Chapter Text
In theory, the Was family should be no more. Simon Was is dead, his heart eaten by Ammut and a twisted sense of self. Selma Was is, unfortunately, also dead, burned to ashes by cannons and insanity. Joseph Was, too, is technically dead, drowned in stolen gold and egomania.
The key word here, of course, is “technically.” Joseph Was’ incorporeal form is another story.
Moira ground her teeth as she saw herself (or rather, a bastardized, Shakespearean version of herself) flail about in utter foolishness, simpering away yet again at Arthur and crying for help, as if she were a poor-man’s version of some lowlife hussy. (Shakespeare didn’t even give her, a prostitute’s daughter, the dignity of being a proper hussy! For shame!)
“Oh Arthur,” a clearly masculine voice croaked out in a horribly butchered Welsh accent, “I need to pilot a pirate ship, but I don’t even know what a ship is! Oh help me, strong handsome wonderful Arthur, with your strong powerful arms and knowledge as the real captain - ”
I only save such compliments for attractive older women, she thought sourly.
“You must tell me, a poor uneducated and uppity woman, what a ship is! Of course, I will do nothing, only stay at your side for various purposes and then be in the way during important ship battles that will put us all in great danger, for there is no way a woman could ever be a captain!”
Wow, the selkie thought in deadpan. And I thought I was a bad writer.
“Never fear, some woman who clearly is interested in my material wealth and nothing more,” a frail old man squeaked out, “I, Captain Arthur, will clearly protect you from the world, because women needed to be protected first and foremost. After all, there is no way a first-mate would ever take advantage of the captain to gain power and have the upper hand, so your subservient position is totally normal.”
Moira frowned. First mates gaining power - ? Unconsciously, her mind shifted to the Mariner’s Revenge ’s current white-beareded first mate.
“You know, I’m a bit insulted that I’m no longer your first choice for white-beareded first mates,” an awfully familiar voice called out behind her. “Especially since I did exactly what this flaccid version of yourself could never do.”
“Shut it, Joseph,” she muttered under breath. “You’re dead.”
“I’m what, now?”
“You’re dead , Joseph,” Moira said with slightly more force. She let out a long exhale, attempting to settle her humors, as Jonthan advised her. Calm down, Moira . She was the captain of a large ship. Joseph Was was dead. She almost died - because of her former first mate, no don’t think about that - but came back. She had a good crew. And she had Arthur, no matter how convoluted her feelings towards him may be. Breathe . Everything was alright. She was at peace with her past.
A tiny child ran across the stage, interrupting the selkie’s thoughts. “Hello my name is Hunkle lightless’ness tetanus octopus road and I am literally the child of all things evil, which means I am from Spain. I am three and a half years old but I will cause this world to end with my limpid tears and I cry black liquid because I am Satan’s spawn. And I may or may not be the illegitimate child of Moira and Arthur but that’s for the audience to speculate about,” the child finished breathlessly, bumbling through the script.
Moira glanced over and snorted at Hunkle’s horrified expression.
A muscled man in an ill-fitting fish-tail leotard hopped across the stage. Pulling out a triangle, he started to violently bang the instrument and rap in dactylic pentameter. “Hello Hunkle lightless’ness tetanus octopus road, I am Zoey and I eat people, yo. My personality trait is that I eat people, yo. In my free time I like to eat people, yo, and in the future I want to eat people, yo.”
“Nice to meet you Zoey, please take over the world with me.”
“Yes, yo, that is most agreeable, yo, I do not care about things other than to eat people, yo. Who else will we recruit, yo, to take over the world, yo.”
Moira’s actor draped himself over Zoey and started to sob dramatically. “I will take over the world with you, because I don’t know better! Arthur will say no, but he will agree, because he is clearly in love with me and I will use that to my advantage! He and the rest of the world will be trapped in my influence and feminine wiles! I will be the next Cassandra! All because the captain foolishly loves his first mate!”
Moira grimaced. Where did Shakespeare even get all this information from, it’s almost as if -
“- As if he’s telling the truth. You would be wise to heed it, Moira.” Joseph’s voice laughed. “Look at myself and Simon. You showed us some favoritism, and look at how that ended up? And that’s nothing like your ridiculous infatuation with Arthur. Who says that he won’t take advantage of that? You are, after all, just an uppity woman.” Joseph’s voice rang out again.
She grit her teeth and turned around in range, but saw no-one behind her, save for a crowd of poor Londoners. She came face-to-face with a startled bald man.
“Whoa, man,” the middle-aged man said, “I know this play sucks but there’s no reason to take it out on me.” He held out a tomato. “Here, maybe this will make you feel better.”
Moira blinked. Right . She wordlessly took the tomato and, without turning around, pitched it towards the stage. The man whistled in appreciation.
