Aubrin Pykes thrashed in her twin bed, hands raking at a bare neck as if there was something around it. There had been something there once, as was visible by the thin red scar that wound around her neck. The linen covers had been thrown on to the floor in a crumpled pile, pillow stuffed up to the headboard. She was dreaming, as was evident by her closed eyes and manic behaviour. Her childlike body shuddered and quaked, covered with a light blue nightdress. It was one of the only articles of clothing Aubrin owned that was particularly feminine, her clothes being relatively multi-gendered. It wasn't that she didn't consider herself a girl, or strived to be a man, it was simply the way she projected herself. Her rounded face, much in the appearance of a young boy's, was contorted with pain, sweat developing at her brow. She struggled as if to escape something that wasn't really there, but fought with an unmatched ferocity to escape that nothingness<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">The man jerked the thick knotted rope, sending Aubrin's head snapping back. She smashed into a load of empty barrels against a wall, her fingers attempting to make even a sliver of space between the rope and her neck. Tears streamed from her eyes and she gulped back air desperately, too weak to shout or protest. Pricks of white began floating in her vision, like little bugs, zapping in and out of view. She scrabbled away from the wall on all fours like an animal, leashed cruelly as she was, and tried to reach for the rope to loosen it. It slipped from her fingers every time, as if her hands and it were on a different plane.<br/>"Get up!" the man roared, tugging the rope up and forcing her to stand. She choked, a small line of drool steadily making its way down her chin. She glanced around, desperate for anything that would help her escape her tormentor. Her sword was at her side, but he couldn't grab it, some force stopping her from doing the simple, oft practised actions. <span style="font-weight: bold">This wasn't how it happened,</span> a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She clung to it, ignoring the pain, <span style="font-weight: bold">this isn't real and I need to wake UP!</span> She forced her eyes wide open and slammed her head back in an attempt to escaped the nightmare. The man just leaned closer, laughing cruelly and stepping on her head. She sank into the cobblestones, fighting fo-</span><br/><br/>A pain erupted at the back of Aurin's head, causing her to wake up in a wide-eyed daze. The memories of the dream slipped away easily, emotions ebbing like a wave that had reached its crest and now retreated back into the sea. A small hand reached back to touch the spot of her head that had hit the headboard, her mouth forming to whisper several choice swear words. She realized she was cold; sitting up on her bed she grabbed the fallen sheets and wrapped them around herself, huffing at the memory of three nights before that flooded into her mind.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Idiot, you led that charge and almost died!</span>Fletcher didn't realize how close he had been to death; if Aubrin hadn't stopped that stray blade from skewering through him like a shish-kebob, his life would have ultimately ended. Instead he was simply wounded.<span style="font-style: italic">As he should be,</span>she thought, her toes touching the floor experimentally,<span style="font-style: italic">it serves him right to not listen to me!</span>The captain wasn't the only one to have sustained wounds, she herself having been shot in the shoulder. If it wasn't for the quick action and skill of Asrai, the medic, it was likely she could have bled to death. She placed her feet fully on the ground and winced at its coldness. She didn't like the cold, Neliel being her least favourite season because of this. It made her feel slow and brittle, seeping into her bones and giving her an unshakable tired feeling.<br/><br/>Walking swiftly over to the window Aubrin glanced out, giving a little nod of approval as she saw they were on course. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the endless ocean in deep hues of orange and gold and causing the distant city of Shoel to glitter in the coming light. She could picture the street where she had lived perfectly in her mind, its colour palette much less spectacular than this sunrise. The sun had shone on it only for a couple of hours a day, it being a crammed and dirty side street, where the garbage and unwanted children were swept out of sight. She held no attachment to her former home, but vague memories of her mother always filtered through her mind when she thought of the place. Her image of the woman was perhaps distorted, through time and having been a young, impressionable child at the time, but her visual image of her mother was a woman of grace and power, full of beauty that Aubrin had not inherited. She, perhaps, had inherited the will of a pirate from her, but it was never proven that her mother truly had been one, and her father was un-nameable.