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On the morning of Scar’s last day, it was raining. Or, maybe it wasn’t his last day per se, but who knew really?
Very well could be! Immortality was a fickle thing and Scar wasn’t sure what the limits would be.
And he’d rather not find out, mind you!
So yes, it bothered him that on this particular morning rain clouds hung low over the harbor he was unfortunate enough to be held captive in. They had yet to release their water, they’d potentially cry their tears once he was hanging from that noose. How poetic. Really- “Can you shut it?”
With a yelp Scar leapt back from the window he had sat down at, looking up at the sky. “You startled me, mister,” he accused, pointing a finger to that young man he was sharing his cell with. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
On the first look the man looked like he was around 20, his voice still sounded very shrill as well, but after a few moments Scar concluded he must be older. Maybe around 30 even.
“How am I supposed to sleep, if you keep talking to yourself?”, the man said.
The mob of sandy brown hair falling partially over his eyes did nothing to disarm the scalding look he gave. Scar on the other hand let out a nervous chuckle. He hadn’t realized he had been talking out loud, but there was no use in admitting that.
“Oh I’m sorry,” he said with a smile. “I find a good story soothing, most of the time.” He sat down again, this time facing his cellmate, rather than looking outside. “How about you?”
“Why are you still talking?” the man groaned. He sounded rather annoyed. So Scar stopped. He was about to get hanged in a few hours, he didn’t look forward to getting beaten up as well if he could avoid it.
True, the man that now laid his head back again, one arm over his eyes, didn’t look like he could put up a fight but Scar had seen him. He had watched from the cells of the navy ship as they had captured the man, burned down his ship. “Pirate,” they spat, as if it was the worst insult they’d think of. And the man had fought like one - with hands and teeth and a knife, he had painted the deck red.
No, Scar really didn’t want to experience what the man was capable of.
But still he couldn’t help at least humming a low melody as he watched the man’s chest rise and fall, deep and slow, as if he was attempting to go back to sleep.
He looked like a pirate, truly. With a slack linen shirt, brown pants and high boots. He looked like he might wear a headband, a hat and a sword.
With a deep sigh the man opened his eyes and set upright. “You won’t stop, will ya?” he said, almost defeated. Then, after a few seconds he added in a softer tone: “Are you nervous?”
Scar eyed him suspiciously, but decided the question was genuine.
“A bit,” he admitted. Even if he had no reason to be nervous and the man had every reason. Or maybe it was the other way around.
At least he knew he would die.
“No need,” the man said with a shrug. For a second he looked almost sad, before he went back to that neutral expression. “It’s inevitable. I’ve seen it before. It might take a while, but it will happen, eventually.”
He eyed Scar curiously, brows furrowed. “You do look like a pirate, but you don’t act like one. Why are you here?”
“Here in Port Royal, or here in this cell?” Scar asked with a grin. The man rewarded his bad joke with an amused smile. “Same same, isn’t it?” he asked.
Scar shrugged.
“Why yes,” he agreed, playing up the bravado. “But wouldn’t it be rude to ask your cellmate of their crimes, good sir?”
This time he even got a small chuckle out of the man. Scar let the laugh linger for a moment, then he shrugged. “Haven’t been a pirate for long before they caught me. Was stupid, really.”
This time, the man’s expression almost looked like pity. “Me too,” he said. “Stupid.” They stayed silent for a few beats, then Scar forced himself to carry the conversation forward.
“What about you?” he asked, well knowing he risked getting kicked for it. “Are you a pirate?”
To his surprise the man shrugged. “‘Am,” he said. “Was, I guess. It’s not like I’ll have much of a life to keep being one, still.” He sighed. “I had a great hat though. Nice big one, with a parrot’s feather. That pesky bird flew away when I got captured. Dang, I miss that hat.”
The sound of raindrops made Scar look around, outside again.
The sky was crying.
Scar wondered if it was crying for him, or for that strange pirate in his cell.
Scar wondered if he would cry for him.
“What’s your name,” he asked. The man looked a bit surprised at that, and Scar hurried to raise his hands in surrender. “Just asking. We’re about to die soon anyway, but I wanna remember the last nice conversation I had with a name.” He paused, giving his conversation partner the opportunity to jump in.
Then he continued: “I’m Scar.” The cell was small enough he could reach out one hand in proper greeting.
The man eyed him a moment longer.
Then he took his hand and shook it slowly.
“Grian,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”