Chapter Text
Chip brushes his tears away and keeps walking, ignoring the splitting pain in his legs.
His fingers are trembling, so he crosses his arms and tries to hide his hands away. Behind him, he can feel Jay watch him leave. Her stare burns into his back as he sidles across the gangplank and lands with a thud on the docks of Liquidus.
This time, there’s no nevermind that or oh well. There’s just the twisted, cramping ache in his stomach and the grief in his chest. It’s like a physical hurt, a rolling nausea everywhere in his body, stretching from his ears to his toes. A sickness born of emotions, not any common cold. It’s not new to him, but he’s more used to paralysing fear than… this. Whatever this is.
He’s hurting inside, and gods, he wishes it was in lovely ways, but instead… instead his body feels rotten. Ugly inside and out.
Chip knows, deep in his heart and his bones, that he wasn’t ever really worthy.
Of his best friends, of the Riptide Pirates, of the chance Arlin gave him when he was just another starving little kid. He isn’t worth anything. And he really, really misses Gillion. He misses when destiny was something he could finally believe in. He misses when he felt like he could help, protect, save the people he cared about. Because this time Chip truly knows they’re better off without him. Every time he screws up, he’s reminded of it. The barrel of gunpowder, the pranks that make him cringe thinking about their consequences, the deal with the Baron, Ollie and the compass, Reuben Price, Rebecca, Gillion and the cards, the fucking limonade stand… gods. And yet, every time, he still manages to trick himself into thinking that it isn’t all his fault. Every fucking time.
Well, not this time. This time, he’s going to remove the stain on the Riptide Pirates that is Chip.
Gods, he wasn’t even supposed to be born. That’s… that’s the real reason that it hurts so bad every time Gillion and Jay tease him; the only title he’s ever carried his whole life has been bastard. Because, well, it’s true. He’s a bastard, a true bastard, and it was absurd to think he could’ve ever shaken the word off his shoulders. It was absurd to think Chip could’ve been anything more than that thieving street urchin that a kindly pirate took in and showed the world to. Jay was right about the name, and he wears it like a brand on his forehead.
His skin feels too small. It’s stretched thin over his body, and the tattoos on his arms and chest are prickling. His lungs hurt, like they’ve been holding in a breath for half an hour and not two seconds. Like his body’s been on pause for a while. Maybe it has.
“It’s your destiny-”
Chip snaps his head around and stares, open-mouthed with more hope and excitement in his chest than there should be. There, in front of him, stands… a tall elven man with long coiled brown hair and dark grey eyes.
“-to save big with Arremore’s Armoury!” He’s waving his arounds around wildly. Chip’s face falls. Dumbass. Dumbass. Why would Gill be- no, why could Chip ever possibly fucking think that it would be that easy? How could it ever- he shakes his head and keeps walking. And walking.
Until the streets of Liquidus fade away into grey, and Chip can barely remember who he was in the first place.
If he cries, if he sobs like a little boy, well. That’s between him and whatever gods are taking entertainment in watching him suffer.
He finds an alleyway and sits down on a box in the corner. The pain in his legs is getting worse, so he pulls out Arlin’s coin from his pocket and flips it. Heads. It sails through the air with that crisp high-pitched ringing noise that Chip knows all too well.
Tails.
Shit.
Chip settles back against the grimy wall behind him and waits. For what, he’s not sure. Time to pass? His body to rot into the ground? Himself to stop being such a shitty excuse for a person? Gillion to magically return in a puff of pink smoke? Arlin to magically return in a puff of pink smoke? Anyone to care that he’s gone? Anyone to care, period?
Anyone. Literally anyone, please.
Just don’t remind me I’m nothing.
There is no sudden saving grace. Chip keeps breathing. No one appears in a puff of pink smoke. No one calls his name from the main street. No one stops to look into the alley except a young girl who Chip doesn’t recognise. She's about 13, probably homeless by the dirt on her clothes and face, and she grimaces and scuttles away as soon as she sees Chip. Chip would too if he were in her position, but something about her seems... shifty.
