Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Pirates of the Chemical Romance
"'They will catch up to us by morning,' he tells me," Frank muttered to himself. "They've practically caught up to us already."
"I still don't understand why we haven't tried to outrun 'em," one man commented. Several others agreed. Frank turned to them, finally tearing his gaze away from the water.
"Because it's the British navy," he said simply, surveying their faces with a sweeping glance. "Do you have any idea how much one ship is worth?"
"More than usual," their captain responded from his place at the helm. "They've begun transporting tea. And to some, tea is worth twice its weight in gold." This seemed to satisfy the crew for the time being. Frank, however, still felt uneasy. He and the captain hated the British equally, but both recognized how powerful their navy could be. They would have to be careful.
The ship approached them just as the sun's light crested the horizon, and Frank stared into it with narrowed eyes. Their captain hadn't left his room for several hours, causing him to take control of the ship's course. He had already made sure the sails and flag were tied, in the hopes of keeping their identities secret. No sense in getting caught if they could avoid it.
The British ship came to a halt right next to them. Frank unwillingly left his place at the helm and watched as the ship's captain stepped aboard. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Frank was the first to look away. There was something familiar about the man, something he couldn't place. He disliked it.
"Are you the captain of this ship?" the man asked him.
"Who's asking?" he replied.
"What is this ship's purpose?" the man asked, clearly enunciating every word.
"Do I need to repeat my question?" Frank asked with a smile. The man glowered at him.
"Do I need to repeat mine?" he asked, folding his arms. Frank heard a set of footsteps approach him from behind, and knew it was his turn to step away from the situation.
"Can I help you with anything?" the pirate captain asked. The other man's eyes widened.
"It- it's you," he said in shock. The pale-haired man was about to respond, but his breath caught in his throat before he could do so.
"...Michael," he whispered breathlessly. Frank's eyes widened this time. He still hadn't forgotten their conversation from all that time ago. An uncomfortable silence grew between the three of them. The pirate captain was the first to speak.
"Dare I ask what you are doing on my ship, Michael?" he asked, glaring at the other captain. His eyes were still full of disbelief.
"I'm looking for a certain pirate. He goes by the name of Scourge."
"You're looking at him," he said quietly. Michael looked at him in numb shock.
"...But that's not possible...you're...you're my brother."
"That is where you are wrong," the pale-haired man responded. "You see, as far as your family is concerned, I am dead. They believe I was killed all those years ago. But, then again," he mused to himself, "they never did pay much attention to me, did they?"
"That's not true!" Michael shouted, going against his better judgment. Every ounce of authority he held seemed to mean nothing at the moment.
"Oh, really? You may want to rethink that, /Mikey/," the pale-haired man retorted. His face immediately softened. "Go home. The ocean is no place for you."
"You're wrong," he responded. "I love being out here." The pale-haired man turned to Frank.
"I don't believe this," he said incredulously. He returned his attention to the other man.
"You can never truly love the sea," he said bitterly. "You've never had to place your life in its hands, or taken the time to understand it completely. And you never will. Do you know why?" He didn't give the man a chance to answer. "Because you've been raised in the life of perfect luxury, always caring only for yourself. You're just as bad as them, Michael. I've spent the last nine years on the open ocean, protecting my own life and the lives of my crew."
"And robbing people for everything they're worth!" Michael cut in. The pale-haired man briskly walked over to him, causing several members of the British army to draw their swords, but he did not attack. He looked Michael straight in the eyes, hazel meeting hazel.
"This is precisely what I mean. You will never understand what our lives are like. You can never be a pirate," he said in a low voice. Michael glared at him.
"And what makes you think I would want to be a pirate? You don't even know why I've come." He paused for a second to let his words sink in before allowing his more formal tone to take over. "You're under arrest for piracy and crimes against the British government."
The pale-haired man responded by taking a step backward and drawing his sword, holding the tip under the other man's chin.
"What makes you think I'm going to come with you?" he asked quietly, scowling down at the other man. Michael quickly drew his sword as well. The blades clashed with the sharp sound of metal against metal. The air around them reverberated from the impact. The two swords were complete opposites; one was newly made and gleamed golden in the early morning's light, while the other was crusted with blood and appeared almost black in the same light.
"Because they didn't specify dead or alive," Michael responded curtly, eyes gleaming. Anger flashed in the pale-haired man's eyes, and he swept the sword away from its counterpart with a single slice, causing several flakes of blood to fall to the ship's deck. The corner of his mouth fell slightly. That would have to be cleaned up later on. He hated having blood on his beloved ship. Hopefully more would not join it.