“That’s a good arm you got there. Shame you’re not a man, you could’ve joined a cricket team.” Moira scowled, but said nothing.
When Moira turned back towards the stage, she noted in satisfaction at how stage-Moira’s unpractically-frilly pink dress was now sporting a dark red stain. And yet…
Face contorted in irritated fury, Moira stormed into the Captain’s quarters, Greerax quietly trailing right behind her. Zoe, Dinkleshire, and Hunkle were huddled around a table, observing some map of a location Moira particularly didn’t care about at that moment. Knocking over some stray sheets of paper, she grabbed two bottles of whiskey and tossed a bundle of papers to a startled Zoe.
“Go over these with Gree, would you? She needs to finish her crewmate onboarding.” Zoe looked down at the papers and frowned.
“Why can’t you do this, Moira? Don’t you usually do this with Neil and Arthur?”
Moira scowled harder. “Dinkleshire is here already, it’s more convenient.” She turned around and strided out the door, waving the bottle in the air. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Of course, one hour ended up being two, which ended up being four, and before long it was almost midnight. Moira had intended on just going to a couple of bars, just to burn off some steam - but her memory gave way after that, and next thing she knew, the pirate found herself in a small village in the countryside. Moira slumped against the thatched roof of a dilapidated house at the edge of the village, nursing her bottle and staring out into the darkness. Fields of wheat swayed gently in the midnight breeze as the crescent moon provided just enough light to make out a single dirt road. In the distance, a mountain range loomed over the horizon.
The wailing of a baby pierced through the silence, causing Moira to look down. A door creaked open, revealing a young woman in red carrying a brown-haired baby. Rocking the baby back and forth, the woman started to pace around the small front yard, shushing the baby and crooning a gentle Gaelic lullaby. The baby’s wailing gradually died down, leaving only the mother’s off-key, but strangely endearing, song. It was familiar, somehow, but Moira couldn’t figure out why. The selkie closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Well, attempted to, anyway.
“I can’t believe a simple play managed to tick you off so much,” a voice snickered next to her. Moira cracked open an eye and groaned, flinging a handful of hay towards the voice.
“I can’t believe your stupid mug isn’t dead yet.”
Joseph smirked. “I’m practically dead.” He flung the hay back towards Moira, who sputtered indignantly.
“Why are you back, anyway?” she groused, picking hay out of her hair. “I haven't thought of you in months .”
Joseph shrugged, his transparent body glimmering in the moonlight. “Beats me. I’m your imagination.” Moira muttered out a curse. “That’s not very helpful, Moira. Aren’t you supposed to be more introspective now? Something about settling humors? ”
Moira rolled onto her back and pointedly stared at the stars. “It’s stupid,” she started, mouth loose from the alcohol and the absurdity of talking to dead people , “you’re dead. I haven’t thought of you in months. And then you come back for no apparent reason -”
“After the bar, when you got blackout drunk and Arthur came to pick you up -”
“ - As I said , for no apparent reason, and now you’re here to annoy me again. Can’t you just fuck off in Davey Jones’ Locker and shut up for once?”
“But then that means we’ll inevitably have to meet in the Locker when you die your own gruesome death, and that wouldn’t be very fun for anyone, won’t it?” Moira held up her middle finger in response but said nothing.
The lullaby had long since stopped, replaced with the faint gust of wind. “Why are you here, anyway?” Moira whispered. “What for?”
Joseph hummed noncommittally. “That’s for you to figure out, not me.”
The sun was starting to rise now, the first rays of dawn climbing over the mountains and filtering through Joseph’s ghostly form. Moira blinked. Since when did sunrise come so quickly?
Joseph took one final look around the village. “Huh. Who knew that you had memories of your childhood.” He glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “Looks like it’s time for you to wake up.”
“What do you mean-”
Moira woke up to blinding sunlight, the unmistakable stench of alley-sewage and blood, a splitting headache, and Arthur’s concerned face.
“Moira? Moira! There you are!”
Moira closed her eyes and groaned.
“You know, Moira ,” snapped an irritated Hunkle, “I sure don’t know where Shakespeare got his sources from, but he sure got it right about your alcoholic tendencies!” The changeling started to pace around the room “Where were you last night?”, the changeling added, voice strangely high-pitched and - nervous? “We were looking all over for you!”
“I’ve already almost died once, Kid. I won’t get killed that easily,” said Moira lightly. The captain was in the surgeon’s quarters, lying down in bed and treated for some injuries of mysterious origins. Apparently her attempt at a joke was the wrong thing to say, for Hunkle sharply turned away from Moira with a sniff, tears forming in their - oh no, is the kid cry-
“Really, though, you should be more careful Moira.” Zoe added, warily watching Jonathan. The surgeon was wrapping bandages around Moira’s head and abdomen. Moira lifted a bloody hand and winced as pain shot through her ribcage. “Drunkenly climbing onto a roof? In the middle of London? Really, what were you thinking? You were lucky you didn’t snap your spine in half.”