Whatever. It’s none of his business.
Chip closes his eyes and tries to imagine Gillion’s face. Teal skin, seaweed green hair, blue fins, sleeveless turtleneck, black armour. He tries to imagine Gillion’s voice saying that he’s proud of Chip. It doesn’t really work. Honestly, it just makes Chip sadder, because he can’t remember the colour of Gill’s eyes. Grey? Blue? Green? Purple? Yellow? He can remember Jay’s face perfectly, of course. He saw her only an hour ago. For some reason, though, it’s even harder to picture her saying she’s proud of him. He can barely hear Jay calling him by his actual name and not an insult, let alone saying it with a cheerful connotation.
He’s done. He’s fucking done. He’ll stick around long enough to finally hug Gillion again and give Ollie his stolen childhood back, and then he’ll be gone. He can disappear, and no Navy girl or fish boy will ever have to worry or care about him ever again.
Chip is done.
…
“There you are, traitor.”
Chip looks up tiredly, his back aching from the awkward hunched position he’s leaning against the wall in. There’s someone else here. In his hand, Arlin’s coin is slick with sweat. His eyes squint, focus. Braided dark blue hair, long black leather jacket, fingerless gloves, a shit-eating grin, scars(gods, so many scars). A fist coming at his face-
There’s a sickening crunch, and Chip crumples forwards onto the ground with a cry, stunned. From the pain alone, he’ll take a wild guess and say his nose is… broken. Shit.
He cranes his neck to look up and almost whimpers, because a single gleaming eye is watching him. Tracking him. There’s a vicious rage behind that eye, a loathing that Chip could never imagine feeling for another person. It stings, to feel that directed at him. As much as he’d love to say otherwise, Chip is a people-pleaser, and he hates being hated. Disdain, contempt, jealousy, he can take. Hatred? Not so much.
“Oh, ho-ho… this is gonna feel good.” The accent is more nasally than it used to be. Scarier too, in a way.
Chip feels something being pushed into his gut, an internal pressure. He can’t look down, can’t stop staring into the bottom of a purple dream. Then there’s a cold pinch, a slicing sensation. Chip begins to shake.
The real pain, of course, comes from recognition. This is his brother, and he’s fucking pissed.
Chip lets himself be carried away. The dream washes over him. It tastes like cigarette smoke and his own coppery blood.
—
Chip is too busy having the start of a panic attack to pay much attention to what's going on around him when he wakes up. He can feel manacles around his wrists, and when he moves they jangle together. Prison chains. Not unlike the ones on the Isles of Desire. He’s lying down at the back of a cell; stone presses against his cheek. There’s a hand pressed to his abdomen, and it burns where it touches. His insides are on fire. Someone is talking over him.
“-arely stopping the bleeding for you, there. I… it’s your choice, man. It’s your prisoner, I’m just saying, if you leave him like this…” The stranger pauses. “Well, the chances of survival ain’t too good. An injury like this, infection’s pretty likely. Jus’ from my experience. Captain. Sir.”
Chip tries to calm his breathing and lifts his head a little, watching a humanoid hunch her shoulders and step away from him. She is green-skinned, bordering on turquoise (don’t think it, don’t think it), and she has solid dark blue eyes and light blue hair cascading down around her waist. There are horns on her head, and a spaded tail twitches behind her. Tiefling. She’s chubby, muscular, and rough around the edges; her clothes are frayed, and humming black magic wreaths around her arms as she lower them. Chip is (fairly) sure she’s a girl.
“Oh, he won’t be living long enough for that, don’t you worry your little healer head, Kariana. I only hired you to keep him from dying this hour.” Chip flinches and feels sick. That's a familiar voice.
