Chapter Text
The blood —his blood— is already soaking through the bandages and into his shirt again. Great— another thing to deal with on their stop and he’s barely stepped off the ship. It’s a miracle he made it to port without the sharks he travels with catching his injury from the smell alone.
Not that there are any less sharks on land.
Obi speeds up his escape from the crowd filling the docks and into the array of shops and homes trailing away from the port. Hopefully, that strange pharmacy in the back of that bar is still here. It’s been about five years since he first saw it, but he never forgets a town. Even a maze like this one, not when time on land is in such short supply.
The cobblestoned earth beneath his feet is doing little to stabilize the rocking of the world with each step, the ship had felt more stable than this. It’s probably too much of a risk to push himself to reach the shabby pharmacy; a risk that it no longer exists and an even greater risk that they’ll slam the door in his face.
This isn’t the type of town that people can just wander through; the townspeople can smell an outsider without even laying an eye on them. Hell, they probably hear it from the way his boots stomp on the ground as he adjusts to land once again. It’s not like he can blame them, as if he didn’t know that the hostility and coldness pushing him through town was a cover for their fear.
They don’t need to smell the blood to know how much he has on his hands.
The shops are all blurring together by the time he makes it to the heart of the maze. It’s different now— painted green, maybe? It’s a shit job, patchy at best. If he was a better man he’d help them fix it as part of his payment.
But a better man wouldn’t have this gold in his pocket.
There’s a bright and fluttering flash of red in the open window that pulls him in like a cat to a bird. The ledge is cluttered and in his way, but it smells nice like fresh dirt as it brushes his face softly.
Maybe this is his own type of siren. Stronger men have fallen for—
Crash!
His hand is already reaching for his knife when a smaller hand firmly stops him— is their other hand on his waist? He releases his grip on the hilt when he sees her.
She’s a beauty surrounded by a wild, fiery halo. She’s covering the sun—or maybe she is the sun, here to guide him onward.
And oh man, the look on her face.
She’s shorter than him, but she’s still managing to stare him down. Obi’s filled with an urge to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Even the sky is bending to her will and softening to an orange that dims in comparison to her.
Nothing but fire awaits him here after a life spent at sea. She’s definitely a red-headed curse sent to punish him.
His mind is long lost to the clouds when his body begins to lower onto his knees.
~~
She’s all he can see when he opens his eyes again. Her wild curls are tied out of her face now, revealing a face of intense concentration and knit brows. His focus is stuck on a lone escaped lock of hair stuck in the sweat on her face.
He only wants tot brush it out of her way, to help her concentrate on whatever it is she’s doing, when his arm is stopped. He’s stuck flat on a table and filling the room with successive thumps as he tries to sit up.
“You need to stay still,” she commands.
There’s a fearlessness radiating from her that demands to be trusted.
Mm, a witch.
Laying his head down again, he finds that the sky has turned green. Fresh leaves reach the edge of the ceiling and fill his vision with vibrant greens. It’s a foreign color to him now, so bright and alive. His sky is filled with blues and grays, even sunsets could never shine green. Faded colors on the ship could never replace the bright leaves of a tree.
He feels the aching of his chest before he opens his eyes. He’s shirtless, starving, and not where he should be.
As soon as his eyes open, Obi springs to his feet to take in his surroundings. It’s small here and closer to a garden than a room. He finds plants everywhere he looks, with vines crawling across the walls and boxes of dirt lined up on the floor. There’s no corners or darkness in this room— only bushes and open windows.
Two fingers jab into his shoulder— hard. Obi lets himself fall back down onto the table.
He eyes her suspiciously, taking her in again without a bloodless and clouded brain. She’s neither an angel nor a curse. It’s the girl from a few years ago, alone in an overgrown bar.
“You’ve doomed me, Miss,” he chides. a smile already creeping over his lips at her indignant reaction.
“I believe you mean that I saved you,” she corrects, clearly annoyed.
“Mm, plenty of men around here would say you doomed me with your first words,” Obi winks, instantly gratified by the flash of her eyes.
“Is that why you called me a witch, because of my hair? Well, I won’t live my life silenced by superstitions,” she retorts, pressing her lips together as if stopping herself from saying more.
“Oh, no— that’s not it, Miss,” Obi lies happily, “you cursed me to my knees outside with your beauty. Surely no man is strong enough to survive that.”
She snorts, clearly unimpressed. She picks up a large watering can at her feet with ease to begin watering her indoor jungle. He had questioned how this small woman had caught him on her own, but watching her now it was more plausible. She’s quite capable.
Obi begins inspecting his chest, he’s really going to owe her some gold now. He had only wanted to get something for the pain and more bandages, but he doubts she’s the type of woman he could argue with. Despite being younger than him, her demeanor is closer to a wisened grandmother who doesn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit.
