Yuuri’s wings were bare. His old feathers had molted nearly entirely, steadily replaced by the new gleam of midnight blue. Still fresh and not yet fully formed. It left him looking oddly messy, patches of blue amongst greying black, with sharp contrasts between the spots.
Yuuri had traced a few more days onto Victor’s palm that morning, before disappearing back inside his mass of blankets. Peppered down feathers billowed out after him, driven by the force of another sneeze.
Victor had never expected something as cute as a molting siren. Yuuri had spent a week practically nesting in their bed, devouring any food that Victor brought him, affectionate beyond a fault whenever Victor groomed his wings. In the evenings, he seemed to turn from a bird to an octopus, suctioning himself to Victor’s side with all their limbs entangled.
The crew, concerned for Yuuri’s weakened state and sudden disappearance, had left offerings of hand-carved toy boats outside the cabin. Yuuri chirped happily at each, causing a mess when he proceeded to drown one in a glass of Victor’s rum.
Victor stayed with him as much as he could, for Yuuri whined in complaint whenever he left, writing pleas for Victor to return quickly into the sheets and across his skin. He laid beside Yuuri so that the siren could still play with his hair, braiding a few of his molted feathers into the silver.
“Captain!“ The call was preceded by a hasty knock. Without awaiting a response, Mila came in through the door, concern writ across her face. “Come, quick. I don’t know how we didn’t see them coming but— no, Yuuri, not you. Stay here.”
Victor rose from the bed, leaving Yuuri with a squeeze of the hand to follow his quartermaster to the deck. He had no chance to question her worry, he saw it clear when he stepped out. Beside their ship was another. Flying the colors of the Royal Navy. And Victor recognized the gruff elder man standing at command aboard it.
“Surrender the siren, Vitya! We know you have it on board. Give it up and I let your crew be. This time around.”
Victor’s eyes darted to Mila beside him, seeing her hands hovering over each hip. One over her pistol, the second over her sword. He echoed the movements. “Not without a fight, Gramps!”
if i ever got a tattoo it’d probably be the lyric ‘i’m going where the sun always shines’ and ppl would think it was something deep and meaningful but no its just kevin price being an abandoning little shit in the book of mormon