He flicks his eyes across the room, and sure enough, Reuben Price is leaning against the bars of the cell. Purple dragon tattoo and all. There’s a lit cigarette in his hand, and he grips it like a lifeline as he stares back at Chip. That cold rage from before is still simmering behind his eyes. Through the blurred confusion that he’s come to associate with his last encounter with his brother at Allport, Chip can’t help but feel guilty. He betrayed his brother, no matter which way he thinks about it, and he can’t even remember why anymore. Like a lot of his actions, maybe if Chip had stopped and actually thought about it at the time, he wouldn’t have screwed over an old friend for no reason at all besides Rufus’ paranoia.
Chip breaks eye contact with Reuben and lets his head hang limply. He hears the clinking of a bag of coins passing between hands, and the tiefling girl walks out.
“Well, is the tough guy act finally over? ‘Cause we both know it’s an act. Don’t we, Chip? Or should I call you little brother, eh? Eh? Like old times?” Reuben spits his words out with the kind of fire that does more than just burn, but it’s the bite that Chip fears, not the bark.
“To be honest, I was tempted to just beat you senseless in that alley and leave you to bleed out for the rats. You’d certainly deserve it, after everything. Do you know how long it took my people to undo that little curse you put on my eye? Amber certainly paid for the time that I lost.”
Chip looks back up at the mention of Amber. Reuben tilts his head and taps his fingernails against the bars, making a quiet clicking noise. Chip shivers, and his stomach twinges in pain again. He doesn’t say anything, and Reuben continues.
“No, I’ve been thinking a lot about you since Allport, and I’ve realised… you deserve far worse. You see, I need vengeance, Chip. And you’re going to give it to me. It’s a shame that my people couldn’t locate the triton, but I guess I’ll have to settle for making you watch me gut your Navy girlfriend. You can die with her, if you want. If I’m feeling generous.”
Reuben smiles, and it’s a twisted thing.
“Maybe that scrawny kid – the one you're so fond of – would make a nice addition to my gang. You know, once it’s all over and done with. When the rest of your crew are in shallow graves right alongside you.”
“Reuben, I-”
“It’s Captain Price.”
“-don’t… I don’t- you… just… do what you want with me, man. Just leave them out of this. Please.” Chip knows he sounds defeated. He doesn’t care.
Reuben’s pointed nose wrinkles and he looks almost disappointed. “I expected better from you. This was supposed to be fun. You’re ruining it for me, Chip!” He slams his hand against the bars, and they rattle. The cigarette falls to the ground. Funnily enough, he’s breathing almost as shallowly as Chip.
Chip breathes. In, out. His stomach twists painfully. “Do what you want, Reuben, but don’t hurt my crew. It’s me you want, right? Just hurt me.”
Reuben’s good eye twitches. He slips around the bars and steps into the cell. His right hand is curled into fists, and it shakes as he walks slowly, with purpose, towards Chip. There’s something small in his other hand. Something metallic. It glints in the light. Reuben crouches next to Chip.
Chip just curls into a ball, ignoring the way the muscles in his abdomen shriek and spasm at the movement. He meant it this time when he said he was done. No fighting back. Whatever happens, happens. (He probably deserves this, anyway.)
A hand ruffles his hair, almost fondly, then clenches and pulls. Chip feels his head tugged upwards, and the rest of his body follows, complaining. Reuben is gazing into his eyes, less than an inch away from his nose. He looks maniacal. He looks hurt. Chip winces.
"You just don’t get it, Chip! You just don’t understand loyalty. Loyalty, Chip, is a thing earned. You broke my fucking TRUST, you broke everything! You broke everything.” Reuben is whispering now, and his voice cracks as he speaks. “You burned it down, and now you and your new friends get to pay.”
Quick as anything, he releases his grip on Chip’s hair, and steps back. Chip falls forwards and catches himself right before he smacks his face on the ground.
Reuben has pulled another cigarette from his pocket, and is idling twirling it through his fingers. He exhales, chuckling to himself, all lightness and contempt. Nothing like he was a second ago.
“Let’s go find them, shall we, Chip?”
