hoist the colours high

[dawneon*]

august 12, 1856; london, england.

sixteen year-old arik reymolds stood on his balcony, eyeing the horizon. below him, he could hear his sisters laughing as their mother played the piano, his father asking his eldest sister to dance with him to the melody. yet arik stood alone, doing the same thing that he had done for months; watching the horizon for the ship that had stolen his childhood and captured his future. maybe tonight would be the night, the night that the ship would appear in the glow of the moon. turning away from the railing, the young man moved back into his bedroom, closing the french doors behind him and extinguishing the candles on either side. with only the candlestick on his bedside table for light, he moved silently across the wooden floors, kneeling beside the bed and reaching for the box hidden beneath it. every night, he checked for that box, unfound by the maids.

a cannon-shot. golden eyes flashed in the moonlight. “i know those cannons . . .” his london accent echoing through the walls of the dark room. “they’re back.” this time, he grinned as he said it, ten years earlier he’d run to his mother, but he wouldn’t be running this time. rolling off of his bed, he moved quickly, hoping not to wake his sister next door. collecting the carved wooden box, he pulled off the lid, collecting the breeches and maroon shirt first; pulling those on with a feeling of excitement that he hadn’t felt in quite a while. pulling the leather belt that still had his pistol secured to it, he wrapped it around his waist, grinning at the fact that it still fit. retrieving the two daggers as he turned towards his closet for his coat and boots, he thought to himself whether this was a good idea. “of course it’s not, but you’re going to do it anyway.” he murmured to himself.

arik had been twelve when the crew of the duchess winnipeg had dropped him off on the dock, saying that the life of a pirate wasn’t something the captain wanted to condemn him to. he had been found the next morning, huddled against a post, looking out at the sea. the story had been one that had reached everyone’s hearts, a young boy kidnapped from his home at the age of five, thought to be dead, yet found on the dock almost seven years later. and now, four years later, he wasn’t the same little boy they had left on a dock, but a young man out for an answer. writing out a quick letter of apology to his family, renouncing any title that he would inherit upon his father’s death, he left his childhood home behind and moved through the shadowed streets towards the dock.

grimy hands clamped around his arm, yanking him off of his feet. yanking his arm free, he turned to face his attacker, he didn’t recognize the middle-aged man, but by the looks of him, he was a member of the crew. “wha’s a strapping young lad like yerself doin’ out here on a night like tonight, ‘ey?” the man inquired, looking young arik up and down. “yer awfully armed t’just be goin’ fer a stroll.” latching a hand on his shoulder, the man grinned a toothy grin. “th’ cap’n said t’ bring anyone back whom looked interestin’. me thinks ye fall into tha’ category.” arik didn’t protest as the man lead him to the dock and aboard the east indianman that was waiting at the dock. . . the duchess never was one to do a raid timidly. securing him to the main mast, arik kept his head down, his shaggy hair covering his eyes. this wasn’t quite the entrance he’d expected, but it would definitely work.

as the sun rose that morning, the captain showed himself. surveying the loot from the raid, and then turning his attention to the prisoners. “what are yer names?” the man asked, only arik smiled, knowing that the uncouth manner of speaking was an act. various men answered, a few giving titles, and when the captain turned to arik, he lifted his chin with pride. “arik vincent, heir to the duchess winnipeg.” the man tied beside him attempted to move away, but the ropes wouldn’t budge. golden eyes locked on the captain’s blue ones, he stared his adoptive father down. “now, how about we untie me from this mess and we can discuss this with an ounce of civility in your quarters?” the captain was still speechless, gawking at the man who stood against the mast. it was the first mate that ultimately sliced the ropes, freeing arik who nodded his thanks and turned to face his ‘father’.

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[dawneon*]

september 24, 1869; off the coast of havana, cuba.

captain arik vincent whittled a design into the wooden railing of the duchess winnipeg, shoulder length brown hair blown away from his face by the sea breeze. the lanterns that were hung around the ship a memorial that was still being celebrated. captain amando bertilini had passed away two months prior, arik a fresh captain with a loyalty backing him that was almost unheard of. at twenty years old, he was a master of knives, able to hit his mark from fifty feet away, the captain of a ship straight out of nightmares, and well on his way to becoming cruel.

