Thine Brother’s Keeper pt.7

(Part 1 can be found here.)

Now…

Rosetta lets out a long sigh as the boat lists further and further due north, “For the last time, you’re going the wrong—”

“Rosetta,” Woh-Sahn starts, with a smile that doesn’t match his tone, “I’m going to need you to keep it down, please.” Her eye narrows, looking the pirate over as he says to one of his henchmen. “Laugh. Loudly.” On command, with a bellowing fervor, the roegadyn laughs a full belly laugh that echoes across the sea and through the Ruby Price. “Let us get to open waters, and—” Another boat skiffs by them, headed towards Sakazuki, the Confederate outpost just to the west of the Ruby Price.

“Charge ‘er double, eh Woh!?” The first confederate shouts, prompting the others to cheer.

“Double? I’d never be so craven!” He corrects. Confusion sits on the faces of the confederates in the other boat before Woh-Sahn’s face slowly twists into a wry smile, “It’s a bad omen to charge less than triple on a Windsday!” He shouts back, prompting the four passing pirates to laugh and cheer their compatriot on. Woh-Sahn leans in close, his face eschewed in a taunting glance, but his voice again betrays him. “We can’t risk it. Keep quiet, and look unhappy. The boss needs to see you.”

Rosetta doesn’t hesitate, and puts a scowl on her face, despite the crew of the passing boat not being able to see her face now. The dragoon stays quiet, observing the three men as they try to find the line between casual and pirate. Her business with the confederates has always been passing, at best. More often than not she flies or swims through undetected… But Woh-Sahn was waiting for her, like he knew she was coming… But why? She looks at the trident they confiscated from her, beside the roe, and silently curses herself for not bringing her brother or Gobby along for the journey. Even if she did best them, she’d be on open waters surrounded by any number of Confederates patrolling the Ruby Sea.

Be it by good luck or ill, they happen upon no one else as they approach Crick, the small “village” the Confederates call home, though village is perhaps a generous term for it. A few shanties built around the base of the rocky outcropping, and the seemingly eternally tall Heaven on High; A spiral tower made of cubed rectangles that stretches so far into the sky it’s hard to say precisely where it ends, or how tall the structure really is.

Still, for the wayward men and women of the Confederacy, Crick serves their purposes. Already, as night fast approaches, she can see they’re preparing a large bonfire near the aetheryte. And as she sees them haul a giant crab off of a ship at the second of the two docks, she finds herself envying them. “Move it, wench!” Woh-Sahn shouts, shoving her onto the docks., sending her sprawling onto the planks. She pounds a fist onto the dock, deciding she’s had enough of the charade, and turns to face him. Her trident in the hands of the larger compatriot, he draws his steel, thinking it enough to deter her, but she’s on him quicker than he can react. Grabbing the collar of his shirt she brings her knee up into his stomach. He moves to bring his sword up and into her neck, his orders be damned, but she’s already started to drop down and spin, sweeping his legs out from underneath him with her own.

Seeing their compatriot on the ground, his two lackeys shake off their stunned reaction and move to defend him, the larger of the two drawing up Rosetta’s spear. “You think swing at me with my spear, and I’ll make sure you won’t have hands to swing your own c—”

“Language!” A hyur man with dark purple hair and fuchsia highlights, proclaims from the shore. As he steps onto the dock she can see immediately he’s of some import, by both the way he carries himself and the way his fellow confederates respond to his presence. His robe is one of fine craftsmanship, with ornate flowers hand embroidered onto the fabric, with gold ornamentation on his belt, and through the sleaves of his garment. But it’s not the fancy clothes, that gives her pause, it’s the easy look on his face. Commanding, yet casual and menacing all at once. Other Confederates follow behind him, with a dozen more gathered at the beach with their weapons drawn. “Now, my dear, your options are simple. Come quietly, or come silent.” He offers with a bold smile, not even reaching for the staff on his back.

She tries to take his measure, but finds herself coming up empty. His casual demeanor is hard to gauge, and the fact he made this threat while she’s got his man laid out before her doesn’t bold well either. Rosetta straightens her coat and offers a nod, trying to make claim to some kind of mutual authority here. The man just smiles and gestures for her to follow, as she does her foot finds itself in the ribs of Woh-Sahn as she lazily steps over him.

She follows closely behind him, and he makes no signs of looking over his shoulder. “Who are you?”

“We are, the Confederates. Free men of the Red—”

“No no no, I don’t need the… Who are you?” Rosetta interrupts what she’s sure is going to be a most uninformative speech.

“You’re a rude one, hm?” He quips with a grin. “I’m the Captain’s lieutenant, but I go by Tansui all the same.”

She hesitates for a moment as they take to the stairs of the structure built around the rock, thinking back to what Matzugi had told him. “Are you… Are you taking me to Maturin?” She asks, before she’s too far up the stairs to make an escape.

Seeming bewildered by the bizarre question, he lurches his head back. “Maturin? What kind of name is that?” He shakes his head. He continues as they make their way up the stairs, one platform after another. “You’re here to meet my boss, Rasho, Captain of the Confederates.” Once at the top of the stairs he gestures to the eastern roegadyn who sits at small table. The pirate Captain doesn’t so much as offer a nod to her, just sips his drink casually. The platform is large, with sacks of supplies in piles all about the area, with banners hung above the overlook to the East, and a large mural depicting ships and swords on the ruby sea beside the small simple table. Images of the court in Ishgard come to mind, but on a less… robust scale.

She waits expectantly but Rasho, sitting with his ornate deep blue robe hanging open, with a cup of sake in his hand, seems to care very little about her presence. “Your man went through an awful lot of trouble to bring me to you.” She says with an arrogant chuckle. “For wanting to meet me so badly, you have—”

“I could care less.” Rasho says with a passing glance in her direction, before gesturing with a nod behind her.

“Oh lass!” A pitched voice says, “always think y’er the center of attention!” She turns and looks down. Her face contorts in bewilderment at the sight before her. Standing in a suit made of spun gold and shoes so finely polished you could see your reflection in them, is not a man… But an odd looking moogle. An odd looking moogle, with a blue pom above his head. “Don’tcha know by now? I’m the real main character here!”