Reuben whistles, and two figures walk in. They’re both drow elves, like the assassin from Allport. They unlock the chains and hoist Chip up, shouldering his weight easily. Reuben pockets the metal object from before and takes out a lighter. He holds it to his cigarette, watching with something calculating, something greedy, as Chip is dragged out of the cell.
Chip reaches his hands for his swords as he's carried to wherever. Muscle memory. He doesn’t exactly feel in fighting shape, but he can’t let them hurt Jay or Ollie. Or Alphonze, or Drey, or Griffin. He won’t. And if he goes down like this, defending his crew? Well. He wouldn’t mind leaving that way. Keeping them safe for once.
The cutlasses are gone. Figures.
He’ll have to do things the old pirate way! The way he was taught on the Midnight Rose! Lie and steal, baby!
Argh. Whatever. Chip is ready.
—
Chip waits until Price’s goons take him to a side street away from where he was being kept to attack.
“HA!”
He yells as loud as he can, thrashing around violently and using his bandanna to make himself look like Reuben. Both drow elves shout in shock, and their grips loosen. The element of surprise seems to work pretty well on people who are supposed to be hardened criminals, and Chip easily wriggles his way out of their hands before they realise it’s a trick. He grabs a rapier from its hilt on one of the drows and skips a few feet away, dropping the disguise. This weapon feels weird in his hand, but it’ll have to do for now.
It’s a shame he can’t go back for his cutlasses, though.
“GET BACK HERE!” Drow Elf 1 growls, practically spitting at him in fury as she pulls her black hood up over her head and draws both of her scimitars.
“Come on, you know you can’t win against both of us,” Drow Elf 2 drawls. For some reason, he sounds more exasperated than pissed off, and that more than anything else really incenses Chip.
He grins, raises the rapier, points it at the man’s throat, and gets ready to fight. “That’s where you’re wrong, funny elf man.”
Drow Elf 2 just snorts, so Chip flips the rapier in his hand and darts over to stab Drow Elf 2’s leg. He misses the first slash; he doesn’t miss his second. The man gasps and clutches at his thigh, buckling over in pain. Chip sympathises a little.
Drow Elf 1 growls again, louder, and slices at Chip’s lower arm. It hurts more than it should. Chip brushes off a wave of dizziness and sketches a quick bow to duck her next blow. He glances up and bats his eyes, obviously goading her. She seethes.
“Now that we’re getting, uh, acquainted, what was your plan? Did you expect me to not fight back?” Chip asks curiously.
Neither of them answer. Drow Elf 2 lurches upright and finally tries to pull out his sickle, but he’s too slow, and Chip knocks it out of his hand with the rapier. It clatters to the ground with a satisfying tinkle. Maybe Chip should start fighting with just a rapier. It’s going pretty well for him so far.
“Seriously, what was the plan? I want to know! Was it ‘Let’s carry the half-healed, very conscious pirate to his pirate ship and brutally torture and kill his pirate crew in front of him, what could go wrong’?” Chip shakes a finger at the drows and slides out of the way of one of the scimitars. Is calling them drows racist? Or is dark elf the term to avoid?
They both look pissed off now. He smirks.
“I’m sorry to break it to you guys, but that’s a pretty bad plan. Worse than most of the ones I have, actually. And that’s saying something! Reuben really needs to get better at this whole Gang Leader thing. You gotta be smart to be in charge, you catch my drift?” Chip ducks another scimitar and a punch from a newly weaponless Drow Elf 2.
It’s too easy to fall back into old habits. To be the sassy rogue, taunting his enemies and somersaulting his way out of getting stabbed in the heart. Nowhere near the finesse of a real swashbuckler, but maybe getting there. Maybe finally catching up to Arlin’s legacy.
Maybe this is why Chip falters and slips, earning a knife through the shoulder that he didn’t see in Drow Elf 2’s hand. Immediately, Chip gets a rush of adrenaline. He surges forward, managing to hit Drow Elf 2 in the head hard enough with the blunt side of the rapier to knock him out. Yes.