“cap’n. we’re drawing near. shall we dim the lanterns?” cold golden eyes looked down at his first mate, a man who very much resembled a chinchilla. giving him a nod, the captain watched as he scurried away, dimming lanterns as he went. where his father had preferred dramatics, arik enjoyed striking fear into his victims. the spanish isle that they were raiding that night loomed on the horizon, homes with lights flickering in the windows. relieving the mate who was steering the ship, arik’s calloused hands gripping the wheel, facing the main decks of his ship. as details began to appear on the island, he inhaled the bitter salty air, tanned face dark in the dim candlelight. bringing his fingers to his lips, he exhaled in the sharp sound of a whistle. on the main deck below, his crew froze, turning their gazes up to him, waiting to hear what his announcement was. “tonight, we show the world that the duchess is not something to joke about, take no quarter! tonight, we begin a new era of pirating, the duchess will no longer be the punch-line of a joke, but the name that is whispered in the back alleys of london and beyond, striking fear into all!” his deep voice rang out clear and commanding, his crew responding with whistles and cheers. “anyone over the age of 45, remain on the ship, keep it set for sail and be prepared to fend off anyone who may feel brave enough to venture near.” when he didn’t hear any arguments, arik smiled a frightening smile, white teeth a stark contrast against his dark skin. “prepare the long boats and ready yourself to attack.” his voice no longer held the convincing speech tone, now it was simply a flat out order.

as clocks struck twelve, the crew of the duchess winnipeg, captain included, slipped onto the shore of havana, guns and swords drawn, arik in the lead, a dagger in one hand and a pistol in the other. his crew knew the method, wait outside the first home that you came to and await the order. attack at the same moment, it caused more fear that way. moving ahead of the group, arik searched out a home, trying to pick one that was far enough down the lane that his crew would be able to fill in the gap. upon the last home, he stopped, moving to stand on one side of the wooden door. the thatched roof and wooden walls would burn easily when this was all over; it was a tidbit he couldn’t help but acknowledge. watching for the glint of every sword, the signal to show that the men were in place, he thought about what shop he would take all of the loot that they had accumulated to sell. shaking his head to clear those optimistic thoughts, the calculating frame of mind kicked in again. 14, 15, 16, 18. . . they’re all in position. 1. . . 2. . . letting out a low whistle, he forced open the door, a yell on the tip of his tongue.

empty. the bloody house was empty! the one room shack was bare save for a bed against one wall and a makeshift table against another. stalking across the dirt floor to the bed, he raked his dagger through the hay mattress, watching as sticks fell onto the ground. a sharp intake of breath drew his attention, a man stood in the doorway, holding a chicken in his hands. “no me dañe por favor,” the man pleaded, brown eyes frightened on the aged face. arik’s tall frame loomed over the small man, a fearsome sight to behold. “i cannot make that promise.” he growled, throwing his dagger dead into the man’s throat and watching as he crumpled to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

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[dawneon*]

march 2, 1863; london, england.

standing in calf-deep water, arik waited for the long boat to come retrieve him. he had been in london for the winter, exchanging gold and other assorted loot for money, food, and other necessities. his dark hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, tied at the nape of his neck, clothing clean and boots polished. he hardly looked like a pirate at the moment, but that was all part of the illusion. his face had watched him the entire winter, looking out from wanted posters with the scotland yard seal on it and a reward that impressed him. 1000£ for his capture; kidnapping to conspiracy against the crown, an impressive rap sheet for anyone, but it made him know that the duchess was officially the most feared pirate ship on the seas. “filthy cur! keep your filthy hands off me! i hope you drown, you disgusting maggot!” blinking his way out of his reverie, arik peered up through the slits in the dock, curious. a woman’s french accent made the argument even more intriguing. pulling himself up onto the dock, he watched as a young woman with hair like fire held a knife aloft in front of a fat man, teetering on the edge of the platform. the moment the older man noticed the pirate, he took that final, fateful, step off of the dock and into the dark waters below.

“a poor night for a young lady to be out on the docks.” it was spoken conversationally, but the warning was implied.

“i wasn’t planning on being out this late, i assure you. but this disgusting weasel of a man decided to chase me.” she paused, studying him from boots to long jacket. “i’m juliet by the way, and who might you be, captain?” this caught him off guard, was it that obvious? he sure didn’t think it was.