<br/><br/>Normally she didn't wake up this early in the morning, sleeping well past many other crew members, waking only when her assistant came to her door with breakfast in hand. She grinned slightly, excited at the prospect of docking. They had never put the ship to port to participate in the Festival of Light, and honestly she wasn't that interested in the festivities. All she wanted was more whiskey. Only one precious bottle remained in her liquor cabinet, and she intended to save it for as long as possible until she could get more.<br/>She turned to her wardrobe, selecting a green poet shirt to go underneath her vest and navy blue coat. The coat was large, the bottom just brushing the ground as Aubrin walked, making her seem even shorter than she already was. This wasn't a problem, as she had already established that she would kill anyone who dared to call her short or small. It was common courtesy to kill the rude people of the world, was it not? She slipped off her nightgown and donned her selected outfit, along with baggy black pants and a thick leather belt that held her prized possession, a Damascus steel rapier. It also held several fighting knives and a pistol, along with a pouch for carrying a flask of whiskey. Last she slipped on a pair of black lace-up shoes with a slight heel, adding less than a half-inch to her stunted height. She glanced over at herself in the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall and gave her reflection a winning smile, grabbing a ribbon off her cherry dresser and tying what little hair could be pulled back into a wispy ponytail. She let out a self-preparing sigh out her nose, exaggerating the movement of her rising and falling chest before walking out the door.<br/><br/>The hall was quiet, as to be expected at the relatively early hour. She predicted that she had woken before Althea, a feat not easily achieved. She walked down a corridor of rooms, turning left once, then twice. The stillness in the air calmed Aubrin's normally wily spirit. When alone, she didn't have quite the same vigour as she did around others, save when she was with Asrai. Thoughts of Asrai turned to thoughts of the graceful lady's brother, Azar. A lazy, idiot of a grown man that still acted like a child, giving love to whoever would take it. Perhaps a bit like herself in some aspects, though Aubrin would deny the suggestion immediately. One thing Aubrin couldn't deny about the Quartermaster was that he was quite fair of face... she turned a corner to the right, Walking straight down the hall to the last door, which was locked. She reached in to her pocket and grabbed out a brass key, which fit neatly in the keyhole. She gave it a twist and strode purposefully into her workspace. She had to do at least a small amount of work before even considering breakfast.<br/><br/>The room was well lit, with the appearance of a study, with one bay-style window facing the wall opposite the door. Most of the space was taken up by a massive dark oak table, the top engraved with what appeared to be a star map. The wall to the left was covered in black tubes, laid out much like a wine rack. Each tube was capped, a white label placed on it with various types, regions, and dates written on them. Aubrin glanced over the wall before finally selecting three tubes, popping off the caps of each one neatly and grabbing the contents within, which were, as to be expected of her position, coiled maps. She rolled them out on the table for a moment before being satisfied and wrapping them back up tightly. She placed them in one of her coat's many pockets and strode out of the study.<br/>Aubrin navigated the rooms and halls expertly, being one of the original members of the crew when it began. The ship was more a home than any other place had been to her, and her map-centric mind laid things out easily for her in her head so that she rarely got lost.<br/><br/>A flight of stairs later and Aubrin was in the mess hall. One of the biggest rooms of the ship, it was laid out like a military dining hall, with long tables that stretched from one wall of the room to the other. It could easily fit a hundred, though there was only fifty members of the crew. Only a few people were up, the group of early risers that Aubrin was normally not a part of. She walked over to the counter where food was served and gave a little cough before asking in an overly loud, husky voice, "hey Gibari, you back there?"<br/><br/>--<br/><br/>Klouví woke to a bucket of water to the face, a standard morning greeting for everyone's favourite prisoner on the Horizon. For the first few months he had fought and shouted when this happened, but after a while the pirates had broken him, in more ways than one. It hadn't been this crew that had injured his legs, but pirates in his mind were all the same. They would have easily slit his throat if they hadn't found a use for him, as their dog. He could easily change his name to mop and his life would be no different. No, better, as he accepted what he was. Dull eyes opened to gaze up at the dull ceiling, hands raising to press sopping black hair out of his face. He was disgusted by the length of it; a shaggy mess hat went an inch below his chin. It wasn't easy to get a hair cut, or buy clothes, or generally enjoy simple luxuries like that when you were a captive, the only escape being death by drowning.<br/>These dark thoughts consumed him as he turned lazily to the thrower of his watery alarm clock.