Chip pants, stumbling away to gulp down air before dodging an enraged Drow Elf 1’s scimitar as it swipes down for his neck. Already he can feel his energy – worryingly – draining away. Better make it count while it lasts, Chip.
Chip grits his teeth and, shaking, keeps the rapier aloof whilst Drow Elf 1 rains down blows on him. She seems to passionately want him dead now. Maybe that was her boyfriend that Chip just clocked in the head. He resolves to kill her first, if this is going to be to the death.
Chip holds on for a few agonising minutes until Drow Elf 1 finally stops her barrage to take a breath. He can see the sweat beading on her arms and his – this fight feels like it’s lasted far longer than it really has. It’s probably only been about 3 minutes, but so far it’s felt like 50.
So, the second that she lets her guard down, Chip drops the rapier and shoves her backwards as hard as he can.
Drow Elf 1 goes sprawling onto the ground. There’s an unpleasant sound as her body hits the concrete, and she doesn’t get back up. Her chest rises and falls – still alive, then. Chip can’t decide whether that’s a bad thing or not. She is evil, after all.
Now that the immediate danger is gone, Chip gasps for air. His shoulder, arm and stomach are all screaming for attention. Shit. All of the combined pain rips through his concentration and nearly makes him forget why he’s here.
On an instinct, he lifts his hand up to his shoulder and pulls out the knife. He screams at the pain and throws it away, pressing his palm against the wound and reaching. Reaching down into his own… soul? Subconscious? Mind? Whatever.
The well of magic inside of him bubbles to the surface, gentle and warm and fragile. The well of magic that he stole from Gillion through the sword. It seems that it’s followed him even without Destiny’s Blade at his side. It seems that Chip’s magic is as traitorous as him.
A soft blue ethereal light emanates from Chip’s arm and travels down his fingers into his wound. Instantly, he feels better. The wound stops bleeding and closes. Magic. Chip lowers his arm and presses it against his abdomen as well. The same thing happens, but he feels emptier afterwards. Like his magic is spent.
Chip rubs his face and sighs. Why, universe? Why him, of all people?
He kicks one of the goons, and she groans.
“Hey. Hey. Where’s Reuben’s- sorry, Princess Price the Pirate’s ship?” Wow, tongue twister.
Drow Elf 1 glares up at him, curling her lip. “Why in Lolth’s name would I tell a bastard like you-” He kicks her again. “FUCK! Fine! Fine! Two rights and a left, by the fifth dock! Now fuck off!”
Chip smiles. “Great, thanks!”
He goes to leave, then stops and looks down suspiciously at Drow Elf 1.
“Are you gonna go tell Reuben I beat you up once I’m gone?” He asks.
She pauses. Her eye twitches. “...No.”
Chip rolls his eyes and smacks her in the head with the blunt side of her own scimitar. She goes unconscious without another word. Chip considers his options. He crouches down and removes a few pieces of clothing from Drow Elf 1(IN A NOT WEIRD WAY), leaving her in a black blouse and pants. He puts on her hooded cloak, pulling it up and over his head so it’ll conceal him(he’s pretty sure the hoods are enchanted to cast shadows on the wearer’s face). He keeps all of his own clothes on, of course, and disguises himself to look exactly like her.
Chip hesitates, and also puts on all of Drow Elf 1’s jewellery. Not because he can’t mimic it with the bandanna, of course. That part is just to steal her jewellery. He hastily slips her dark red furred boots on too, because they’re comfier than his own and he’s needed a new pair for a while anyway.
Chip picks up her other scimitar, weighing it in his hand, before running off. He definitely doesn’t want to be caught at the scene of a crime.
Chip grimaces slightly in pain and tries to ignore his arm. Which is still bleeding.
This is SO going perfectly.
—
Everything is SO not going perfectly.
