Remus swung his legs atop the mast, watching the scorching sun sink below the sea as it ravished on his skin. He breathed the salty sea air deep, licking his top teeth with a harsh tongue. The wind blew back his long hair, white streak shimmering in the lustrous, dimming light. He hugged the mast tight as the ship rocked, half-folded hat shifting askew against the dark, sturdy wood. Seagulls chirped above his head, flying quick and brief over the ship. The gentle swish of the sea brought peace to Remus' mind.
Shore was not far ahead. Below his perch, his men were yelling and embracing with glee, excited for a night of festivities and fortune. Remus was more than pleased with his crew's enthusiasm, but there was one thing on his mind. He fiddled with war-torn balloon sleeves and a tight, corset-akin belt high at his waist. His heeled boots clicked as they swung by each other, ivory caps scraping the soles. He hummed to himself to keep occupied.
The capital was not a kind place to him. Too many people, too many reminders, not enough wind in the air to fill his lungs. Remus saw the castle form afar, breaking over the skyline through the clouds in a glorious point at the top; the tower. The roofs donned black stone, walls grey and covered in vines. Red creeper clutched the cracks in the walls like veins, a stark contrast to the moss-ridden, water-damaged bricks of ancient debris.
The gates were grand and glimmering, even from its horizon, which Remus and his men clutched the edges of. They were so far off in the distance they were hardly a spec, but they gleamed in Remus' face like he was right there, staring up at the height from which he'd just dropped, scrambling to collect his drawstring bag back into his hands. It was long ago that he last laid eyes on Royal grounds and he remembered every square inch like it was etched into his retinas.
"I see the docs!" a woman yelled in a rough voice, botched from the smoke of wildfire. Remus hopped to his feet and, with a wide stance, scanned the cusp of dry land with a keen eye. There he saw a clutter of fishermen and a line of stuck-up aristocrats watching them with curiosity. He checked their flag: it was nowhere to be seen. Remus slid down the pole with expert precision. He landed on his toes and jogged through the middle line to his first mate and short time companion, Ursa.
"Land, ho," she snorted with ample sarcasm. Remus rolled his eyes; her posh accent only fit the linguistic should she present it with some kind of resentful scorn. Remus lounged with his back to the shore, looking out on the crew, and by extension the sea.
"This should be fun," he replied, quietly anxious. "I haven't been here in three years, but it isn't exactly... foreign. At least, not when I look at it."
Ursa eyed him. He scoffed with a smile. "You know what I'm talking about."
She nodded, taking in the scattering stars just starting to appear. Not five minutes in the future, Remus would be faced with exactly that.
The ship hit shallow waters all too quickly for Remus' taste. The crew was met with confusion and skepticism for their wild looks and dodgy, varied accents. Used to it, they shrugged off silent questions and suspicious looks and made their ways straight into town, knowing exactly how their schedules worked. A pirate's life was simple; go in, have fun, and leave. What 'having fun' meant was up to the individual, but this crew was different. Their one rule? Only the rich.
Remus was the last to leave, dawning a much more conspicuous headpiece: a straight-rimmed black bowler with a single, pale yellow rose embedded in rope-woven binding resting on top. As he passed, eyes concealed, one meek teen in a long, blue coat darted off towards the nearest tavern. He hid behind a pole to watch Remus' direction before running inside eagerly.
Logan took back his place at the table and picked his book back up, dainty fingers sifting through the pages to where an old bill kept his place. Virgil looked up from a half-empty glass with a steely glint to his gaze.
"I assume he's here?" Virgil asked ominously. Logan, used to his surly demeanor, nodded. He clearly wasn't paying enough attention for further conversation, so Virgil left him be. Logan reached out for his drink.
"He went left," Logan informed him. "Towards the market." Virgil nodded and leaned back on his chair with his feet on the table, careful not to rip the patches in his newly mended winter cloak. He looked through the gathering of drunkards clambering about the tavern to the brightly lit street. The boardwalk was barren, besides the odd bar patron. Virgil swung off his legs and made a slow escapade for the door, Logan packing up his things and following close behind as quickly as possible.
"We aren't allowed in the palace gates after hours, Virgil," Logan warned, tone shifting in pitch to match the scratching of nails on a chalkboard. Virgil shrugged and hoisted him along by the wrist. His icy silver hair swished over his eyes like flexible quartz. Logan stumbled along behind him, having to jog to keep pace with Virgil's long, purposeful strides.
"Nor is he," Virgil retorted as their steel-capped soles assaulted the boardwalk. "Ever."
Logan and Virgil ran as a unit once Logan's book was safely away, keeping close and stopping before every corner. On every beat of the clock in his head, Virgil turned it to trace his own steps. Logan did not argue.
The pair found Remus standing alone on a street corner under a dying lamp, fiddling with the rose on his hat. His eyes were solemn and unfeeling, which Virgil almost pitied. The empathy quickly died, for the man before him and the man whose presence the hat implied.
Virgil and Logan squatted low to watch as the rogue Captain rose from his melancholy to look down the street. Virgil was all too familiar with the voice pooling in like thick mercury from around the corner.
"Here to return my hat, I see," Janus' drawling husk hissed. "Or is my presence a side quest? When I asked for its safe return upon our reuniting, it was, as is always, rhetorical."
Remus let the guilt seep into his posture, wilting like a cursed rose.
"Even you I could not tell how long I would be gone. Of all things to be born, a prince is the least simple to leave behind." Remus' grating, tone deaf voice came at a surprisingly low volume. Even Janus was not as quiet in the abandoned marketplace.
"Well, you can keep it longer, if you so desire. It may come in handy when I help you into the castle." Remus looked up.
"You plan to help me? How did you know?" he hooted, voice suddenly filled with delighted energy. Janus nodded with a small smirk and took his arm, leading him off into the dark of night. Remus replaced his hat and accepted Janus' pastel yellow cloak.
"Not tonight. You just arrived."
Virgil and Logan watched dutifully as the pair sauntered off in silence. Virgil's face had morphed from a sullen concern into apprehension and an obvious conflict of interest. Logan patted his arm and had him look deep into his dark eyes.
"Look at my eyes, what colour are they?"
"Black..."
"And my hair?"
"Also... also black."
"Coat?"
"Blue."
"Better?"
"...Yes."
Logan smiled at Virgil, a rare occurrence lessening in its rarity. Virgil stood up with Logan's aid and stepped towards an alley.
"And now we know," Virgil remarked.
