Nobody Likes Fairytale Pirates (8 page)

“Yeah.”  She assured him.  “It… it
just sucks being blind sometimes, that’s all.”

The words were out of her mouth
before she’d had a chance to rethink them, and she instantly wished she could
somehow magically call them back.

Uriah stiffened again, like she’d
hit him.  He took a step back, his tone one of utter shame.  “I’m sorry.”  He
got out, his voice tight.

She mentally swore at herself.

He blamed himself.  She knew he
did.  She didn’t know w
hy,
but he’d
always
blamed himself for
what had happened to her.

She
hated
talking about it. 
She was always afraid if she talked about it too much, it might somehow make it
real
or open up old wounds she didn’t remember receiving in the first
place.  Her memory didn’t pick up until right after that and she wasn’t really
interested in filling in the blanks.

She didn’t know the full story. 
She didn’t
want
to know the full story.  She was perfectly happy
not
knowing
the full story.

But no matter what had happened--
and she could make fairly educated guesses using the scars which had been left
and her partner’s descriptions of the event-- she was
positive
it wasn’t
his fault.

Even if it somehow
had
been
his actual fault though, and he had either literally given her the scars
himself or deliberately let it happen, she still wouldn’t be holding a grudge
at this point.  He’d done more than enough for her over the years to make up
for it.

But it hadn’t been his fault.  She
didn’t remember it, but she just knew.  In fact, her entire life was quite literally
based on that belief.

He’d fought... but he’d been
beaten.  And it was eating him up.

When he got like this though, it always
made her feel like there was s
omething
she could say to him to make him
feel better, but she had no idea what.  What could she possibly tell him?  How
could she convince someone so smart that he was being so dumb?

And no matter how many times she
heard it, she would just never get used to hearing that tone in the man’s voice. 
He sounded defeated and ashamed.  And it always made her want to cry.  Just sob
against his chest and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

But she didn’t.  Because if she did
that, she might remember too… 

Because that would only make him
pity her more…

And because she was reasonably sure
if she started crying against his chest, she’d never stop.

She tried to clear the tightness in
her own throat.  “I… I didn’t mean it to sound like…”  She began, hoping to say
something which would
finally
convince the man to simply let the matter
drop once and for all.  “I… I didn’t mean it to sound like…”

As usual, Uriah instead chose to
quickly change the subject, preserving the painful awkwardness of the situation
so that he could pull it out at a later date to further torture them both.  “I
have our food.”  He announced, as if that news would be greeted with applause
from her.  He pulled away from her and Ransom was left with the empty feeling
she always got whenever she wasn’t touching him.  He retreated several steps
and retrieved the food from where he had placed it before the fight.

It was sometimes lonely being
blind.  She imagined that for the people who were born with the condition, it
must be easier.  But Ransom occasionally had a strange uneasy feeling about it,
even though she couldn’t actually remember seeing.  It was like her
body
remembered what it was to still have her vision, even if her eyes and brain
didn’t.

It always seemed new and unfamiliar
somehow.

She set about searching for her
chair, stooping slightly and feeling around for it on the floor.  “I got it.” 
She warned him before he could move to help her.

“I know you do.”  He assured her. 
“If I didn’t interfere in your little squabble with those charming lumberjack
chaps, I’m
certainly
not going to interfere now.” 

“You
did
interfere.”  She
reminded him.

“Oh, just
barely.”
He
snorted in dismissal.  “That shouldn’t even count at all.  You had them on the
run, all I did was arrive once the battle was over.”  His voice brightened, as
if just thinking of something.  “In fact, as soon as you locate your missing
chair, perhaps we should ask your friends to join us?”  

She snorted in laughter and put her
chair back in place.  “I think you scared them off.”

“Story of my life, I’m afraid.”  Uriah
placed her meal down in front of her.  “Your ‘meat,’” he stressed the word as
if he thought the term was used dubiously in this instance, “is at the top of
your plate and your potatoes are at the bottom.”  He placed a cup down on the
table near her hand, so she could feel it.  “Here is your ale.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to
eat
, ‘Rai.”

