Hearts and Daggers (feat. Songbird, The Bridgers, Corinna and Pluck)

The memory felt more real than any Fynn has ever experienced. He felt the water in his lungs as his vision faded, sinking into the dark purple water. He swore he tasted salt as he spit and coughed. It was all his father the day it happened… armies… navies colliding. Starmoths, butterflies. Spelljammers. Fynn felt the importance of his mothers flight from Numeliador, and his.
 
With that wave of his fathers last memory. Resignation, purpose and courage. Fynn felt his fathers feelings for his mother, for him and for his first son. From a different time… a different life but there was so much love there… Fynn’s heart hurt, thinking how cold he treated Talvos in their farewell.
 
At least I wished him safe travels… but 500 years…what then?
 
Fynn felt a creep under his skin and wished he could talk to Talvos and apologize, make him see and tell him about their father and his change of heart. He thought about Songbird’s insistence on saving him.
 
Maybe we could be brothers.
 
Fynn felt awful about how he treated Songbird, he just wanted to help. It was hard to accept being related to someone in this Imperial Navy. Fynn hated how it sounded even thinking of the name. Then the memory and its many details came back. Fynn looked to the drawer where his dads old coat was and his head fell. Fynn thought of the Barneby Razorleaf’s and Dreg. Rebels in sense to the navy. He took another look at the room he sat in, this ship the Razorleaf named after a rebel… and the smallest smile managed its way across Fynn’s face.
 
“Captains gotta make it right and Songbird was right too. Another day eating crow, Fynn the Fool.”
 
Fynn chagrined and laughed at himself then got dressed. He couldn’t help thinking of Corinna as he slipped his arms through a new green buttoned shirt in his wardrobe. He finished up and went to search for the Flyboy. He stepped out to the starfield and found Dalton and Lapeer Bridger coiling off a rope and clearing the deck.
 
“Oi, you lads seen Songbird? I need a word with 'em.” Fynn said stretching in the open space.
 
“He’s belo-oof,” started Dalton before he got a wrap on the head from his brother.
 
“‘E’s been talkin’ to the Greens! We ain’t seen nothin’” the elder brother pushed in.
 
Dalton’s fingers poked into Lapeer’s eyes, causing him to stumble back. “Pop’s a Green, you oaf!”
 
A flask flew down from high in the rigging right onto the same spot Dalton had just been knocked. “Pop’s not a Green,” the middle brother descended the web of ropes shouting. “‘E’s a freelance privateer who contracts with the Greens!”
 
“Wut’s the diff’rence?” asked the youngest Bridger as he rubbed his head.
 
“There ain’t none!” Lapeer gave the rigging a jerk, causing Linden to lose his footing, falling just far enough to slam in a heap to the deck.
 
The tussle continued on until ropes had finally twisted and weaved around the three brothers, binding them together in a shambling amalgam of half-elven limbs, pulled taut with their struggling.
“Cargo, Cap’n,” came a muffled voice buried in the pile. Dalton’s mouth was full of another Bridger’s vest.
 
“Do you all not speak with your old man anymore?” Fynn stepped forward, amazed at the exchange before him trying to untie the knots and of rope and limbs.
 
“Mmm mmm hmmmrff, nnnnrfrrrrmmh” said Lapeer, his face smashed against the deck.
 
“E’s got a week of shoreleave every solar or two.” Piper had stepped up from the forecastle stairs. “Long enough to pay the rent and put another bruv into Mumsy before ‘e’s off.” She spat into the pile of her kin. “Can’t even take a piss without ye lot gettin’ into…” she gestured dismissively, “this.”
 
Fynn frowned at that. Family. He turned to Piper offering her his best lead on a tangle, Lindon’s ankle.
 
“I guess if yer mum is happy, that's what's important I suppose.” he gave Piper a weak smile trying to give some understanding. “Family is rarely easy, and almost always complicated.”
 
She puzzled on that a moment before she shrugged and twisted on her brother’s ankle until it made a sickening crack. Muffled whimpers came from somewhere in the heap. A section of rope fell slack.
 
