Chapter Text
Bleeding sores. Losing teeth. Anemia. Slower healing. Pain in the bones.
Scurvy is a disease caused by a severe deficiency of vitamin C, which is commonly found in fruits like lemons, limes, and oranges. Sure, it could be found in small bits in nearly every fruit or vegetable, but it's always been most abundant in citrus. Citrus is sour, and its rinds are tough, but it clearly loved the sea enough to demand a place on every sailing ship. As a result of limited access to fresh food, ships of all loyalties and levels were stocked to the brim with lemon juice if they were ever to be sailing for over a month. Despite the sour flavour, a sailor would be expected to eat a lemon whole, rind and all, if they showed symptoms of scurvy.
Oluwande Boodhari, despite never having properly sailed, had always thought that oranges would have been a better option. They were sweeter, and easier to peel.
Oluwande was a practical guy. He was moral, he was level-headed, and he was self-aware. So self-aware, in fact, that despite currently living on an island literally named The Republic of Pirates, he had yet to ever join a pirate crew. A life like that, he knew, where he would always be expected to commit any old act of violence on demand, was not a life that he was well suited to. He could hold his own sure enough, but he didn’t much like the idea of going down in a blaze of glory or taking anybody else down with him. He’d much rather live a peaceful life, but seeing as that wasn’t really an option in his current living situation, he was fine enough to settle for operating beneath the underbelly of the law at a more controlled scale. So, instead of pillaging and plundering, he found himself working morning shifts at Spanish Jackie’s bar.
Morning shifts at The Republic of Pirates were always slow. Well, as slow as they could get. You didn’t live long in these parts if you couldn’t hold your liquor, but that didn’t mean any pirate in their right mind would show themselves in public with the god of all hangovers at the crack of dawn. So, Oluwande would start most mornings greeting one of Jackie’s husbands at the back door, and then set up the bar for opening before sweeping loose teeth and fingers off the floor.
It was a careful balance, honestly, since Jackie liked her bar to maintain a look of dirty violence, but realistically couldn’t leave bodily fluids to crust up the tables unless they were the ones she was serving. She also liked to collect the teeth to use as garnish in some of the “drinks” she sold. Olu also had to work around the occasional body that Jackie hadn't disposed of from the night before, but whether it was a corpse or a drunk, he didn’t usually have the stomach to check.
All in all, it wasn’t the worst job he had ever worked. The pay was abysmal and workplace safety was all but taboo, but drunkards weren’t exactly known for their iron grips on their coin purses, so it wasn’t uncommon for Olu to find loose change, or entire bags of coins, kicked into a corner or fallen under a chair. It was enough for him to afford to pay for what he needed to survive, and to maintain the nice little shack he called a home that sat down by the beach. It helped that most of the pirates coming by knew he had Jackie’s protection, since he was one of her few employees that she also considered something of a friend.
Or at least, something other than an enemy or a nuisance.
But most didn’t mean all, and knew didn’t mean feared. So, one day when he found himself at the pointy end of a knife on his way home from work, he was a bit at a loss for words.
“I said, I told you, I said- Gimme whatever money you’se got on ya!” It wasn’t a man Olu recognized, but judging by the smell of stale alcohol and rot on his breath, he frequented one of the many bars other than Spanish Jackie’s that the Republic had to offer. The many, many bars.
“Slow down, man! I can’t exactly reach my coin purse when I’m pinned against a wall! How about we both take a step back?” Oluwande was already reaching for the knife he kept on his waist and regretting every choice he had ever made. It had been months since he had had to stab somebody, and to be completely honest, he was not a fan of it.
“I’m no idiot, boy!” Slurred the man, “Coin, now, or y’ur dead where yuh stand!”
“C’mon, don’t be-” before he could even finish his sentence, the grip that the man had on his shoulder was loosening and falling away. If he had been naïve, Olu would’ve thought the man was backing off, but he had lived in the Republic long enough to expect the knife now sticking out of the man's neck.
What he didn’t expect, though, was that the knife appeared to have been thrown from nearly 15 feet away.
He froze when the drunk man's boy hit the ground with a final grunt, unsure whether the newcomer was a rescuer or a kill stealer. He watched as the figure that had thrown the knife moved closer, skinny frame hidden by a long and baggy coat and face shadowed underneath a wide-brimmed hat. He griped the knife at his side, but didn’t draw it. He really, really, really, didn’t enjoy violence.