“Frankly, I’m just trying to use
you as a litmus test to see if this
is
in fact edible.”  He moved his
fork around on his own plate, producing a sort of squishing “goosh” sound.  “At
the moment, I have serious doubts.”  He took on a disgusted tone.  “Can you
believe they don’t offer
any
form of dessert here?”

“Savages.”  She deadpanned.

“Not that I was exactly anxious to
test their pastries, given this bistro’s culinary track record, but it’s the
principle of the thing.”

“The world is so tough for the man
with principles.”  She agreed, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

“It is indeed.”  He moved his glass
off the table, apparently holding it up in toast.  “The merry and short life,
chasing blood and treasure.”

“Blood and Treasure.”  She repeated
with a nod.

“The Black Flag Forever.  May we
always get what we
want
and not what we
deserve
.”

She gulped down a swallow of her
ale.  “
Especially
you.”

“Especially me.”  He intoned
solemnly.  “May the gods of the Grizzwood take mercy on my poor tainted soul if
I’m ever cursed with what I
deserve
.”

“The Grizzwood has gods, now?”  She
asked in feigned amazement.  “Since when?”

“There are gods.”  He paused.  “They’re
just…”

“Evil.”  She supplied for him.

“Yes.”  He agreed immediately.  “I
was searching for something more politic, but yes.  They aren’t the merciful
and benevolent gods that the other kingdoms are used to, no.  They are the gods
of men who have no use for the meddling of the gods.  They are the gods of men
looking to explain why the world is so shitty and their lives so hard.”  He was
silent for a moment, his voice sounding a thousand miles away.  “They are the gods
of men who have no hope of better things.”

“So,” she took a bite of her salty
meat slush, “how many first born sons do you have to sacrifice in order to get
some favors from them, then?  Because I’m sick of waiting and I’ll take any
help I can get.”

“What a remarkably discriminatory
statement for you to make about my homeland and its noble religion.”  He
started chewing his own meal, his meat somehow producing a crunching sound
despite its near liquid state.  “I am shocked and appalled.”  He paused for
comedic effect.  “I think one first born or two thereafter is pretty standard.”

She snickered. 

“Are you Captain Uriah?”  Someone
asked suddenly.  “The… ‘Ocean’s Shame’?”

Ransom hadn’t heard the man
approach and jolted slightly to find the stranger so close.

She
hated
crowds.  Out in
the open, she could do just fine.  She could hear people moving around and
talking from a surprising distance.  But in a crowd, it all became white noise
and the things she listened for to tell her information about someone were
lost.

She hated crowds and she hated the
unfamiliar.

“My name is Din.”  Their visitor
informed them.  “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Nonsense!”  Uriah cried, rising to
his feet, his voice filled with his typical enthusiasm.  “Why, Ransom and I
were just enjoying the dubious and mysterious gastronomic offerings of this
delightfully
rustic groggery.”

“Oh.”  Din said after a moment.

Ransom tried not to make a face. 
It was obvious that their new client had no idea what any of that meant.  And
given Uriah’s tendency to use the most obscure but precise vocabulary words he
could think of, that promised to make communicating with this guy a tiresome
experience.

Uriah evidently came to the same
conclusion and cleared his throat.  “In any case, yes, I am
the
Uriah.” 
He paused for a moment to let that exciting news sink in.

Din didn’t seem as impressed as
Uriah thought he should be though.  “Yes, I think you said that.”

Uriah’s tone darkened slightly,
evident only to her because she spent so much time with the man.  “And that’s
Ransom.”  He added sourly, obviously tiring of their client before he had even
hired them.

There was silence from their guest
and Ransom knew exactly why.  It was the silence which always followed when
someone saw her face and silently debated with themselves whether or not they
could ask about the scars.

In this case, Uriah apparently
wasn’t willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt, and headed off the
question before it got awkward for her.  “Yes, lots of pirates wear an eyepatch
on one eye and I’m afraid my partner got a bit carried away, Mister Din.” 

