Night came and I once more stood in front of Hallydrinks ready to sell today's haul. The familiar wooden sign creaked in the evening breeze, its red letters looking more like dried blood in the moonlight than paint.
I'd been making this journey for months now, the depth that used to fill my stomach whenever I came here was all but gone, then came the sense of curiosity now there was nothing but apathy.
The door groaned on its hinges as I pushed it open, and my ears were immediately assaulted by drunken screams and I swear I heard a scream of pain.
A whore's eyes found my own across the crowded room. She was new, I thought, she was beautiful and busty and...
Jim head in the game, I told myself.
But as our eyes met once more she smiled at me and I couldn't help but smile back.
I moved to James' table, threading my way through the crowd of drunken laborers and well-dressed merchants slumming it in the seedier part of town. James sat in his usual spot, back to the wall, fox-like smile already spreading across his face as he watched me approach.
Two rough-looking men flanked him, and a woman with coal-black hair was perched on his lap, whispering something in his ear that made him chuckle.
He waved his hand, his orders always unquestioned. And the other people who were sitting at his table dispersed like frightened alley cats.
The woman on his lap pouted but as James whispered something into her ear and then sucked on her neck she went away as well, her silk dress rustling as she stood and sauntered away. The men melted back into the crowd, but I could feel their eyes on me still, ready to pounce.
Could they calm the fuck down.
I was a rather disarming guy, given how short and young I was. But they were afraid of what would happen if something happened to James, yeah their fate would probably be being dismembered and thrown into an alley to be covered by shit and eaten by rats and street cats.
I placed the haul on the table, careful not to slam it down. I'd done that once before and had literally had to pay for a brand new table, the coins coming straight out of my earnings, oh and a broken finger too.
The stolen goods clinked softly against the scarred wood, a silver snuffbox, a lady's bracelet set with what looked like real emeralds, a gentleman's pocket watch with an ornate chain, and a small leather purse.
All in a day's work.
James grabbed the bracelet first, holding it up to inspect it against the flickering light of a nearby candle. His fingers were surprisingly delicate for such a brutish man, turning the jewelry this way and that as he examined the settings and tested the weight of the metal.
I'd learned to read his expressions over the months, and this one suggested he was pleased with the quality.
I sat in front of him as I waited.
The chair wobbled slightly, it always did, and I found myself wondering what I was always wondering, if I should fix it, but I was sure that if I touched something of James' I'd have another broken finger.
"So," James said, still examining the bracelet, "did you think my offer over or what?"
The question hung in the air for a few moments.
His offer.
Join Jonathan Wild's organization officially, become one of his lackeys for a lack of a better term, trade my independence for security and a steady income. It was tempting, God knows it was tempting.
But something in my gut rebelled against the idea of bowing to anyone, even someone as powerful as the Thief-Taker General.
"I won't join the Thief Taker General," I said, meeting his eyes steadily.
The words came out more firmly than I'd expected, and I saw something flicker across James' face, surprise, maybe, or disappointment. The fox-like smile never wavered though, but his eyes did grow cold.
"Hmm," he said, setting the bracelet down carefully. "You're an idiotic street rat after all."
Before I could even blink, before I could process what was happening, James' hand shot out like a striking snake. He grabbed my right arm and pulled me forward with surprising strength, bringing my head along and slamming it against the table with a sickening thud.
Stars exploded behind my eyes. The room spun violently, and for a moment I thought I might be sick. The sounds of the tavern became muffled, as if I were hearing them from underwater.
The only thing I could see clearly was that damn fox's smile, thin lips spread across an incredibly punchable face, leering at me from what felt like miles away.
"What the fuck," I muttered, unable to free my arm from James' iron grasp. My head throbbed, I was still really damn disoriented, and I could feel something warm trickling down my forehead.
"You just had to sell to the Blueskin fuck, huh," James said, his voice conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than my apparently imminent demise.
Blueskin.
Joseph Blueskin Blake, one of the few thieves not under Wild's control, and the only one I knew about. I'd sold him a few pieces last week when James had been out of town, but I hadn't thought anyone would notice.
Clearly, I'd been wrong.