“I must get to Songbird gentleman thank you, Dalton. Piper good luck with the rest of…this and don’t hurt them too bad.” Fynn’s grin fell and his eyebrows raised at the sound and he rose to his feet managing to wrestle Lapeer’s arm loose from the scrum.
 
“You chaps are some real squids aren’t ya. Ya could learn a thing or two from yer sister or yer Pa, as far as sailin’ goes.”
 
She narrowed an eye, considering, and watched Fynn make his way downstairs.
 
“I bet Pip wants to teach the cap’n a thing or two,” came out of one of the brothers’ mouths before it met their sister’s boot.
 
***
 
Fynn should’ve guessed he would be here, he would admit he didn’t expect it. Fynn was already defeated, the deal was broken. So cracking a crate in the dark to make sure it was just blood seemed fine. Seeing Songbird sit vigil over the crates, it gave Fynn pause.
 
“Uhhh…Hey pal. Y’know they ain't goin’ anywhere.”
 
Songbird was seated against the wall across from the crates, leaning against the wood with his arms folded across his chest. His brow furrowed, not looking away.
 
“I’m aware, Captain.”
 
“Well, it isn’t doin’ ya any good just to sit and stare at these blasted things…I know you’re mad, you wouldn't call me Captain otherwise….” Fynn watched Songbird as he walked up and sat next to him. “...I get it though, none of this pleased me when the job was thrust upon us. I’ve been reminded more times out here that I am very small and some things I might never control. That Prince, the navy…vampire crime lords. It's kind of absurd if you say it all aloud.” Fynn smiled at himself, eyeing Songbird for any break in his grimace.
 
Songbird’s amber eyes slid over to Fynn’s when he dropped next to him. His expression didn’t change.
 
“Fynn.” Songbird’s voice was very soft. “What happens if we get there and it turns out there are people in one of the crates?”
 
Fynn stared at the crates for some time before he answered. The thought was bleak and made Fynn squirm.
 
“Simple. We go to war with a crime lord. I won’t sit back and be forced to run slaves. If we can’t fight then and there. Then we fight later, find their shipments wherever and whenever they are. We free who we can and make it bad for business. I guess we become vampire hunters.”
 
The fey looked back at the crates, a multitude of expressions flickering across his face.
 
“And the ones in the crates- do we save them?”
 
“If we can save them, yea… I have a hunch a ‘warlord’ like this Dango has plans for things just like this. Ways to… maintain leverage. We have to be smart. If we could get through without a fight, if I could disguise myself…maybe as that Magistrate woman an’ break ‘em out…”
 
Fynn watched Songbird fighting his emotions or thoughts, both maybe. Fynn shook his head at his idea. It was mad and he would probably become a blood bag for Bossman Dango. A fate that worried him since MarV mentioned the vampire.
 
“...We might not be able to. I don’t know what this Dango is really about. Marv seems to be gettin’ less n’ less reliable by the day. We could be walking into a deathtrap already… that Magistrate said they’d know. Walkin’ away from this with our lives may be the only payment we could hope to get…as a Captain… I’m not just thinkin’ ‘bout my skin and yours but the rest of the crew here on the ship. We risk them dying if we try to save folk ‘n’ fail. Not all of ‘em are fighters and even if they leave us. They could be hunted…”
 
Fynn trailed off, that feeling from the memory he felt that purpose his dad felt in the end. Something bigger than himself, it felt like…courage. Like leadership. Fynn started to understand.
 
Songbird hummed, the sound filling the air around them. His eyes stayed forward, on the crates.
 
“Did you seek me out to tell me something, Fynn?”
 
Fynn nodded, already feeling those emotions swirl. Fighting to keep an even keel. His struggle stretched to nearly a minute before he spoke.
 
“Somehow…Armitage was right. My dad is dead. Maybe he knew him or he was there...I’ll need to have words with him but I, uhh a memory was pushed upon me when I took that nap. Like nothin’ that's ever happened to me before.. It was my dad’s memory, his last memory. Of my home, Numeliador. The purple paradise I could only ever vaguely remember. It looked like the…Elven navy came down on the planet…they blotted out the sun. An armada like I’ve never seen. My mum…”
 
Fynn’s voice failed him. He felt the tears already rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed he had curled up clutching his legs close to his chest with his arms.
 