“I’m an overachiever.”  She
deadpanned.

The humor was lost on the client,
but Uriah chortled in delight.  “That you are, Dove.  That you are.  But as my
dear mother always used to say: ‘if something is worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.’”

“And what does she do?”  Din asked
Uriah.

“My mother?”  Uriah asked, his tone
one of mock seriousness.  “Why give birth to
legends
, obviously.”

“No… the girl.”  Din corrected. 
“She looks familiar…”

For some reason, people always
talked
around
her, like being blind meant that she would be unable to
have a normal conversation with them or something.  Luckily, she didn’t really
want to talk to them either, and 90% of the things she’d say in reply would be
to Uriah anyway
,
so it worked out.

“My associate represents the…” 
Uriah stopped what would undoubtedly be an overly-complicated explanation, obviously
recognizing that their client didn’t seem to be the brightest of people and
deciding to simplify it.  “She’s the brains.”

“He’s the pretty face.”  Ransom
pointed at Uriah.

“Best looking man in the world.” 
Uriah agreed teasingly.  “I don’t like to brag, but my mother always taught me
not to lie.”

“Wise woman.”  Ransom nodded.

“Well,” Uriah sighed as if having
given the matter a considerable amount of thought, “she obviously passed that
on as well, but I didn’t want to mention my remarkable intellect yet. 
Sometimes it puts people off when I spend the first minutes of our relationship
just telling them how handsome and talented I am.”

“As if they couldn’t tell
immediately.”  She deadpanned.

Uriah chuckled.

“Ah.”  Din intoned, sounding lost. 
“Are… are you sure about her?”  The man whispered, apparently forgetting that
she was blind and not deaf.  “Those people flaunt the law every chance they get.”

He probably meant ‘flout.’

But Uriah being Uriah, he didn’t
even pretend to understand what the man had been trying to say.

“They do indeed.”  Uriah’s voice
was completely innocent.  “Ostentatiously displaying it all over their island. 
Whores.”

Din sounded confused.  “Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, if you’re sure she’s one of
the good ones, I guess I can trust her.”  Din focused on the matter at hand. 
“How long has she been like that?”

Uriah didn’t bother responding.

Din cleared his throat.  “Does she
have to like… feel my face or something?”

Why the fuck would she want to feel
this guy’s face?  Why did people always ask her that?

“Why do people always ask you
that?”  Uriah wondered aloud to her, turning in his seat towards her. 
“Honestly, I’ve never understood it.  Is there some aspect or ability to this
handicap which you simply don’t have, yet all other blind people do?”  His voice
took on a teasing tone.  “Have I just been working with a
defective
blind
person all this time?”

She smiled at him.  “And yet
somehow you struggle through.”

“Tenacity too.”  Uriah agreed.  “I
usually wait until at least hour two or three of a relationship before telling
people I’ve got that in spades as well.”

“Well, isn’t that what she needs to
do or whatever?”  Din continued, uninhibited by good sense or common courtesy,
and stubbornly insisting on being an idiot.

Ransom pushed her mug off the
table.  The action was part of a non-verbal code she and her partner used
sometimes.  In this case, the action meant something like: “Hey, can we just
kill him?  I vote to kill him.”

If Uriah reacted to the broken cup,
he gave no audible indication. “Do
you
need to feel
my
face?”  He
asked the man seriously, obviously on the verge of losing his temper.  “Would
that help you to determine anything about me?”

Silence, which Ransom interpreted
as the other man shaking his head.

“Then why pray tell would
she
need to feel
yours
?”  Uriah turned in his chair towards her again.  “Dove,
do you want to touch this guy?”

“Nope.”

“Nope.”  Uriah repeated to the man,
as if communicating her judgement.  “I’m sure you can find someone else in this
establishment who would simply
leap
at any opportunity to fondle a
stranger though.”  He tapped the table with his finger.  “But before you embark
upon that effort at making your quixotic fantasy a reality, perhaps we can get
down to business.”