“you, m’lady, may call me arik. now, what makes you think i am a captain of some sort? surely a man can linger on the docks without that assumption being made.”

her bright blue eyes glittered with laughter, an odd thing to notice seeing as her dress left little to the imagination now that it was so torn and battered. “firstly, your skin is darker and i cannot place your accent. secondly, most men don’t carry that with them when they dress like this, which leads me to think that you are a man who knows the dangers of the world. and lastly, you just have this air about you that suggests a dangerous life . . . a pirate perhaps. but that comes from a life of reading people very carefully.” by now she was standing right in front of him, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword that was tucked under the edge of his jacket. it was an interesting analysis, not something he expected from a streetwalker.

“and if i were a pirate, what would your reaction be?”

“why, i would run off with my tail between my legs to the boys at the yard . . .” her tone so over-the-top sarcastic that it brought out a rare laugh from the pirate. “hm . . . i’m rather intrigued by pirates.”

without even realizing what he was doing, arik bowed to the woman, “then captain arik vincent at your service, m’lady.” placing a gentleman’s kiss on her hand, he straightened, tanned face lit by a smile.

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[dawneon*]

october 31, 1864; london, england

tying the bowtie around his neck, vera, the small kitten playing with the tails on his coat, arik looked at his reflection in the mirror of his notting hill home. the seas had turned brutal this year, pushing him onto shore almost a month earlier than usual. now, arik reymolds, the prominent london citizen, had scored himself an invite to the lord carmichael’s halloween masquerade. and on his arm that evening would be the beautiful juliet o’malley.

securing the mask around his golden eyes, the pirate slipped out of his house and into the carriage that awaited him, no one had connected the dots yet, it wasn’t even assumed that arik reymolds, the gentleman who was gone most of the year was the same man as captain arik vincent, the murderous pirate who left no one alive when he raided. the horses’ hooves swept the time away as the carriage approached the mansion where the ball was being held.

stepping off of the carriage before it had even stopped moving, he moved across the lawn and swept juliet up into his arms, spinning her around in a circle. it had been months since he had last seen the woman, and in those months, he had learned that he truly loved her. his crew was growing concerned because his raids were becoming less and less violent, looting remained the same, but he no longer made the speech about taking no quarter. he was showing mercy.

grinning down at the red-head, he waited for her to say something . . . anything. “arik, i must say that you clean up very well.” her voice came out almost like a purr, reinforcing that she still felt the same way about him. “but what if you get caught? you’ll be hanged for sure.” it was no secret that scotland yard had raised the reward for him, even though his crimes were becoming less frequent.

“it would be worth it.” he murmured, hugging her tight before leading her onto the ballroom floor.

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[dawneon*]

arik proposed to juliet that evening, willing to give up piracy for life, to which she gladly accepted. before the evening was over, lord carmichael and sir blackwood, both of scotland yard, found arik and recognized him, arresting him for his crimes against england and various other countries, leading him away from juliet in shackles. two weeks later, he danced the devils jig and was hanged from the neck until dead. the night before his hanging, his father and sisters came to him, having recognized the posters. he was given the opportunity to apologize for his crimes and tell them that it was nothing that they caused. his father shook his hand before leaving and his sisters gave him a hug, something he never expected to feel again. at noon, captain arik reymolds was onto the platform, the noose placed around his neck where he gave his final speech. he told the crowd how the life of a pirate wasn’t quite what one would expect and that the only thing he was sorry for was leaving behind a fiancé. juliet o’malley lived in his home with vera until her death at the hand of the plague in 1914, alone save for the visits from the first mate of the duchess winnipeg, who became the captain upon arik’s death.

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[dawneon*]

explanation; this story is one that i wrote for my english class, i was talking to juniper about it yesterday so i figured i would post it on here. the different posts are due to the fact that it was broken up into sections as i wrote it, and each part is a different time of his life. on here i can post the copyrights, but arik reymolds is my character, the duchess winnipeg is a ship of my imagination, and juliet o'malley and her speech is to juliet on murders & roses. this is based off the plot we have going on there. carmichael and blackwood are also to themselves. =]

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[saga]

hope you don't mind comments..

but i wanted to say it's amazing! so much detail.. wish i could write like that. :3

[Dove]

Wow! This story was very good! So much detail! You are a very good writer!