“...she—she was holdin’ me. Dad felt resigned, filled with purpose and courage but there was this deep urgency that my mom and I needed to flee and to get off world, I don’t know why...”
 
Fynn wiped away the tears and struggled to keep him voice from breaking.
 
“...an’ Dad was filled with love; for mum, for me, Numeliador... and for Talvos. He told her to ‘show Talvos what she had shown him’. Dad betrayed the empire and I gotta try to make Talvos see the empire is wrong… or evil, for dads sake. For everyone's sake. I…think I’m more like my mum and dad than I ever knew. You were right though, we gotta try to make Talvos see the truth.”
 
Songbird’s eyes left the crates, turning to Fynn with the full weight of his attention. A soft hand settled on the captain’s shoulder.
 
“Fynn.” The fey’s voice was gentle. “You should do what you want. If you don’t feel any love for your brother-” Songbird paused, tilting his head. “You should make choices for Fynn.”
 
Fynn thought hard, he had his ship. What was left?
 
“Of course I wanna help Talvos and bring him home… but his face went dead, Songbird. We shared a private dinner, and we got to know one another a bit. When the conversation turned to his navy and the cause… It just hurt. Like his face when he said our dad was dead. He meant dad was dead to him…and I get he could be mad. His life changed because of mum and me. I think he is centuries older than me… I don’t know how much time he had with our dad.”
 
Fynn felt lost amidst it all. Trying to sort out the memory versus the pain he felt towards his half brother.
 
“It was just…scary… and that memory. My dad, he died over the sea and… as he sank he made a plea and a voice called back… as he drowned… I can’t pretend to fully know but it was the same voice that spoke to me when we broke free of Toril and those whales, the kindori… this power is connected to them.”
 
Fynn held his hand out and summoned the sword, it had a strange quality to it. An odd and slight shimmer even in low light. He could swear he could hear it sing as it moved through the air.
 
“A son for a son. A chain for a chain. When all skies become one, our pact preordained.” then with a puff of smokey stardust the sword vanished. Fynn looked bewildered, filling his cheeks with air and exhaling long.
 
Tilting his head, Songbird looked at the sword in Fynn’s hand. Quietly, he said, “It sounds like your dad thought you were important.” Amber eyes flickered up to the captain’s face before Songbird dropped his hand and settled back down to stare at the crates. “I’m inclined to agree.”
 
Fynn looked back at Songbird then the crates and back to Songbird as thoughtful as Fynn could.
 
“I think we all are. Armitage spoke to his god and we will get something outta’ Marv one day yet… and we're gonna get you free of that collar and get you free of the chase. Are you gonna be okay? I should see to hoisting off soon. I wanna help Corinna find our proper heading, sailing stuff.”
 
Songbird hummed again, fingers tracing the collar briefly before his hand dropped back into his lap. “I’ll be fine.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Go see Corinna.”
 
“Alright, mate. Just don’t stay down here too long. We will set off soon.” Fynn stood up and gave Songbird’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, he couldn’t be sure if he noticed Songbird smile, it had to have been a trick of the light.
 
***
 
Fynn walked to the stairs and left Songbird to his vigil. The lingering hum was all that he heard as he climbed the stairs leaving the wreck of the Vündervayke in their trail. Fynn had mixed feelings about it all, all the death the dragon cult brought. People vacationing and then dying for it. He was happy they saved as many as they did. So much had happened after stepping foot on that ship he felt that was a different man than before. Fynn made it topside, the Bridgers had been sorted and the crew top deck milled about ready for the next leg. Things looked ready.
 
“Prepare to cast off! We make for Nehzmyth.” Fynn’s voice trailed off .
 
Fynn walked past the wheel and went to the quarterdeck. He took a breath trying to cast away some worry then opened the door. Inside the muffled arguing of Horus and Trinidad could be heard in the galley. The two headed dragonborn centaur were busy trying to tow the line between good food and survival. Fynn tried not to think of the shrinking food stores below deck and the ‘meal’ with Cpt Talvos. Fynn knew they and the Illumia would make it. More deep breaths.
 