"You can't be serious," I muttered, my eyes meeting his. There was no warmth there, no hint of the grudging respect I'd thought I'd earned over the months of doing business with him.
"We were willing to look past it," James said, and his free hand moved to his waist, fingers closing around something that glittered in the candlelight.
A knife.
The blade was thin and wickedly sharp, the kind of weapon that could open a man's throat without him even feeling it until it was too late. "I even let you think the damn offer over the past two days and you chose no. Seriously, how idiotic can you be?"
My mouth went dry.
"I-" I started to say, but he cut me off before I could form a coherent thought.
"Be quiet," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more terrifying than if he'd shouted. The knife moved sickeningly swift, the point coming to rest just above my left eye.
I could feel the cold metal against my skin, my body trying to recoil at the cold it suddenly faced. "The Thief Taker General doesn't need a damn street rat running wild. Ha, get it!"
He laughed at his own play on words, the sound harsh and grating in the suddenly quiet tavern. I realized that the usual choir of rowdy voices had died down, that people were staring at us.
But no one moved to help.
Why would they? This was James Skyes we were talking about.
"So what are you gonna do? Kill me? In front of everybody here?" I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. Maybe I was getting used to mortal terror, or maybe I was just too stupid to be properly afraid, yeah the latter was most definitely right.
My words seemed appropriate, especially since the entire bar was now looking at the commotion over at what everyone knew was James' table. I mean sure nobody would move to help but it wasn't as if he could kill a man in broad daylight like this... could he?
"Why would I do that?" James asked, tilting his head like a confused dog. "Killing you earns me absolutely nothing, and you're still a thief, worth a good one hundred and forty pounds alive." He paused, letting that sink in.
One hundred and forty pounds.
That was more money than most people saw in a year.
"As for the commotion, I'm just a troubled citizen who caught a thief."
The logic was sickeningly sound. In the eyes of the law, I was exactly what he said I was, a thief, caught red-handed with stolen goods. He was Jonathan Wild's man, and Wild was supposedly on the side of law and order. Who would the constables believe?
"You're doing this over one fucking haul I didn't sell you? You piece of-"
BAM
The butt of the knife connected with my temple before I could finish the insult, and my head slammed against the table again, making my ears ring like church bells. Blood began to pool on the scarred wood beneath my face, and I had to fight not to lose consciousness.
"Just because I won't kill you," James said, his voice still maddeningly calm, "doesn't mean you can run your mouth."
A hand, huge and calloused, suddenly found itself on my head, keeping my skull pressed against the table as James released his grip on my arm. The pressure was immense, and I could feel the wood grain digging into my cheek.
James spun the knife in his hand, I prayed he would cut of one of his dammed thin fingers with the stupid motion, but if a god did exist he didn't hear me, as he placed it back into the sheath at his waist.
The man whose hand was on my head smelled like shit and cheap gin. In fact I could still smell the damn drink in his mouth, it filled my nostrils and made me want to puke.
Seriously gin!
What happened to good ol' beer!
James snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and loud in the relative quiet of the tavern. Another man appeared at James' side.
"Call the constables. We have a thief in our midst."
A/N: While this fic is a secondary fic meaning I won't focus much on it, it's also a passion project as I have a lot more free room than something as closed as MHA.
I'm going to explain a few other things from this fic.
1) Jim Hawkins is a normal dude. Nothing special about him, aside from the fact he has a silver tongue, has nimble hands wink wink, is drop dead gorgeous (this is actually going to come into play a lot lol) and is pretty smart, but he doesn't have super strength, forbidden knowledge or any other shit that's going to allow him to take on a group of armed men.
2) He's not going to be great at fighting, ever, he'll get better don't get me wrong but he'll have to outmaneuver his opponents through other means, which is better for me if I'm being honest.
3) The beginning takes place a decade before the events of the first pirates of the carribean movie, so Jack Sparrow is not coming into play in a long while, you'll see.
4) I'll be using different 1st POVS but no 3rd POVS in this story that is something solely from In MHA with Excalibur
I hope you all enjoy this, as it's something I had somewhat planned. Thx for reading. Author out.