Chapter Text
Booming sounds of cannon fire echo across the ripe green bay of Cheongsando and wake Jisung with a start. He scrambles up into a sitting position among his threadbare blankets piled on the floor of his makeshift room (an abandoned market stall). Before he can truly open his eyes, he immediately hits his head into the wooden beam that’s always existed above his bed but he somehow always forgets is there. Rubbing his forehead, Jisung gathers his bearings.
The small room he’s woken up in for the last ten years yawns tiredly back at him, its humble grey walls and dirt floor as indifferent as ever. Another blast shook the place, his miscellaneous belongings teetering on the edges of the mismatched furniture Jisung’s managed to collect over the years. A splintered wooden dresser from a neighbor that moved out months ago. A dented metal table stolen swiftly from the marketplace. A patched cushion from a windowsill down the street. All littered with candles and tchotchkes and drawings on parchment. Little hobbies to whittle away the hours. Yet another bang finally propels him from his bed (he’s always needed a little push) and Jisung creeps towards the covered hole in the wall that faced the port of his village. Pulling back the tattered curtain, a battle underway reveals itself to him.
Light from the setting sun bleeds into his room, bringing with it visions of buildings he knew like the back of his hand. They're going up in flames, the perpetrator ship that's just slightly hidden from Jisung’s view is blasting cannonballs straight through the village’s waterfront. Soldiers hurry down cobblestone streets only to be blown off their path. Screams rise from the heart of the tumult along with foul-smelling smoke into the mockingly beautiful ombre sky. Jisung’s heart begins to race in his chest, sweat gathers on his brow, and a smile appears on his face. Finally. He rushes around his quarters to gather a knapsack and stuffs into it four leaf-wrapped rice balls, three silver coins, his knife and a canteen. He wouldn’t need much else, he figures.
Without even a last look at his sorry heap of a home, he dashes down the dilapidated almost-steps leading up to his abode and makes his way unassumingly onto the main street of Cheongsando. It's absolutely teeming with people. Immediately he's greeted with bodies bustling every which way, the smell of gunpowder in the air and shouts rising from the villagers. Jisung lingers absently along the dirt sidewalks to eavesdrop and gather information when he could, but never too long; the attack wouldn’t last forever.
“They’ve never come this far North before.”
“They have so! Laid waste to Busanpo, they did. Blasted pirates.” Jisung’s heart races faster. The corners of his mouth turn up further. Jisung’s worn leather boots race him through throngs of panicked people, as he bumps shoulders with passersby and squeezes into the smallest gaps between bodies.
“What could he possibly want with this tiny village?”
“Who knows – they say he’s barkin’ mad. Goes wherever he damn well pleases.” Jisung clutches his knapsack – thieves love events such as these, he should know. But that wasn’t the purpose of this mission.
“We’re doomed.”
“He never leaves any survivors.” Jisung desperately elbows against the flow of people rushing away from the attack, grinning like a madman, getting closer to the port and the heart of the action with each step. Just as he turns onto the dirt road leading towards the marina, he peers upwards hoping for a clue to his attacker’s identity, and there it was. Their colors flying boldly from the ship’s highest mast: a blood-red flag with a skull menacingly smirking over a crossed cutlass and pistol. The Red Manger. Jisung could cry. He could hardly believe his luck.
Legends of the Red Manger stretched all across these oceans, and Jisung (if he dares admit) has had a small obsession with this particular crew since he could remember. It was said to be home to the most fearsome cutthroat gang of pirates known as the Ravagers, commanded by a captain as mean as he was mad. Captain Red-Eye Lee. So devilishly handsome and smooth with his word that he makes men see red with jealousy, and their wives throw themselves at his feet. That is, if they keep their heads long enough to gaze upon his face. Some say his eyes really have turned the color red from all the blood he’s seen shed, others say it’s because he’s got the devil in him. Either way, townspeople from all over Asia and beyond cower at the mention of his name and the shadow of his sails in their harbors. All one can do when faced with his presence is hope you’re not the target of his next whim and stay well out of the Red Manger’s path. But Jisung has never been one for superstition. He intends to board her.
A soldier slamming full force into Jisung shakes him from his stupor. On any other day, he would have used the opportunity to snatch their wallet, but right now he's too giddy to do anything but catch his balance and skip off in the direction of a small jetty he keeps hidden in a cove west of the marina.