The figure ignored him at first and paused beside the drunk, now bleeding out, man. They poked him with the end of their foot before crouching down and shuffling through the man’s pockets. With the figure thoroughly distracted, Oluwande decided to take the gift at face value and escape while he could.
He started shifting down the wall, carefully keeping his back pressed against the wet wood of the weapons shop he had been pinned to in an effort to stay unnoticed. It didn’t work. It really didn’t work, since another knife matching the one in the drunk man’s throat was now lodged in the wood next to Oluwande’s head.
“Not yet,” said the figure, pulling their knife from the corpse and standing up. They lifted their head slightly, revealing just enough of themselves to give Olu a glimpse at their clean-shaven face. Actually, it didn’t look clean shaven, it looked-
His train of thought was cut off when the figure pulled the knife out the wall and held it Oluwande’s throat. A kill stealer, then. As if his day hadn’t been stressful enough.
“I just need some information. If you give it to me, I won’t hurt you. ¿Entiendes?”
Oluwande nodded, eyes wide, and the knife lowered.
“Do you know anything about the Siete Gallos?” Oh, thank God, he had no idea what they were talking about.
“I don’t! Uh, sorry, but, I really don’t.” The knife was back at his neck.
“Are you sure about that?” The figure was nearly growling at him now, and Oluwande was trying not to get hysterical.
“Yeah, uh, pretty sure. Certain, actually. I’ve never heard of that before in my life.” The figure assessed him for minute, likely trying to tell if he was lying. Olu tried to communicate that he wasn’t stupid enough to lie about something that didn’t affect him when he had a knife to his throat, but wasn’t sure if his wide eyes and tense jaw really communicated anything other than pants-shitting panic. Thankfully, after the longest minute of his life, the knife lowered again.
“Alright,” said the figure, lifting their head and finally tearing their accusatory glare away from Oluwande’s eyes, “I’ll believe you.”
Olu took a moment to process the person in front of him. They looked young and somewhat feminine, but they carried themselves like the most hardened men Oluwande had passed at the bar. Their dark brown eyes matched the colour of the scraggly long hair falling out of the messy braid at the back of their hat. They had a long face, high cheekbones, and a large nose. They were the most intimidating person Oluwande had ever seen, and he couldn’t look away.
While he got control over his open staring, the figure stepped back and turned to leave.
“If you hear anything, find me at Old Blades Beds, ask for Bonifacia Jiménez,” they turned and waved a goodbye, not looking back, before hesitating a moment, “Oh, and, for your troubles,” they tossed back a small bag of coins that Olu had watched them pull off the drunk man. He fumbled it for a moment before securing his grip, and only then processed what they had just said.
“Woah, woah, wait a minute!” He called as they walked away, “you said Old Blades Beds? I think their bed bugs have bed bugs. Plus, that’s one of the most dangerous hostels in the Republic! Not that you can’t defend yourself or anything, because clearly you can, but, uh, there’s definitely better places to stay. Even renting a room over one the bars or staying in a brothel overnight is safer than Old Blades.”
The person, Bonifacia, stopped in their tracks. They turned towards Olu with one eyebrow raised judgementally, and Olu felt his cheeks heat up slightly.
“It’s not any of your business, but it's the best I can afford. I can handle myself, so it doesn't matter.” They turned to walk away again, but Oluwande found that, for whatever reason, he couldn’t let this go.
“It does matter, probably, since I’m pretty sure you’re new to the Republic so you’re likely going to start like ten fights before sundown since you don’t know the culture or who to avoid.”
“I can handle fighting ten men,” their voice remained neutral, but there was a glint of annoyance in their eyes.
“I didn't say you couldn’t! Just, that, uh, you probably wouldn’t want to,” he was flailing for a way to keep talking to this stranger, he knew, but an idea popped into his head. “Look, you probably just saved my life or something, right? So how about as repayment I let you stay with me for a few days while you find your footing in town?”
They paused and looked at Oluwande with a deadpan expression. Only when they blinked at him scornfully did the underlying potential of his words catch up to him.
“No! Uh, no, not like that. Just to repay you for helping me out, and to save you from those bed bugs. But even if it was like that, which it isn’t, you already know you can kick my ass.”
Bonifacia raised their chin, looked Oluwande up and down, and tilted their head to the side before pursing their lips. They turned their head back down and closed their eyes with a quiet “fuck”, before meeting his eyes again.