Reuben’s ship isn’t a ship. It’s a fucking unit. It’s as big as the Navy battleships from Joaldo Island if not bigger, and it’s made of white oak(expensive) and teak wood(more expensive). Reuben’s people swarm all over it. Chip can’t reliably count past 20, but right now he’s sure there’s more than 100. A towering person wearing a dark green tricorne commands it all – too tall and curved to be Price, too muscly and intimidating to not be an authority figure among the chaos. There are massive shiny cannons on either side of the ship.
If all of that isn’t bad enough, there’s two of them.
Put simply, Chip is fucked.
Granted, the second ship is much smaller and nicer-looking than the first, about the same size as The Mill- The Albatross and with far less people on it, but still. Cannons. Criminals with too much coin to spend. Naval warfare and everything that comes with it(mostly drowning). Cannons. Very pointy swords. Big guns. Cannons. Reuben Price, in charge of it all. No thanks.
Chip’s arm is stinging like a bitch, and he’s pretty sure the stab wound in his abdomen isn’t fully healed. So much for magic.
Now, normally, Chip would do the dumb thing and infiltrate Price’s ranks to figure out how they’re planning to attack the Riptide Pirates. Normally, Chip would try to do this all on his own.
Smart Chip, New Chip, would definitely go tell his crew members that they’re about to get attacked and that they should leave Liquidus as soon as possible, go get Gillion, and escape Price’s wrath. New Chip reasons that going back to The Albatross, explaining things to Jay, and being forthcoming for once, is the safest option. It’s definitely the most logical.
The problem is, Chip’s already checked the dock where The Albatross is supposed to be, and it’s gone.
They probably just moved docks, but Chip doesn’t know where that would be, and…
Old, Set-In-His-Ways Chip doesn’t want to listen to New Chip. He’s going to fix this on his own. Fix this like he couldn’t fix any of his other mistakes.
So Chip walks out from behind the wall he’s been watching from for the last hour and tries to act cool. Hopefully no one realises that Drow Elf 1 is supposed to be transporting a prisoner right now. Chip really should’ve asked for her name earlier. It feels impolite to keep calling her Drow Elf 1, so he decides to call her Sunny for now. It doesn’t suit her at all, which was what he was going for.
Sunny the Drow Elf saunters towards the second, smaller ship that belongs to Price. Her hands rest on her scimitars, but they are sitting in their hilts. Sunny the Drow Elf has no need to be on the defensive here. She is around her people. Chip snickers.
Sunny the Drow Elf raises her chin pompously and refuses to acknowledge anyone around her as she steps onto the deck of the ship. Everyone around her does much the same thing. Maybe it’s a common personality trait among gang members. Chip is laughing at all of them. Sunny the Drow Elf feels very at home.
She fearlessly approaches the tall figure that Chip spotted earlier and awaits orders, as others similar-looking to her are. Up close, this person is… well, even more threatening-looking. He’s human, and he has hazel eyes, brown skin, and the most chiselled jawline that Chip has ever seen on a man(besides Jay’s dad). Chip doesn’t fail to notice the embroidered purple dragon on his tricorne, either. This must be Price’s quartermaster, or his first mate. He’s definitely bad news.
“Oh, Azalea, gods save us, Merlend looks furious.” A fire genasi woman standing next to Chip leans over to mutter in his ear, and Azalea the Drow Elf crosses her arms and smiles toothily as Merlend begins to speak.
“Friends! We have a new mission from the Captain.” There a few mutters from the back of the crowd.
Wow, this Merlend guy’s voice is a lot higher than Chip expected.
“It seems the traitor we came here for, the bastard that cursed Captain Price back at the Black Dock...”
Is Merlend a prepubescent tween?
“...has escaped.” Someone gasps in outrage.
Chip shouldn’t laugh.
“Now, usually we’d leave it up to our ever-faithful and ever coin-loving bounty hunters to catch any snivelling runaways we find ourselves saddled with.” Merlend sneers.
But it’s funny…
“But he and his miserable crew were seen leaving Liquidus just half an hour ago!”