Dumping his sack into the dinghy, Jisung makes quick work of rowing right up behind the ship currently destroying his hometown, praying no one had seen him. She was grander than he ever could have imagined, looming before him: terrible, beautiful. The sun was sinking below the waves now and its dimming light cast writhing shadows on the wood of the ship. He took hold of a rope conveniently dangling off its side and hoists himself up the side of the hull, as quietly as he can. Jisung’s boots elicit a wince from him with each dull thud they make on his steep journey up the ship. When he finally reaches the stern, he stops for a moment, clinging onto the railings and blinking into the dark glass of the ship’s windows. It’s bloody empty. Again, Jisung could hardly believe his luck. To be fair, there aren't many souls brave or stupid enough to march right up to the Red Manger. Carefully, he creeps further up past the windows covering the captain’s empty quarters and onto the poop deck. It's eerily, deadly silent save for the boom of the cannons below decks. Jisung glances up at the crow’s nest. Empty. Tiptoeing further onto the main deck, Jisung hears murmured voices and the occasional shout of three, maybe four people below him, he guesses. His heart thumps with anticipation. So he slips down the stairs into the hold belowdecks, right past the four people (he was right) manning the cannons. The space was pitch dark, the only vision Jisung is granted is in the seconds after the violent blast of a cannon. Being as quiet as he can, he wriggles in between a couple bags of rice and promptly goes to sleep.
…
“What in the blazes-?”
“How the hell did we not notice he was there?”
“Was he here the whole time?”
“Of course not you fool, he probably snuck on board last night during the attack.”
Jisung blinks his eyes open blearily at the sound of voices above him, which abruptly stop at his sign of consciousness. He's met with three faces staring back at him. His eyes go wide and he freezes, making eye contact with equally surprised looking expressions. The man in the middle spoke first, his slit eyebrow quirked and his full lips twisted into a smirk.
“Well mornin’ sleeping beauty, did you get your beauty rest?” he crooned, leaning closer into Jisung’s space. His long hair spills out around his face from behind a bandana as he leaned forward, and the man to his right snickers. The man currently cooing at Jisung has a tall, lean build under his billowing white tunic; he didn’t scare Jisung much, but he couldn’t say the same for the others. The chuckling lad is sporting unruly curly hair tied back into a ponytail and his complete lack of a shirt left his buff tattooed arms and chest free for viewing. The last man is silent, glaring down at Jisung with a cold gaze that offset his plump cheeks. He's wearing a vest, undone – or maybe torn apart – over his broad chest and his inked arms were about as big around as Jisung’s leg.
“Take me to your captain,” Jisung demands, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. The men did not seem perturbed in the slightest by Jisung’s sudden confidence, they only share a smile amongst themselves.
“Oh, take me to your captain,” the middle man mocks girlishly while the two others cackle beside him. Jisung’s expression sours further; he does not like this guy.
“Oooh, you made him maaad,” sneers the curly-headed man. He reaches down to pinch one of Jisung’s cheeks, and in turn Jisung reflexively snatches the man’s wrist away from himself. At first, both men look dumbfoundedly between Jisung and his hold on the man’s wrist, like they didn’t know he was capable of any sort of movement, before their faces turn menacing, and Jisung realizes for the first time since boarding this ship why these men are feared across the ocean. They snarl and move to grab his arms, roughly hoisting him up out of his hiding spot, despite Jisung's violent struggling, jeering at him all the while. He tries again and again to thrash out of their grasps, growing more hopeless by the moment; he might have been able to take one of them, but three–
“Well, what in the bloody hell do we have here?”
Like they had been hit with a blow dart, all three men instantly freeze. And drop Jisung on the floor with a thud. They turn to reveal the man who spoke, and Jisung’s jaw nearly falls to the floor. Before him, in a crude halo of light cast from the staircase above, stands who Jisung could only assume is Captain Red-eye Lee. The stories did him justice; he's the most beautiful man Jisung has ever seen. His eyes are deep, feline and mysterious, glinting with a sort of sick amusement. His hair is long, choppy and pitch black, cradling his face under his hat. His nose, cheekbones and jawline are as sharp as the cutlass fastened to his belt. He waves his hand dismissively, and the three men previously hell-bent on subduing Jisung part for him like trained dogs. The captain's pink pouty lips playfully form his next words.