Don’t dwell.
 
The door to the helm room was open and Fynn stepped up and leaned against the doorframe and looked into the room with the strange chair.
 
Corrina sat upon the helm, but seemed fully present in only her own skin. She had her knees brought up under her as she gently slid a small knife up and down in her hands, whittling away at a small piece of singed wood. She held on carefully, her palm at the bottom as she shaved blackened ash from the top of the chunk. Curled shavings piled and scattered around her legs. Her eyes looked up, then her head tilted back to match.
 
“Hello, Captain,” she said politely, but after a moment, she saw that no one else was behind him. She smiled and corrected herself, “Hello, Fynn.”
 
“Hey, ‘Rin. We’re all set up top. All we need is to set our headin’ back toward Nehzmyth.” Fynn returned her smile and couldn’t stop himself from rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s easy enough though, we got time. What ya makin’?”
 
She blew on the lump of wood and held it up. It was in the shape of a long creature with hints of dozens of little legs and pointed ears. “It’s Songbird’s little friend off the whaleship,” she grinned. “I thought if I shared a piece of myself with the Razorleaf, maybe it would share more with me? Or at least I hoped. You’ve heard its voice but it’s always been more of a pull or a feeling with me.”
 
Her eyes opened wide suddenly. “Oh gods, what if this is a piece off the Razorleaf? Is that like making a carving out of someone’s toenail clippings or their hair?” She quickly stood up, but left her hand on the edge of the helm. “I-I’m sorry!” she quickly said.
 
She pulled her hand away and wavered about apologizing a few more times, but turned to Fynn instead. She grimaced. “I hope the ship isn’t mad at me. I’m going to go…b-burn this?” she said looking down at the beginnings of the carving in her hand. Her eyes looked back up at Fynn and she whispered, “Do you think that’s worse?”
 
Fynn raised his hands up defensively and stepped in closer to help soothe Corinna’s panic. He placed a hand on her shoulder and forgot what he was gonna say for a moment.
 
“Whoaa there, lass. I was with ya for a minute but with all your worryin’, I got a wave of clarity. The Razorleaf…well I think she is just the Razorleaf, it don’t make sense, but not much makes sense out here… well some things do.” Fynn watched the arch of Corinna’s brow move from panicked to confused and he smiled. “MarV, Xix and the kobolds got new wood to fix ‘er up and parts of her are floatin’ out there with bits of that whale and those moths… Razorleaf hears us, I think she knows you mean well…” Fynn ran a finger along the legs of the cat-erpilar carving. “…What you’ve got there is really good, the details. Impressive. It’d be a shame to burn it…and I think the Razorleaf would agree.”
 
Fynn leaned in and nudged Corinna softly.
 
“It’s not like ya ripped part of the ship off yerself huh, ‘Rin?” Fynn smirked.
 
She sniffed, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and grinned back. “Hardly,” she said looking up through still-wet eyes. “You really think it’s impressive?”
 
“Without a doubt.” Fynn’s head tilted slightly for a moment, he didn’t notice. “I think you’re impressive, and… and I find myself wantin’ to know more ‘n’ more about ya.” Fynn stared back into her eyes. He felt his worries wash away. The ship, being captain, the ‘wine’, the empire, his family. Just this moment, the two of them, setting a heading.
 
“I think I know where I wanna go.” Fynn felt his face warm and felt almost embarrassed, how odd. He did notice his arm slide around her shoulder, looking down at her bright eyes.
 
Corrina stood transfixed, grateful her flush didn’t show any redder than the rest of her. Some part of her was aware her horns were dangerously close to Fynn’s face, her nose was probably dripping a bit, and there was the lingering line of tears on her cheek. That part fell quiet as she was pulled in by gravity, her eyes slowly closing. “Fynn, I…”
 
“I know.” Fynn said as he closed his eyes and ran her hair over her ear as he closed in.
 