He had only seen a glimpse of her a few years back. All he can remember are bright eyes peeking through a window at the back of the bar and a warm smile at the old man who relayed his medicine order. She hadn’t been a child back then, but the maturity she radiates now is still a drastic change.
It’s curious how this room had been a bustling bar with patrons elbow to elbow, yet now there’s only this lone woman with her plants.
Well, not his problem nor his business.
“You owe me aloe vera,” she interrupts his thoughts, with a weary voice.
“I’m sure I owe you more than that, did you sew this?”
Obi brushes the bandages over his chest skeptically, he can’t see the threads, but he’s sure they’re there. Unless she had only tied him to the table for fun.
“Yes, and it wasn’t easy with you flopping around so don’t touch it,” she scolds, glaring at him until he stops, “Aloe vera is what you knocked over in my window. It aides burns, but it’s not native here so you owe me a new one.”
“Look, I’m sorry about your plant, but I don’t make return visits. Even if I’m back here, I doubt I’ll make it on land,” Obi objects.
“Are you saying a pirate can’t even get a plant?” she challenges.
“Quite the assumption, Miss. I’d hate to have made a sweet girl like you help a dirty pirate,” Obi teases, letting an edge creep into his tone.
She hesitates for a moment, tension forming in her shoulders as she waters her plants.
“I don’t care about that, what I did isn’t exactly legal either. It’s not like the law protects us here,” she replies, bitterness lacing her voice.
Right, the law does even less than protect them here at times.
“Look, I’ll charge you less than I should for your injuries in exchange for the aloe. You can replace your ruined clothes and whatever else two streets over in exchange for returning it,” she insists.
It’s impressive how much confidence she’s maintaining while bargaining with a pirate, but he can see the cracks beneath her facade. He’s not her normal clientele.
He could just leave, whether he agrees or not she can’t hold him to this deal. It’s naive.
“Don’t you need a pot more than a new plant? That’s the beauty of plants, they can be regrown,” Obi tests her.
He uses his sharpest smile, the kind of smile that reminds people that he can keep it while throwing a knife.
“I was a little too preoccupied to replant it in time,” she retorts unfazed.
She even turns away from her watering to look at him as if he’s stupid. Perhaps he is for arguing with the woman who saved him.
“Wait— how long has it been?”
Obi's asks, already on his feet and gathering his shirt and knives.
“Two nights,” she says carefully.
Obi’s already on his feet and gathering his shirt and knives when she answers, but she moves to block the door.
She really is brave. And naive.
“Don’t worry, Miss, I’m not skipping my payment,” he reassures her, patience wearing thin.
His crew is probably still here for at least another day for repairs to the ship— probably. His captain isn’t exactly patient for idiots who don’t make it back in time. He shows her his gold in one hand while reaching for the door behind her with the other.
“That’s too much with the aloe,” she says sternly.
Her shoulders hold firm against the door, but he can see how white her knuckles are as she grips the watering can. She must really want that damn plant.
“You sure you’d rather have a weak promise from a scoundrel like me than gold in hand? I’ve done much worse things than break a promise,” he lets the threat ring clearly in his voice as he leans down to look her in the eyes.
He knows how intimidating he is like this, bigger men than this girl have given up after seeing the danger in his eyes. It’s wrong to do this, he doesn’t even know her name, but he can’t stop himself from testing how much she’ll brave before letting him leave.
He needs to know how long it will take her to regret saving a man like him.
“I’ll take the risk,” she says stubbornly, jutting her chin out.
“Fine, but don’t complain when I just leave with the discount,” Obi smirks before setting a smaller pile of gold on a shelf next to them.
She relaxes slightly, but still doesn’t move from the doorway, “You need to rest or your wound will open up again. And you should eat.”
“This a bed and breakfast too?” Obi laughs, sounding a little wild as he does so.
He steps back from her and the door, suddenly feeling like a trapped animal— there isn’t enough room to move in here, let alone breathe.
“If you keep caring more about hiding your injuries than taking care of yourself then you’re going to die,” she says sternly, staring him down again like she did when he first saw her.
“This—” he gestures over his chest, “isn’t something you get on accident, Miss. You should save your concern for the people defending themselves.”
“I’ll care for whoever I want to,” she snaps, “at the very least don’t waste my time. I worked hard keeping you alive, so don’t throw it away.”
Obi watches her closely, there’s a concession in her anger even if he doesn’t understand it. Her cheeks match her apple hair as she purses her lips and sets the watering can down gently.
“Let me at least show you how to take care of your chest. If you’re not back in a few weeks then you’ll have to take the sutures out yourself,” she sighs, likely fully aware that he won’t be back here.
“Don’t worry, I’m a brave boy, Miss. I can rip out some string,” he teases.
“My name’s Shirayuki,” she murmurs, “and you don’t rip it.”
Obi rolls his eyes, but he’s already following her back to the table. So easily softened by her determination.