"I still don't understand why we haven't tried to outrun 'em," one man commented. Several others agreed. Frank turned to them, finally tearing his gaze away from the water.
"Because it's the British navy," he said simply, surveying their faces with a sweeping glance. "Do you have any idea how much one ship is worth?"
"More than usual," their captain responded from his place at the helm. "They've begun transporting tea. And to some, tea is worth twice its weight in gold." This seemed to satisfy the crew for the time being. Frank, however, still felt uneasy. He and the captain hated the British equally, but both recognized how powerful their navy could be. They would have to be careful.
The ship approached them just as the sun's light crested the horizon, and Frank stared into it with narrowed eyes. Their captain hadn't left his room for several hours, causing him to take control of the ship's course. He had already made sure the sails and flag were tied, in the hopes of keeping their identities secret. No sense in getting caught if they could avoid it.
The British ship came to a halt right next to them. Frank unwillingly left his place at the helm and watched as the ship's captain stepped aboard. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Frank was the first to look away. There was something familiar about the man, something he couldn't place. He disliked it.
"Are you the captain of this ship?" the man asked him.
"Who's asking?" he replied.
"What is this ship's purpose?" the man asked, clearly enunciating every word.
"Do I need to repeat my question?" Frank asked with a smile. The man glowered at him.
"Do I need to repeat mine?" he asked, folding his arms. Frank heard a set of footsteps approach him from behind, and knew it was his turn to step away from the situation.
"Can I help you with anything?" the pirate captain asked. The other man's eyes widened.
"It- it's you," he said in shock. The pale-haired man was about to respond, but his breath caught in his throat before he could do so.
"...Michael," he whispered breathlessly. Frank's eyes widened this time. He still hadn't forgotten their conversation from all that time ago. An uncomfortable silence grew between the three of them. The pirate captain was the first to speak.
"Dare I ask what you are doing on my ship, Michael?" he asked, glaring at the other captain. His eyes were still full of disbelief.
"I'm looking for a certain pirate. He goes by the name of Scourge."
"You're looking at him," he said quietly. Michael looked at him in numb shock.
"...But that's not possible...you're...you're my brother."
"That is where you are wrong," the pale-haired man responded. "You see, as far as your family is concerned, I am dead. They believe I was killed all those years ago. But, then again," he mused to himself, "they never did pay much attention to me, did they?"
"That's not true!" Michael shouted, going against his better judgment. Every ounce of authority he held seemed to mean nothing at the moment.
"Oh, really? You may want to rethink that, /Mikey/," the pale-haired man retorted. His face immediately softened. "Go home. The ocean is no place for you."
"You're wrong," he responded. "I love being out here." The pale-haired man turned to Frank.
"I don't believe this," he said incredulously. He returned his attention to the other man.
"You can never truly love the sea," he said bitterly. "You've never had to place your life in its hands, or taken the time to understand it completely. And you never will. Do you know why?" He didn't give the man a chance to answer. "Because you've been raised in the life of perfect luxury, always caring only for yourself. You're just as bad as them, Michael. I've spent the last nine years on the open ocean, protecting my own life and the lives of my crew."
"And robbing people for everything they're worth!" Michael cut in. The pale-haired man briskly walked over to him, causing several members of the British army to draw their swords, but he did not attack. He looked Michael straight in the eyes, hazel meeting hazel.
"This is precisely what I mean. You will never understand what our lives are like. You can never be a pirate," he said in a low voice. Michael glared at him.
"And what makes you think I would want to be a pirate? You don't even know why I've come." He paused for a second to let his words sink in before allowing his more formal tone to take over. "You're under arrest for piracy and crimes against the British government."
The pale-haired man responded by taking a step backward and drawing his sword, holding the tip under the other man's chin.
"What makes you think I'm going to come with you?" he asked quietly, scowling down at the other man. Michael quickly drew his sword as well. The blades clashed with the sharp sound of metal against metal. The air around them reverberated from the impact. The two swords were complete opposites; one was newly made and gleamed golden in the early morning's light, while the other was crusted with blood and appeared almost black in the same light.
"Because they didn't specify dead or alive," Michael responded curtly, eyes gleaming. Anger flashed in the pale-haired man's eyes, and he swept the sword away from its counterpart with a single slice, causing several flakes of blood to fall to the ship's deck. The corner of his mouth fell slightly. That would have to be cleaned up later on. He hated having blood on his beloved ship. Hopefully more would not join it.
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