“Darling, you’re staring,” he grinned. Jisung flushed a deep red, and schooled his expression, looking down while the three pirates surrounding him snickered.
“Silence!” the captain ordered suddenly, the grin suddenly gone from his face as though it had never been there to begin with. His three goons straighten and fall quiet immediately. Jisung was perplexed, intrigued.
“Come,” the captain demands, using two fingers to beckon Jisung forward, and Jisung scrambles up to stand before the man. For just a second, they make eye contact, sizing each other up for the very first time. They are just about the same height, and it seems that the captain realizes that fact at the same moment Jisung does, because no sooner after their eyes lock, the man motions towards Jisung with his hand and two swift kicks are delivered to the back of his legs, painfully forcing his knees to the floor. The captain regards him again from above, stroking his neatly trimmed beard.
“What is your name. Speak,” the captain orders.
“Jisung. Han Jisung.” Jisung is surprised at the strength in his own voice – he feels nothing but weak under the captain’s roving eyes.
“Han Jisung,” the captain repeats, as if tasting the name on his tongue while dark eyes lift to his crewmates’, “and to what do I owe the pleasure, Han Jisung?”
“Please let me join your crew,” Jisung spills. He hadn’t meant for it to come out as earnestly or eagerly as it did, but what could he do.
He's met with silence. The captain lazily lolls his head to the side, and looks at the buff man to Jisung’s left. His eyes then travel down to Jisung’s knapsack the man was holding in his hands. When the hell did he get that? The captain makes grabby hands for the rucksack, and opens it as soon as it's in his grasp, rifling through it with interest. Without a word, he pulls out the rice balls Jisung had packed like he put them in there himself. The room is dead quiet as the captain pops one into his mouth and chews. He pulls the rest out, then loudly dumps the remaining meager contents of the bag on the floor. After a dissatisfied once over, the captain tosses the bag over his shoulder before addressing Jisung again.
“Listen Jisung-ah. Can I call you that? Jisungie?” he feeds himself another rice ball. “I’m afraid I don’t find meself in need for another petty lad aboard, but I’m feeling mighty generous today. Why shouldn’t I toss you overboard for trespassing on me dear ship?”
Jisung dared not waste a second to explain himself. “I can cook, I can clean, I can do whatever it is you need from me, just please.” Damn that sounded desperate, even to Jisung’s own ears. The captain looks no less bored. Without breaking eye contact with Jisung, the man absently deposits the remaining rice balls in the curly-haired man’s palms and stalks forward, until Jisung has to crane his neck to look at him. The captain bends down, knees popping as he sinks to Jisung’s level. His dark eyes study Jisung.
Without warning, his left hand shoots out to grip Jisung’s hair harshly. Jisung doesn't flinch. He smiles. If the captain is surprised by this reaction, he doesn't let it show on his face, just tugs harder on Jisung’s hair, exposing his neck to the stale air in the cabin.
“Jisungie,” the captain says lowly, and Jisung can feel the man’s gaze burning along his throat. “Who do you serve?” Jisung pauses. Truthfully, he doesn't know how to answer that question. Does the captain suspect him of spying? Apparently, he took too long with his meditations, because although Jisung can't see much but the roof of the cabin, the telltale shing of an unsheathing sword rings in his ears. Jisung begins to panic.
Oh no, now I’ve done it. Gone and got my throat slit by the captain of the bloody Red Manger. I suppose there are worse ways to go.
Trembling, Jisung forces his head forward, fighting the captain’s strong grip. He defiantly meets the captain’s eyes. They're testy, twinkling with an emotion Jisung can’t place. Jisung decides if he's going to go, he won't do it a coward. So he presses his chin right up to the captain’s drawn blade.
“I serve no one,” Jisung spits. The hand in his hair wrenches his head back once again. His neck twinges with a delicious sting. Jisung absently wonders if he'll have a bald spot after this.
“Wrong.” Warm breath crawls down his bared throat.
“I’ll only ask one more time, darling. Who do you serve?” Jisung supposes this is a test of loyalty then.
“… you?” Jisung tries. The hand in his hair retreats (to Jisung's disappointment), the cutlass fit back into its scabbard. Jisung lifts his head curiously, but the captain is already standing with his back to Jisung, waving his hand to the others as he starts toward the stairs leading to the main deck.