“Fine. For your peace of mind, I guess. If you try anything, I’ll cut your throat out.” And with that, they turned and walked back in the direction Oluwande had originally been headed.
“Right, yeah, okay... Alright,” he said, more to himself than anything, “Lead the way, even though you don’t know where my house is.”
He jogged slightly to catch up with them, ignoring the analytical glace that Bonifacia sent him. He pointed in the direction towards the beach, and together they made their way back to Oluwande’s shack. He only had the one bed, but he didn’t mind sleeping with a blanket on the floor if it was only for a night. What he did mind was the slowly increasing likelihood that he was going to be stabbed to death in his sleep. But, well, even if Oluwande was a practical guy, something about Bonifacia Jiménez made him feel entirely too flustered to do anything but hope they didn’t kill him.
Oluwande’s shack was, in all fairness, fairly nice. For a shack on the Republic of Pirates, that is. It had two windows, no holes in the roof, and the inside was split into two separate rooms for the bedroom and the everything-else-room. He certainly wasn’t so rich as to have an indoor bathroom or anything, but he had a nice little stove and was close enough to a mostly not toxic well, so even bathing wasn’t too much of a chore. Bonifacia seemed to agree that the shack was livable enough, since after looking it over once, they dropped their small bag by the door with a nod.
“Have you got anything to eat around here? I’ll pay you back.” They fumbled in their bag to pull out another small coin purse, which was most likely their own this time.
“Er, no, not really. I was going to go haggle for some food at the docks after work. It’s the only place you can get semi-fresh stuff that hasn’t been, like, dipped in urine or filled with... stuff,” Bonifacia pinched their eyebrows at him as he talked, but didn’t say anything, “We can go get some now, if you want.”
“What I want,” they began, “is to find some information on the Siete Gallos... and maybe get a nap.”
“A nap! Sure, yeah, you can take the bed while I go get some food?”
“You’re going to leave a stranger alone in your house? On purpose?” There was that judgemental look again.
“Well, I haven’t really got much for you to steal, now, have I? And you don’t really seem like the type for arson, so, what’s the risk?” There was a lot of risk. He didn’t want knife marks in his walls. But he was already here, and they were already hanging their hat from the bed post.
“If you say so, stranger.”
Oluwande watched them lay down, tucking their arms behind their head without removing their coat or boots, before a thought hit him.
“Oh yeah, uh, I forgot to mention, my names Oluwande. Nice to meet you.”
They just hummed in acknowledgment, not even opening their eyes. He looked at them for a moment, waiting for them to say something, before realizing that the conversation was over. He glanced at the door, back to the stranger sleeping in his bed, and back to the door before taking a step backwards and taking his leave to buy some food. Probably with the coin Bonifacia had taken off the man.
“Okay, well, um, I’ll just... go then. Sleep well, I guess?”
He closed the door as silently as he could, which was very considering it was more wood-on-hinges than a proper door. Only allowing himself a moment to question his decision, raising both of his hands in an exasperated and tense arc, he made his way back up the beach. Really, he had made a few dumb choices to find himself where he was now, but he was fond of that shack and hoped he wouldn’t have to find a new place to live any time soon. If he was lucky, Bonifacia would do as they said they would and just sleep the whole time he was gone.
The docks were actually a good ways away from his shack. He had done that on purpose, since every pirate that was coming and going came through the docks, and to live too close would be like dangling fresh meat in front of a rabid dog. It was always a chaotic scene around here, but he had grown used to it. It made him a little uncomfortable to admit it, but it wasn’t really that hard to tune out the screams of dying men after your first couple visits, and he was better than ever at dodging armed and lunging maniacs. As he made his way to one of the ships that usually carried fruit, he only had to side-step three fistfights, which was a record if he’s ever seen one.
The Siren’s Howl was a monster of ship, in that it was large, disgusting, and looked like it was barely staying afloat. It’s captain, Kwame “Goldeye” Asare, wasn’t exactly known for being lenient with his prices, but Oluwande had yet to find another boat with good bread or non-rotting fruit. Walking up to the ship and waving at one of the crew members, Olu braced himself for an intense twenty or so minutes of haggling. Usually, the chef would be the one to talk with him, and would only bring the captain in for permission once a price was decided, but for some reason, Captain Asare was already walking down the gangplank.
“Oluwande Boodhari, as I live and breath, man! A rumor was passing by that our dear Jackie had gotten tired of you! Almost thought we’d lost our best costumer.”
