The Salty Air We Breath(Erit and Eva)

[Erit of Eastcris]

The man's blood ran cold, as it always did when a real fight was coming on. "For what it's worth, Jyade; if I could go back in time, I'd 'ave done whatever it took to save ye. Leavin' ye like that... Was me gravest sin." He gave himself the luxury of one long, slow blink alongside a final sigh of resignation, before he pulled out both his pistol and sword, diving into the melee with a rumbling roar and a series of thrusts at his opponent's sword-arm, the sunlight flashing along the well-oiled steel with each stroke. His gunmetal-grey eyes were wide open, but he no longer saw the woman who was more than entitled to execute him; all he saw was an obstacle that needed to be butchered if he wanted to do what he was meant to do.

 

[EvaRose]

She met his thrusts with that sword too, never raising her pistol to aim at him because she wanted to cut him down with her sword. Her movements were swift and fluid like those of a dancers, feet moving only when needed and her never moving a step too close or too far away either. But she was angry. She was made because he called her by that name, made her think about the life she left behind and hated so very much. Gale was too furious to swing when needed or in the right direction. She aimed for legs when she should've gone for chest. The more things she did wrong the more enraged she got until it was only her moving back more and more and more. That fire never left her eyes either, even when the sword was knocked out of her hand and clattered to the floor.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

Hawke only just stopped before he made for a killing blow, sliding backwards a good three yards. A capable swordswoman, but she let her heat get in the way, and to that he owed his life. "Aye, perhaps y'are indeed a witch. Else ye would've struck me down once I drew me flintlock. Alas," He sheathed his sword and holstered the pistol, turning to leave, "men like me are forced to live with our crosses, not die by them." He waved backwards as he walked, calling back "That fire in yer eyes... Much as I may hate to admit, but it's quite the look for ye." A sad truth. At least he'd decided on the next destination. He remembered Port Royal being pleasant enough this time of year, but ultimately he just wanted out of Haiti.

 

[EvaRose]

The one thing he could've done and he did not...he didn't kill her. She couldn't live with that one memory. All the hands that had touched her, all the men who filled her had been enough but there was a single memory that haunted her more than any other. "Filthy man hasn't been killed yet," she muttered as she picked up her sword. She wanted to but couldn't shoot him in the back, couldn't do the thing that he did to her without a single bullet piercing her skin. The woman wasn't satisfied of course. She wouldn't be pleased until one of them were dying at the hands of the other. There would be no pursuing that day though, instead she went back to her crew and led them to her ship. August found his way into her cabin that night and she received him with only thoughts of deceit on her mind and not a bit of love for him in her heart. He fell for her though and hard, listened to her story and just like her he grew angry though she made sure to leave out a few details of course. What he didn't need to know, she didn't tell him.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

And just like that, Hawke was gone; he went to the docks, boarded his ship, gave terse instructions to the skipper on where they were headed to next, and retired to his quarters. He rumbled a sigh as he saw that everything was there, including one thing in particular that he wished he didn't need to keep. The rusted old iron collar that had once marked him as a slave in the East lay on the table, taunting him with the memory of hot iron brands and bloodstained flogs. Nonetheless, Hawke sat down and turned the old metal band over and over in the hands that had smashed it's lock to pieces on the same day he, Anneth and the rest had pilfered the Inferna from the harbor...

It is early evening in the first day of the new year; their master has not yet called them out to perform, but they all know he will soon enough, and the iron-eyed man with no name will surely win again. He must, for to lose is to be killed, and to be killed is to leave her at their mercy. His shoulders still ache from the work he was made to do that morning, and his back is still bloody from the whipping they had given him after he broke another slave's neck for striking the woman he had promised to watch over. But he will fight, and crush his opponent once again, because he must. But tonight, his opponent was not a slave; rather, it was the lock at his throat. He had spent many long nights feeling at the lock, his powerful fingers tracing it's every groove and catch, and now it becomes worthwhile, for in front of the eyes of all the slaves he reaches up and, with a simple jerking twist, makes himself free. They stare, some in awe at their new hero, others in horror at the man who is trying to throw away the only life any of them have ever known. But slowly, all stand with him, and he makes each free in turn...

He shook himself violently, throwing the ghastly memento into the open chest near him as he stood. He did not need those memories, did not want them and wished he could lose them. Hawke left, returning to the deck and leaning over the railing to gaze out over the horizon. There was still something he needed to do, before he could claim peace with that particular demon. And he needed to find them before Jyade got her wish, which was why he took the gamble of Port Royal, guarded as it was by the Navy. Sometimes you needed to roll the dice to win at all.

 

[EvaRose]

She stuck the dagger in fast and with a steady hand. Her lips formed words that he understood but the sentences they formed made him confused. He started to wonder like she did, saying that word over and over again in his head as he thought about her past. Gale knew what she had done to him, that he would do what he could so that she would be happy again. Even she wasn't sure how she might feel when she saw that man lying dead, but still yearned for it nonetheless. He was tricked into thinking that everything would be good after that man was killed, as she said to herself in her mind. She promised him that they could retire together and live the rest of their days in each others arms, and he loved that thought. It was the thing he thought of when she cut his arm and drew blood, performing a ritual that she truly learned from witches. The blood of the only person who loved her was used and a promise that one shall go down to Davy Jones once she found her target was all it took.

For days she did not play her flute, she was up before everyone but her mind was foggy. She could not look ahead no matter how hard she tried to because of the way the wind was taking her. Flags were down, no black one or white one was raised because she knew they would be traveling past naval ships. After her first run in with the navy, she wanted nothing to do with them. She was plotting even then though, as August looked at her and her dog tried to speak toher. Everything she did was repetitive. She woke up, washed up, cooked, stood and stared blankly into the ocean until sundown, cooked, and then fell asleep. The orders were all given by August, and even he couldn't get her to speak. It was as though she were a ghost of her old self, nothing but a shell that would tip over if a strong wind blew. That made her lover all the more furious, and when nobody was around to see he whispered promises that he would take down Hawke himself.

The clipper cut through the sea like a sword would butter, moving fast and the wind pushed the sails, it seemed as though the sea were truly on their side. The sky was dark by the time she saw the port, rain beating steadily down onto the wood. It was only a drizzle then, but the clouds were getting darker still. And finally, when her first mate suggested they lay anchor she finally opened her mouth to speak. "I do not think that wise, August. The sea is on our side and if we stop, it might be angered. Continue on." She looked at him them, truly looked at him for the first time in days. His left arm was bandaged from wrist to elbow, it wasn't the one he fought with at least. She made sure not to cut his good arm.