say about him, often lamenting that Ivan was a well known skirt chaser.

None of that came to his mind when he fought alongside Ivan today.

"Nah, he will never die. No matter how tough it will be, Ivan will always come out on top. In ten years time, I bet we will convene like this once again and hear more of his tales. After all, a legend never dies." Lachlan grinned, holding up his half empty bottle in salute.

"Here's to unlikely friends and even better chances on the seas."

---

Perhaps he should be glad he didn't wake with an unruly hangover, but he could not say he was steady on his feet rolling out from the hammock he had claimed. It perhaps was some of his greatest few hours of sleep before sunlight pored from the cracks and stirred him. "Fuck." He paused, steadied himself, and then continued to go up on deck. The sun bore down on him, and already some of the crew were at work.

"Morning." He called out, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Go rouse the Captain. Let him know we are inbound to port within the hour." Someone, he couldn't see who against the sun, called out.

Right. He nodded, turning for the Captain's Quarters where he swore Skender crawled into the night before. Lachlan banged on the door, "Oi. Skender. Rise and shine, pretty boy."