10 Fluctuating Hatred

"You seem calmer than the other." The blonde said as she stood by the door with her arms folded. "I'm Aloya."

Strelitzia relished in the warmth of her first hot bath in days. Her back was turned away from the pirate. She cupped her hands together to gather the water so that she could pour it over her exposed shoulders. She cast a glance over her shoulder before giving a shrug. "I'm used to being a prisoner. Fighting just doesn't get us anywhere." Except maybe a broken arm, she thought but didn't dare say.

Aloya feigned a frown towards the woman sunken beneath the warm, bubbling water. The tub sat on two wooden slates, and in between, beneath their rafters, a low fire was kindled to heat the breath until tiny bubbles coated the bottom and surface. She had made sure it wasn't too hot before their prisoner entered. Sure enough, it probably would've been if it were her sister, Takaya who prepared the bath. "Prisoner? But you're a noble. What do you know of chains and being locked away and dank dark cells? You aren't comparing this to being a damsel waiting on prince charming, are you?"

Her and her sister both had smart mouths, but sooner or later most noticed it was part of their personality. It was their way of welcoming people whether they were friend or foe.

Strel sunk lower until her hair floated around her and she closed her eyes in thought. At one time she may have thought she'd get whisked away by some dashing prince, but no longer. How could these people hate the rich so much and know so little about them? Meeting the woman with sarcasm and annoyance wouldn't get her point across and Strelitzia was much too worn by the weak of recovery, so she'd try a gentler approach. "How many cities have you been to? How many countries have you seen, Aloya?" Her voice echoed off the water and throughout the room. She did her best not to sound condescending. "I'm sure you've been to many places, probably more than you can count."

Her fingers trailed over the water's surface leaving ripples in its wake. A vessel contained to the copper tub. "You pirates at least have the freedom to do as you please. Could you imagine having to be told what to dress in? When to eat and how much of it? Where you can go and how long?" Thinking back on her life as it was now felt stifling and suddenly the bath felt as though it would drown her.

Thoughtful of the prisoner's words, she nodded. "I understand. That's a valid point. Different, but the same." Aloya palmed her coiffed hair that lowered down into a braid in front of her. Blonde. Like his hair. "You know the pirate that healed you two weeks ago? He is now bedridden because of it. I was a prisoner too. He saved me. But he saved me only to be imprisoned by something else."

That something else had been painted across her eyes, her face, the way her lips curled into a childish smile. But it faded. Aloya stepped back and tossed the men's clothing over the rim of the tub.

"You have the duty of cleaning the rooms until we dock in an hour's time. Ray'ven, the poor little princess, is on clothes duty. I don't quite understand why he told her to bathe if she was going to do the men's laundry. She might as well wallow in animal shit. Razmyr. Razmyr." She grinned and tucked her hands into her pockets as she walked out with a skip in her stride.

Once the woman left, Strel climbed out of the bath. The pirate who healed her? Why would he do that for her? Some small part of her felt bad until she reminded herself that he was her father's murderer. Why should she feel bad for him fixing what he started? She stared at the clothes that had been left for her. For some reason, she had expected something more. She sighed as she dressed. Strelitzia couldn't afford to worry about a pirate when she had to watch over her cousin.

 ***

Ray'ven raised what had to be the twentieth pair of small clothes with some rather questionable stains. Her nose wrinkled at the smell that came off of them and quickly dunked them into the tub of soapy water before she could allow herself to gag. She had been at this for an hour and her hands were already wrinkled from being in the water for so long.

It was all strenuous work and despite her not being a stranger to hard work, the muscles in her arms had begun to cramp and ache. Her eyes went over to the large pile of dirty men's clothing that waited to be cleaned and hung and she grimaced. Here she was, the Princess of D'treroh scrubbing clothing like some commoner. A snort left her as she continued to scrub the filthy clothes, the once clean water turning a nasty brownish color as she did. If only her father could see her now.

She paused in her work, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, letting out a tired sigh. She hadn't seen Strel since just after her bath and found herself worrying. Just a week ago, the girl had been on the verge of death and now they were making her work. Ray'ven rang out the shirt she had been holding aggressively, her face falling into a scowl as she imagined it as Razmyr's neck. If anything happened to Strel, not even the Gods would protect that bastard from her wrath.

"Stupid smug bastard with his stupid handsome bastard face and stupid smug bastard smirk and his blue bastard eyes." She mumbled to herself as she yanked another article from the pile and scrubbed it viciously.

"And that's why ya should've taken my offer, princess. I could of cut ya shores and made it easier. Was skippin the cock worth it, at?" Pudge muttered from behind her, standing in the threshold of the door to the laundry room.

Ray'ven's eyes cut to him with a glare. "How about I finish killing you instead, filthy pig?" She suggested, her hands tightening on the cloth in her hands. "I can guarantee that your bastard captain won't arrive quick enough to save you this time."

A loud clicking noise arose as something hard and metal pressed against Ray'ven's temple, thumb holding down the hammer of his pistol. The pirate's index finger hovered near the trigger. "No, he wouldn't arrive quick enough to see ya bloody brains all over the wall. You may be lethal, but ya ain't a dumb bitch." He nudged her head with the barrel and spit a wad of brown saliva on one of the pairs of clothing she'd just washed. "Ya missed a spot. Wash it again. I'll be back to lead ya to the tavern, prissy bitch."

Razmyr's second-in-command's lip pulled back from rotten, hole-riddled teeth as he turned and headed out of the room and up the stairs.

Ray'ven glared at his back as he left, wishing more than anything for her daggers to be with her. She would have loved to throw one and pierce the back of his meaty head with it. Instead, her fist clenched tightly as she stared down at the brown glob of spit on the shirt she had just cleaned. Ray'ven would kill him one day, of that she promised.