Wings Over the Sea

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"Pour me a pint, Samuel!"

Outside, the world was calming down. The sun has gone three-fourths through the sky. The closer it got to the sea, the dimmer the light seemed to radiate. Pink and purple streaked across the sky, indicating the end of the day.

This was the time of day you either

looked forward to a relaxing dinner, or you dreaded the beginning of a shift. Coming down the stairs, Riker was already ready for his afternoon beer after a day of nothing. It was typical to have a few days of travel, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Any sign of a heading?" The cook, Samuel, asked as he poured some smooth brown liquid into a wooden pint.

"No." Riker sat down at the wooden table in the corner of the ship. When the crew was not on top, they usually congregated in this corner of the ship. There was a long table, bolted-down chairs for the men to relax in, and a bar behind them filled to the rim with so-called food and whiskey. Neither was appetizing, but all crew members needed nourishment along with relaxation.

Tonight was not a whiskey night. Tonight was a drink several pints of beer, then pass out in the hammock till morning type of night.

After the pint met his lips, the first mate used his sleeve to get the residue off. "If we have to go another week of seeing more sea and hearing more about that precious dragon creature, I'm personally going to take my dagger and drag it across the so-called captain's neck." he dragged his thumb across the neck to show the line of exact penetration. "Try getting your precious gold when you're dead." Riker mumbled under his breath. Taking another sip from his pint, Ricker smacked his lips to fully indicate the distaste for this swill, but that was all they had for beer to ingest.

The crewmate named Samuel sat across from this irritated, dirty blond male. "Come now, you don't mean that, do you, Riker? You're the first mate."

"Don't shove that in my face." he may have been the first mate, but not willingly. Since the blond was a young lad, he's always wanted to run his own vessel. To become the captain of a ship. He wanted to be the one to make all the calls, to have the freedom of no one telling him what to do. As soon as he turned eighteen, Riker left his small town and family and traveled out to the seaport. He made sure from day one that he had the look, the money, and even the personality of a worthy captain. The young adult took on any job he could. Cook, delivery man (of secrets and objects), even went onto any ship he could, doing any job requested of him. Swab the deck? Done. Cook? Done. All the hard work would help him in the long run to complete his dream.

One can't just have the money and experience to become captain. One also had to look the part. Riker gathered clothing, such as a loose shirt and black jacket, and got ahold of the typical pointed-looking boots that made a man look a few inches higher than he was. He was always told as a young boy to have something that made you stand out. Some captains had feathered hats so big it covered their faces. Others had long swords sticking out of their shafts to show how intimidating they could be. Riker chose a bright red cloth belt. He would never be overlooked wearing a color as red as the blood of his enemies. To this day, Riker still dresses very similar to when he was young; he just makes sure his long, dirty blond hair is lying against his back instead of tied up, out of the way, to show how long he's been at sea.

After years and years of preparing himself to finally prosper, he was so close. This was supposed to be his last job. One trip across the Hilway Sea, and he was promised so much gold that he couldn't even take it all home. Now, thinking back, the first mate couldn't believe he thought the rumors were true. There were stories about a man who acted strangely. This man didn't wear clothing from around their land, at the time. This guy seemed to pop up out of nowhere, promising riches if they sailed with him.

At the brothel, Riker overheared stories about a mysterious captain who had just appeared. No outrageous story such as how he killed twenty men or had a curse. Not a lot of men worked for this captain, and it was said he kept to himself.

All Riker heard from these stories was how much gold this captain supposedly accumulated in a short amount of time. If he could cash in on these prizes, then Riker would no longer have to struggle. New ship here he came.

Here he is now. It's been six months and still nothing. All they got was a small dragon creature who wouldn't shut their mouth and a promise of a payday when they got back to land.

The two crewmates, Samuel and Riker, continued to complain and rant about the treasures they were promised. When the first mate was the one openly complaining and threatening the captain, this usually attracted even more attention. As the two men continued to drink two more pints, five more crewmates stopped in their tracks.

"I'm telling you that dragon is the curse. It's not the gold or even this ship. Ever since the captain captured that dragon, we have been sailing in circles for the past few months." Riker expressed

"Eye, eye! We are lucky we haven't starved yet." One of the men who had just joined the table raised a pint in the air to get the other six riled up.

Samuel went around, making sure every one of the crewmates who joined their conversation had a chair behind them and a pint in their hand. It went from one man complaining in the corner to ten men, now all circling a table made for four. Each had a pint in hand, even if they weren't drinking. The ones truly enjoying themselves tried their best to hide it, when in fact it's been their fifth pint in a row. Everything was revealed when they leaned up against their crewmate, trying to stay stable, and asked for another, their breath reeked of roasted caramel...more like burned wood and regret.

All these months--maybe even a year, following some Captain who Riker didn't even think came from around here.

"I say we go up there now and start! Fuck the signal!" one yelled out from the back.

The room got quiet, on cue, as a chair was heard falling to the ground. Every single man except the loudmouth shut their mouth, parting ways to allow Riker to see the animal who dared to question him. Before even standing up, the first mate's eyes glared right into this man's very soul. How dare someone question his plan for a coup. So nonchalantly, Riker walked over to the crewmate at the end of the man-made aisle.

Even with the men clearing his path, Riker's shoulders still grazed all the clothing of the people around him. As his boots came down, every step could be heard. Every stomp of the boots was not intentional, but just proved how much of a presence Riker demanded.

"I can picture it now. We all will march up to the cabin, break down that wooden door, and then crush that precious treasure in front of his face." After taking another drink, the crew member couldn't stop laughing.

"Is that what you think we should do? Do YOU have anymore suggestions?" Riker asked, standing right on the man's foot. His height prevented him from being face-to-face with this lowlife, but having a broad chest seemed to make the crew member stutter his laugh.

"Nothing. We will do nothing."

"Exactly." Riker took the mug the crew member was drinking from, raising it to his mouth. He made sure every single drop passed his lips before putting the pint on the table. "We will not move until I give the word. If we are to take over this vessel, we have to plan it." Riker was not underestimating Owen. He may not be the ideal captain, but the man did have an act for getting out of predicaments without a scratch. The first mate placed the empty tankard on the table. "Anyone who moves before, I say, will have to learn how to swim from the sharks."

Looking down at the table, Samuel noticed the pint sliding from one side to the other. This was normal, but not this wild. Cups, plates, and anything sitting on surfaces had to be weighed, or the movement of the ship being jerked from side to side would cause them to slide. What caught his eye this time was that the mug slid roughly from one side to the other. He estimated if there was liquid in it, the beer would slosh along with it. Usually, the movement of the objects was minuscule. Maybe you have a plate beside your right hand; now go to the left. This mug was being dragged across the table.

Noticing Samuel's curiosity, Riker looked down. Chairs skidded across the floor, men stumbled, and then the pint flew off the table.

"Storm," Samuel mumbled under his breath. All the men stumbled, feeling the very wood under their feet start to creek, then tossing them to their sides. A few men naturally grabbed onto the pinned-down tables, while others fell to the ground.

"Storm!" Riker yelled.