<br/><br/>"What the hell is it?" He asked. A little fire still kindled within him, piercing the darkness of his otherwise blurred existence. He could barb his tongue at them, flare their tempers and watch in amusement as they yelled empty threats and puffed up their breasts to assert their supposed dominance over him. Only dangerous creatures or those who wish to escape were kept in cages, and Klouví was the two in one. He finished his jab with a new line he had thought up during the night, "do you need help tying your shoes? you poor thing!" He received a blow to the head for this remark. He faced the wall, skull throbbing from the pain. He took a deep, bored sigh before sitting up, using his arms to lift what his legs could no longer, and focusing his attention to the pirate who had so abruptly woken him.<br/><br/>It was one of the usual folks that used him as a tool, dragging him around the ship and forcing Klouví to do pointless tasks. Once, in the first month he had been brought aboard the ship, he had been told to fill a keg that had a hole in it with water. He was forced to do this for several hours, going from the top deck to the kitchen with a pail that he refilled and emptied uselessly into the ever-thirsty keg. Just as exhaustion began to cloud the corners of his vision, his arms on fire from dragging his limp lower half down corridors and up stairs, the captain of the ship, the Rat Bastard, had come to his aid, stopping the laughing men and punishing them. Believing that the captain was either just mad at his men for wasting water, or a ruse to make Klouví worship the man and follow in his thieving footsteps, he had spat on his boots and refused to show any sign of gratitude.<br/><br/>The man looked much like a beluga whale, with a large, domed forehead and blubbery body.<span style="font-style: italic">Comparing him to a beluga, whoever, is probably an insult to the beluga's intelligence,</span>Klouví mused as he slowly strapped on his walking canes. For the most part he didn't bother learning their names, instead comparing them to objects or animals and calling them as such. His canes attached, he stood up, arms no longer shaking with effort as they once did. His arms were strong and muscular from having to pick up slack from his legs, and from the physical exertion he endured doing all the jobs he was assigned. Musicians didn't exactly  He enjoyed some tasks over others, much preferring to work in the engine room than to do the worst of all tasks he was ever asked to do- clean the toilets. He grimaced at the thought, hoping it was not a job required of him today. He only half listened as Beluga-man barked at him to mop the mess hall, shoving the attachment piece for Klouví's crutch into his hand, and a bucket of soapy water. He had a variety of attachment pieces, all for different purposes, usually cleaning related. He didn't know who had built them, but they made his jobs much easier, as he didn't have to awkwardly hold on to his crutch while leaning forward to mop or grab something.<span style="font-style: italic">I might get a chance to eat breakfast,</span>he mused as he walked out of the bunk room and into the belly of the ship. He relied mostly on his crutches to walk, his legs often refusing to bend at the knee and only supporting a slight portion of his weight. The doctor of the ship, Asrai, had saved his legs, but couldn't heal them. She suggested to him that the cause behind his legs not working might be mental, not physical. This frustrated Klouví immensely. Did he not have control over his own body?<br/><br/>He walked into the mess hall, noting Aubrin Pykes standing near the place where food was served. He skirted around her, not in the mood to be swayed by her quick tongue. He limped over to the farthest corner of the hall and began mopping, pressing the rolls of fabric harshly into the soapy water. He put as much energy as possible in to these tasks to keep his mind and body sharp, if ever there was a chance he could leave this living hell. His thoughts turned to home as he began robotically repeating the same action over and over again, soaking the mop, wiping it across the floor, wringing it out, and repeat. His father wouldn't be searching for him, his shining star brothers already blinding his eyes to the black sheep that his youngest son was. His brothers had never liked him. His mother was dead. The only thing he had in his old life truly, was music and Alex. The thought of his close friend made his lips twitch upwards. Alex had probably gotten his degree already, and was working hard to get a job as an engineer. The only person who could handle Klouví's rampant personality and inspire him to love music again. His heart dropped when he realized he couldn't perfectly visualize his face, only a vague smudge of big lips, blonde hair, and bright, keen brown eyes. He flipped his focus to music. The harp piece for the recital he had been going to, he could remember every note. He began humming it idly, cradled by each rise and fall in tune. He faltered as he realized it was the first time he had sung since being a prisoner on the ship. Had he gotten so used to life here, that he could enjoy life normally again? That couldn't be true...<br/>He focused again on his work, jaw tight, eyes cold as flint.