Oh. So that’s what she was doing. “Good thing I’m a rogue,” she weakly responded. Zoe stared Moira down, nonplussed.
“And - and what if someone else found you before us?” Hunkle said weakly, voice shaking slightly. “The public knows about us. They know about you. And you might be portrayed horribly in the play but you’re still England’s greatest public enemy. Who knows what could have happened to you! And- and we wouldn't have even known about it.”
Moira scowled. “Don’t talk about that play.”
“I will talk about the play!”, burst out Hunkle, turning around and facing Moira. A single tear rolled down their cheek. “Because it was that stupid play that caused your stupid ego to climb the roof of Finde’ house and then proceed to fall off of it! You were found in an alleyway, Moira, barely conscious, and you were lucky we - you were lucky we -”
Oh . “Come here, Kid,” motioned Moira. The Kid shuffled close to the bed. Moira laid a hand on their hair and ruffled it affectionately. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be more careful next time. And thank you, and you too Zoe” she looked at Zoe and nodded, “for finding me.”
Hunkle burst into tears, tackling Moira into a hug. The captain wheezed in pain, but wrapped her arms tight around the shaking child and squeezed back. Zoe, without a moment’s hesitation, wrapped their arms around the two and sang a sea shanty of healing.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted the moment. A sheepish Arthur poked his head through the door. “Am I interrupting a moment?”
Hunkle scowled, but Zoe ushered Arthur in. “No, we were actually going to leave soon. We’ll bring you lunch later, Moira, try not to drink anymore until then.” Moira scrunched up her nose in disdain, but said nothing. Jonathan, too, got up and wordlessly left, much to the confusion of the two remaining pirates.
“So,” Moira started after a particularly painful silence, “I guess I took quite a fall, huh?”
Arthur let out a shaky breath. “Don’t scare me like that again, Moira. You were in pretty bad shape. And muttering something about Joseph, or at least I think it was him, in Gaelic.” He gazed at Moira delicately and tenderly, as if she would shatter upon impact. It was absolutely unbearable, and Moira fought with her entire being not to bask in its warm beam.
“Is everything alright? Bad memories?” Arthur gently asked. He paused, then added, “is it because of the play?”
Moira looked aside and opened her mouth to speak, but barely managed to make up some weak excuses about blasted playwrights and historical inaccuracy . From the look of Arthur’s face, she knew he was doubtful.
“Well,” he mumbled out, “I guess you’ll have to show that Shakespeare man just how inaccurate his play was.”
But was it inaccurate? Was it, really?
When had anyone not strived for glory?
Joseph had, and so had Simon. And once upon a time, in a faraway mountain village, so had she.
She thought of terrible dialogue, of stubbornly-undying apparitions, of murmured lullabies whispering words of power and glory.
Why are you here, anyway?
“Arthur,” she asked quietly, “Why are you here?”
Arthur blinked, then laughed nervously. “What’s that for, Moira?”
“I - just answer the question. Why are you here?”
“Because you’re the Captain.”
“Because you can take advantage of the fact that I like you?”
Blood rushed into Arthur’s ears as static overcame his senses. What?
“That you like - advantage - what? ”, he struggled out, “I don’t understand. I’m - I’m here because you’re here.”
“But why? Would you still be here if I were some unnamed ship’s hand?”
“I - what - of course, I would! What sort of question is that?” Arthur said, increasingly agitated.
“Do you really?”
Anger and frustration flared up within him. “You - you don’t get it, do you?”
“What don’t I get? That any semblance of positive affirmation, of affection, of captains towards first mates are a weakness? Simon - I mean Jos- the play ,” stuttered Moira, “showed me that bright and clear!”
“Don’t say that!” Arthur cut in abruptly. Understanding dawned on the pirate. Oh . Oh Moira, your affection is a treasure, never a weakness. Hope bloomed in his chest. “I’m not like them. You know I would never.”
“Why not?”
“Because - because it’s you. You instead of the captaincy? Always, my lo- I mean Moira.”
Moira beamed, soft and gentle. “Do you mean it?” she asked hesitantly. He nodded, and was rewarded with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Alright then, Arthur , this is your shot. Tell Moira that -
“So do you - do you - me - I mean - ”
“Yes, Arthur,” Moira said, eyes crinkling with happiness. “You are the most wonderful first mate I could have.”
Arthur’s smile faltered. “What?”
“You really are. If there is one thing the play got right, it’s that.” Moira laughed. “But still, I can’t believe they made me hang all over you like that, like some lovesick puppy. Imagine that! Hah. Never could happen in a million years.”
Arthur nodded mutley. Internally, he held his head in his hands and screamed.