Chip blinks. What?
“Now, The Blind Scorn’s been ordered to capture the runaway, not kill him, but I didn’t hear nothin’ on maiming or torture, and you all know what that means! ‘Course, the rest of his crew’s lives are certainly on the table if anyone’s feeling… bloodlusted! Oh, make sure to keep the little boy alive too, apparently the Captain’s thinking of recruitin’ him!” Merlend pauses for breath, and a couple of people take the moment to whoop and yell.
What?
“It seems we have a hunt on our hands, ladies and gentlemen and every devil in between!”
This time, the whole crew cheers. Some lift mugs of ale that were not in their hands a few seconds ago, and Azalea has no choice but to cheer and whistle along with them, even bumping hips with the friendly woman next to her.
Chip is confused. No, he’s more than confused. He’s bewildered.
Chip was seen? Seen leaving? But… he’s still… here.
Chip frowns. Something’s definitely wrong.
Who’s giving Price the wrong information?
…More importantly, why did The Albatross leave Liquidus without Chip?
Azalea/Sunny/Drow Elf 1 takes a swig of ale from someone else’s cup and claps her fire genasi friend on the back. The woman coughs and wipes her mouth with a sleeve, still grinning.
“This’ll be fun ‘s fuck! Haven’t chased down a traitor in a while, ay, Azzy?!” Azalea nods and shows her teeth. Chip has no idea what the fuck is going on, but maybe he should try harder to stay in character, because these two obviously know each other.
“Oh, c’mon, Azzy, your boyfriend shud be ‘round here somewhere! Woz’s’name… Bastian? Borador? Where is that fucker?” She sticks her tongue out and narrows her eyes at Azalea.
Now, Chip isn’t the best at reading people, but he swears that what he’s seeing here on this woman’s face is jealousy. Desire, even?
Azalea nods noncommittally. “Yeah, I don’t know, he’ll show up eventually. I’m not that bothered.”
“You’re not?” The woman’s eyes shine, and Chip feels bad for giving her false hope, so Azalea shrugs. “I’m sure he’s fine, I mean, I trust him to keep out of danger. Come on, we should be celebrating!”
The woman cheers and slings her arm around Azalea, bringing their heads close together. Chip desperately wants to escape. The friendship dynamic with these two reminds him weirdly of Marshal John and Gillion, what with all the physical affection and embracing and intense eye contact and testosterone-fueled bromance going on, and it’s making Chip feel very uncomfortable. Azalea sips at her ale and tries to shuffle away. This woman is holding her gaze for an extended period of time. Long. Chip gulps.
“Damn right! Can we get some more fuckin' drinks over here?” The woman releases her death grip on Azalea and steps back to whoop and wave over someone carrying a barrel of ale. They flip her the bird and keep walking, but at least it gives Azalea a chance to slip away before Chip gets too uncomfortable and blows his own cover to escape the fire genasi’s weird prolonged stares and unrequited feelings.
Azalea hurries below the deck and begins helping people store barrels of gunpowder and cannonballs before anyone can question what she’s doing.
Chip will just have to sit tight and hope that Jay knows what she’s doing. And that Merlend haven’t ever fought on the sea before. And that a million other things won’t go to plan for the crew of The Blind Scorn(terrible name, by the way) so that the Riptide Pirates have even a fighting chance.
Oh gods.
Chip tries not to freak out and just focus on getting back to his own crew and helping them fight off Price’s people. Then he can think about… well… getting back to his crew and fighting Price’s people. Shit, shit, shit.
Azalea takes a deep breath and straightens her back. Everything will be fine. It has to be. It has to. Chip doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if… if…
No, no, nothing will go wrong. He’ll be fine. This can just be his one last big adventure, before he leaves. This can be his way of making it up to Jay, and scaring Reuben away for good. Nothing says don’t mess with me like sinking someone’s second favourite ship, right? Yeah. Yeah!
This’ll be easy. Chip will be fine.