“Walk with me Jisungie. We have much to discuss.” The remaining three pirates disperse – not without glances between Jisung, the captain, and each other – but said nothing nonetheless.
Jisung follows the captain across the main deck and into his quarters, past a lithe freckled boy who shuts the doors behind them. The captain’s quarters are just as lavish as Jisung imagined. Silk curtains line the windows, letting in hazy light upon a large dining table complete with cushioned Chinese chairs. The map room has your run-of-the-mill assortment of charts, various navigational gadgets, a collection of swords, pistols, and what might even be a small handheld cannon. Fastened to the walls and strewn about various surfaces are an array of treasures and the sort that appear to be from all over the world. A Persian hookah, an Indian carpet, a Mongolian hat, Turkish lamps, Indonesian instruments, Roman pottery, a Malian mask and French utensils. The bedroom is hidden behind a large elaborately decorated shoji screen and the whole room smells of rich incense.
The captain seems content to allow Jisung to gape at his surroundings, until he isn't. “So,” he begins loudly, causing Jisung to flinch in surprise, “Jisungie, from where do you come, I wonder.” He's easily reclined in a cushioned chair, kicking up his feet and spinning a knife absentmindedly on the table, letting its tip dig into the dark wood. Jisung sucks in a breath to explain but is interrupted by the captain’s voice.
“Your accent isn’t from around these parts, and I’m well-travelled enough to assume that it originates somewhere south of here, yes?” he pauses, eyes roving over Jisung’s frame. “But it’s buried beneath years of trying to sound Korean, so you mustn’t have ended up there too recently, am I correct?” Jisung nods belatedly, stunned into silence by the accuracy of the captain’s guess. But he isn't finished. “You don’t have the appearance or demeanor of a noble person, and you’ve already swiped one of my rings into your pocket, haven’t you Jisungie.”
Jisung’s eyes go wide and he feels his face grow warm at the accusation. Luckily, the captain doesn't seem offended by the affront, and simply looks warningly at Jisung. When he makes no movement, the captain extends his hand, a surprisingly patient but obvious demand for the stolen item. Reluctantly, Jisung shuffles forward and around the table to deposit his treasure into the captain’s palm. Their fingers brush, just a second too long. Suddenly, the captain stands and the stomp of his feet back on the floorboards shock Jisung far enough backwards that he has to brace his hands behind him on the table’s edge. The captain pays him no mind. Instead, he stalks around the table, hands behind his back.
“A street urchin then,” he looks at Jisung pointedly, amusement dancing on his face, “from south of here, too poor to afford passage on his own. Hmmmm. A stowaway? An orphan? A slave?” Jisung stiffens, listening to the captain's footsteps knocking on wood behind him. “Ah. Hit a nerve, did I? Well. I won’t pry, not as long as you don't have a bounty on your head.” By now, the captain has made his way in a circle around the table and approaches Jisung’s left side. Finally, he comes into Jisung’s field of view. Leans in. Jisung’s breath hitches at his closeness and the captain chuckles lowly at his reaction.
“I'm just curious, what gave a pretty boy like you,” the captain lifts his hand to run his fingertips along the perimeter of Jisung’s forehead, brushing his overgrown hair behind his ear and tipping Jisung's chin up to force eye contact, “the gumption to board the dreadful Red Manger, hm?” The captain cocks his head to the side, eyes scanning Jisung’s face, waiting. Their noses were barely an inch apart. Jisung figured that since the captain had uncovered so much about him thus far without his help, there would be no harm in revealing more to him (and he called him pretty).
“You’re right, captain. I come from a sugar plantation in Malaysia,” the captain pets Jisung’s jaw encouragingly, “I’d first laid eyes the Red Manger when you attacked the plantation village,” Jisung admits, eyes shying away from the captain’s unreadable gaze, “Your attack gave me leave to escape.” The captain’s hand leaves Jisung’s jaw, and Jisung already misses it’s warmth. The man before him regards him for a moment, then smiles fully, baring a bite of occasional gold and silver among ivory. It makes Jisung's blood run south.
“So you’ve come to pay your respects then, have you darling,” the captain croons. Jisung can't even be mad at the tone, he's so mesmerized by the captain's face. The man backs out of Jisung’s space, and starts eagerly to the door, throwing it open and startling the man still stationed just outside. He claps the man on the shoulder and grins at Jisung.
“Felix, show Jisungie to his quarters. We have a new member of the crew.”