Who: Zaire, Killick, various NPCs
When: February 28, 872 RoK, late evening
Where: The King's City. A seedy inn near the pier.
"Pacin' ain't gonna make it easier, Cap'n."
"I know," Zaire answered, pausing by the rain-pelted window and shooting his Sailing Master a dark look. Pacing wouldn't make seeing his son easier, but it did give him an outlet for the anxious pent up energy in his muscles. Oddly enough, it felt similar to those moments as they drew up alongside a prize, where there was nothing to do but wait to board and anticipate the battle to come . . .
"I know th'boy," Henry Gladstone continued, tearing another chunk of bread off the loaf and using it to sop up the last bit of stew in his bowl. "Y'two may 'ave yer differences, but he'll be 'appy t'see ya alive."
Zaire didn't answer, his eyes instead going to the window again. Out of all his crewmates, Mr. Gladstone knew his family the best. His wife, Cissa, was close to Eloise and while most of their children may have been older than Zaire's, they'd all grown up together on the Island. Henry's son, Omar, had even saved Killick's life when the boy had tried to sail away from home on a raft he'd lashed together himself. Out of all of them, Zaire trusted Gladstone's judgement the most in these sort of matters, but that didn't stop him from second-guessing and wondering if this would be the time the sailor was wrong.
A moment of silence stretched between the two and Zaire found himself nearly convinced that Killick wouldn't show up. It wasn't far fetched, the idea that Killick would refuse the summon simply to spite his father; he'd been known to make many questionable decisions for that reason alone. Zaire had sent Chaz, close in age to Killick and the most likely to be able to navigate his way through the College campus without drawing attention, but he'd told the young pirate to not push the issue if the boy wouldn't come.
"An' if he refuses?" Zaire asked.
Gladstone shook his head, the scar bisecting his dark face catching the light from the fire and making him look far more menacing because of it. "He thought ye were dead, Cap'n. He'll be 'ere."
Killick didn't know what he was doing. Still, he'd followed Chaz because at least the time spent with someone else leading the way gave him the opportunity to think. Unfortunately, there was no amount of time in the world that would have been sufficient. Chaz alone was a good sign that his father was alive and well - did he really need to see him for himself to be sure of it?
He'd paced when Chaz first found him. Paced and fidgeted as Chaz explained as much as he needed to, and hated how small he felt.
Because even after being gone for months, even after being dead, Zaire could just show up and make demands and expect everyone to snap-to. Because they would. Because he would. It was enough to make Killick reconsider, for him to stop twice to argue with Chaz, whose job it wasn't to convince him, but even the second time ended in Killick throwing his arms up for Chaz to lead on. Because he might as well.
And because, if he was wholly honest, that moment they pushed through the door and out of the rain was relief he hadn't known he'd been waiting for. That wash of cool, calming water swept over every inch of him with his father finally in sight, and even the deepest well of spite couldn't keep the anger in his shoulders or the hint of a smile off the corners of his lips. Nor did it do a damn thing for the crack in his voice that managed its way into even as small a word as "Pa-"
And then the moment arrived right along with Killick and Zaire felt every ounce of anxiety seep from his muscles in a rush of relief, his chest tightening with emotion at the crack in his son's voice.
His men didn't hang around, Gladstone collecting his food and then ushering Chaz out the door only to close it behind them, leaving father and son to have their reunion in private.
Zaire crossed the room, reaching to take his son's shoulders and move them both closer to the fire. "Yer soaked to the bone, boy," the pirate murmured, his dark eyes skimming over Killick's familiar features. His son was taller than he was now, Zaire realized, by at least an inch or two, but that didn't stop the pirate from wiping rainwater from his son's cheeks all the same. Cheeks coated with the scruff of whiskers.
"Look atcha," he said with a sudden smile and unmistakable pride in his voice. "You went and became a man in t'last year." And before he could allow himself to think twice about it, to hesitate, Zaire pulled his son in for a hug.
He shouldn't have been seen with Zaire - that much Killick knew was detrimental to the whole persona he'd been trying to craft, here. To be that man that his father saw, someone new and different and wholly his own, he needed not to be associated with pirates. It threw a wrench in the whole facade.
Just the way his father being there, alive and whole and preening over him, sunk every intent to keep his back straight and his chin high and his emotions in check. Chaz and Gladstone were gone anyway, but it wouldn't have stopped Killick stepping in to the relative warmth and safety and home that was his father's arms, the smell of sea-salt that would never be scrubbed free of his skin, the very physical presence of every memory of every hail that inevitably preceded a farewell...
He stood again to pull back once he'd satisfied the boyish need to be certain the man in front of him was no spectre, that he did seem to have all his arms and legs... only for it to be replaced by another childish urge: blame-throwing. "What happened? Where were you?" Things happened at sea. He knew that - they all did. Sometimes the weather was rough and no one came home on time. But months, half a year, that wasn't normal.
Zaire sighed and took a step back, running one hand over his beard, but his anger didn't rise to meet his son's implied accusations. Was Killick ready to know the truth? Zaire had always been careful about what sort of information he brought home; not only to keep his family from worrying, but also because Eloise had been clear about how much she wanted to know and that preference had influenced how much he told his children. But Killick was a man now and it didn't matter that he'd turned down Zaire's offer to bring him out on the sea, he had the right to have his questions answered honestly.
"Duchess Francesca 'ad us arrested," he admitted, settling down into the chair recently vacated by Gladstone. "Me an' Chaz, Jimmy too." He shook his head, "Wasn't enough to 'ang the three'uv us though; she wanted the whole crew and she got'em." He reached for the bottle of rum and poured two glasses, pushing one across the table toward Killick. "I talked her out'uv an execution and struck a deal instead but it meant a risky hunt for a helluva prize and those things take time, lad."
Impatience had Killick near to fidgeting until his father was speaking again, and then he really was - looking back after the door Gladstone and Chaz had left through, worry knitting his brow and twisting in his chest. He'd long since decided not to be part of this, not to sail on his father's ship or any other when the goal was piracy. He'd made that choice to divest himself of that birthright, but it was as much a part of him as the blood thrumming nervously through his veins.
Chaz, Jimmy, Bosede, Gunther, all of them - they were family, and it gripped his gut to think they could all have been hung for criminals without him ever knowing. Without ma ever knowing-
He forced himself to breathe again, but with it came a snap: "Talked her outtuh-" Killick felt the slip back into that rural dialect he'd fought so hard to strip away, along with everything else that painted him as not from here, but he grabbed the glass - if for nothing else than something to hold, something to jab in Zaire's direction after it had been drained sufficiently. The liquor helped him keep his voice down, if not any more level; Killick let the current take him. "You coulda got'em all killed. None'uv us the wiser, not that you'd cared."
(continued)