The door to the main deck slammed just outside the room. Shouting could be heard from the main deck. It was Mr. Beak.
 
“You get back here or I’ll gut you like a fish, you little shit!”
 
Pluck the kobold scrambled into the helmsroom and shut the door. He stood holed up against the frame panting. Waiting a moment and listening, he held uncharacteristically still, catching his breath until he noticed Fynn and Corrina.
 
“Oh hey, Cap’n.” He gave a little salute, then nodded to Corrina. “Antlers. Fancy meeting you two here. Whatcha doin’?”
 
His tail swished and the end clanged, metal on wood. There was a sharp looking switchblade strapped to the end of his tail.
 
Corrina backed up two steps in one, tripping and falling against the helm. Fynn had reached for Corrina’s wrists as she stepped back but his attention at the door caused him to miss. Atop of Corrina’s embarrassment and grabbing at air Fynn was left dumb founded then a bit angry.
 
She straightened up. “Hi Pluck. The captain was just showing me…um. C-Captain, what were you saying? About headings?”
 
Pluck eagerly turned to Fynn.
 
“Yes. Settin’. The. Headin’, Copperhead.” Fynn spoke through his teeth. Failing to hide his frustration to all but the likes of Pluck. “So glad ya stopped by.”
 
“Well ya know, ol’ Pluck here’s something of an expert at navi-mi-gation. Can you believe that penguin had this tail blade on his nose?” He snorted, “Talk about not knowing your tip from your…wait…”
 
He narrowed his eyes. “You two…” If his eyes got any narrower, they would have closed. “...were in here all alone. Whispering all soft-like to each other…because you didn’t want anyone to know Antlers can’t read maps!”
 
Corrina blinked.
 
After the moment was ruined and a breath was caught. Fynn nodded to Corinna, grinned and winked. Fynn turned to study Pluck for a moment. Sizing up the quick mouthed kobold.
 
“We were havin’ a moment ya little…” Fynn knew he didn’t want to keep it a secret. “This was where I found her unconscious, Copperhead. Being a pilot of these ships seems to be more dangerous ‘n’ I thought. So… I worry about her ‘n’ care about her. Quite a bit chap. So. How about ya please fuck off and return Mister Beak’s knife to him before he pells your scales off? We have to set the heading and fly…” Fynn pointed to the door. Over and passed Pluck's head.
 
Pluck looked unimpressed. “Look Cap’n, you don’t gotta go makin’ up a bunch of stuff just to cover for her.” He shook his head slowly. “I get it. But Antlers ain’t ever gonna learn if you keep breathing on her while she’s trying to chart.” His tone pitched upwards into hopeful, “And since you’re free, maybe you could come with and give Pluck a little backup so I don’t wind up roasting over a spit when the penguin finds me?”
 
Corrina chuckled and gave Fynn a nod. “I do have to practice getting us up and moving. Maybe we can pick things up later, if there’s a moment?” She winked.
 
Then the tiefling sat down, settling in, and placed her little carving on the arm of the helm. Wood creaked all around them like a satisfying stretch after a long sleep.
 
Fynn’s eyebrows shot up and his grin was painfully wide. “Yes, course adjustments… you never know what you’ll find out here in space.” Fynn eyed Corinna and her tribute in some amazement nodding. Then he looked at Pluck and let out a sigh and waved the kobold onward. “Go on, let's face the Beak’s wrath.” Fynn didn’t move just yet, he turned to look back at Corinna with a gleam in his eyes and the devilish smile he wore like a shirt. “I trust our Helmswoman to it.” Fynn didn’t want to turn away, his worries were the other way but he blinked and he faced his responsibilities anyway. Most urgently, a negotiation for Plucks life.
 
Once they were in the hall, the door to the helm room closed, Pluck leaned over conspiratorily to Fynn and whispered much too loudly, “Ya know, Cap’n, if you ever need any pointers on the ladies, Pluck’s got you covered.” The kobold nodded matter-of-factly. “I think she might be kind of into you, but you’re tooootally blowing it.”
 
Fynn sighed, shook his head and smiled.
 
“Sure, Copperhead…sure.