“Not yet, Sir, and hopefully not for a while,” Olu’s grin was small and stiff, but not entirely forced. He didn’t much like or respect pirates, but Goldeye had been chummy enough the few times they’ve talked to let Olu get somewhat comfortable.
“Ay, yeah, I should hope so. I’d also like to think if you’d ever found yourself dissatisfied enough on the Republic to go and do something as dumb as piss off Jackie, you’d come to me for a job before risking life and limb like that!” The captain laughed, hearty and loud, before slapping Oluwande on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “Enough of that, though. Up, up the ship! Let’s get you whatever you came for. One day I’ll bribe my way through that good sense of yours.”
“I definitely won’t stop you from trying, but don’t get your hopes up.”
They made their way back up to deck of the ship, past crew member unloading rotten food to sell to the bars or swinging swords wildly at passersby, who were also swinging swords wildly. Oluwande recognized a few of them, but Goldeye’s crew changed as often as any other pirate crew did, which was to say a few people died and were replaced every month. The one’s who had survived since Olu’s last visit either ignored him or nodded in brief acknowledgement, which was honestly ideal since he didn’t much want to talk to any of them. He waved to the chef that he usually haggled with, though. The man was odd, but decent enough conversation, and had been on the ship for as long Oluwande had been visiting.
“So, what’ll be this time, boy? Shuck told me last time you got, what? Oranges, bananas, some berries? And bread, of course. Can’t get bread like ours at an establishment like Jackie’s, eh?” The captain went on as he pulled the lids off of some barrels brought up by two scrawny looking men, “Barely any rotten ones in this batch, you see? These are some good bananas too, high quality.”
The haggling lasted longer than Olu had hoped, but only slightly longer than he had expected. After a half hour of bartering and polite argument- well, as polite as arguments get with a professional pirate captain- Olu found himself walking away with four loaves of bread, and a bag filled with a short multitude of fruits. Fruits had been a luxury earlier in the year, but with warmer weather on the rise, they were in more abundance so long as one looked in the right places.
“I notice your buying more than usual here, lad. You finally growing a healthy appetite? Or have you got someone waiting at home?” Goldeye wagged a greying eyebrow suggestively, causing Olu to blush slightly.
“No, uh, no. Just for me.”
“Bah, you’ll have to tell me something about yourself someday. I don’t plan on dying ‘til I can boast one piece of knowledge on our good mystery costumer. You’d tell me if you were eating for two, ey? I’d never seen you clothless, and you never know who might be hiding what. Would need the time to prepare a few good backup plans to get you on this ship. Some of my crew get superstitious, the morons.”
Oluwande laughed despite himself.
“No, not with child. I’d need a lot more equipment than what I've got for that to happen. And trust me, the minute I’m responsible for someone's life, the last place you’d find me is the Republic of Pirates.”
“Wise for that, you are,” Goldeye rested a hand on Olu’s shoulder as they approached the gangplank again, “and your absolutely certain I can’t get you on this ship? It’s rare to find someone so level-headed this far from mainland, I’d hate to lose the chance.”
“Not today, captain,” Olu replied stiffly, “life on the sea’s just not for me. I’m comfortable with my land legs.”
“C’mon, Oluwande. I know you know the basics of sailing, and you know I know just how old I’m getting. We don’t retire in this line of work. I’m little more than a ticking clock that speaks, at this point. Well, speaks and stabs.”
“Oh, of course, can’t forget the stabbing,” Olu muttered, “I appreciate the offer, captain, I really do. And I know it’s limited. I just... I haven’t quite figured myself out here yet, and I need more time.”
Goldeye’s face softened slightly, and he removed his hand from Oluwande’s shoulder with a sharp nod. They made their way down the gangplank, once again dodging past sword fights and rushing crew members.
“I get it. You remind me of a son I used to have. He was stubbornly dedicated to that moral compass of his, but I could never quiet place why,” the captain sighed, “and how many times have I told you to at least call me Asare? You’ve been visiting this ship for months now, which is longer than some of my own crew has lasted. I’m owed some familiarity.”
Oluwande gave the man an understanding smile as he stepped off onto the dock.
“Good luck with the rest of your wares, Asare. Hopefully, you don’t lose more crew before we have the chance to meet again,” but as he turned to walk away, Oluwande was hit with an idea.
“Wait, before I leave,” he asked, “ do you know anything about a gang called the Siete Gallos?”