Fancy Meeting You Here [Jeri]

[Baxley]

Initially he had declined the contract offered, thinking he would be still working on a previous one. Luck had helped him along the way though and he had finished wrapping up the last contract just before they were to set off to be dropped off. A quick letter to the captain and Baxley was soon signed up with warning that he would have to be sharing the reward with whomever it was he had already signed up. Baxley was fine with that. He wasn't doing it for the money anyway. He was doing it to just forget.

Baxley had done plenty of work for the captain within the last year. Dangerous work that he previously never would have touched because it went outside his normal realm and breached those firm rules Baxley had set for himself. Slaughter had extended from just ridding the world of those vermin to, now, whatever humans got in the way as well. It was unsettling at first. He'd felt dirty over it at first. Being paid to murder humans.

The weasels he could deal with; they were just filthy vermin. Humans though, they were his kind. He'd made a promise long ago that he wouldn't do this kind of thing for a living. Yet here he was, saddled up on his snerf with murder being planned. Just what was he becoming?

'Good ta 'ave ya aboard there!' The captain's cheerful words rang in his ears as he was boarded onto the ship and his snerf ushered down below. Baxley tipped his head to the old gray haired man and smiled behind his mask. He never understood how anyone could be so goddamn cheerful about this kind of thing. 'I tell ya, this is gonna be a nice, smooth trip, I tell ya! Tha other lad's 'avin' a look 'round. Why don' ya go get settled. Ya know where ta find me.' With that the old man wandered off, barking out directions as he went.

Baxley shook his head softly and shouldered his pack more securely and turned to head down below and unpack. A few newer members of the crew kept trading looks and staring at him while the older who had grown used to his strange appearance just laugh and slapped the younger crew on the shoulders. It made Baxley roll his eyes and sigh. He could almost forget what he was going to be doing. Almost.

Sometime later after he'd been settled in, Baxley wondered up top to find the captain and found out more about this mysterious other he was supposed to be working with. Baxley turned the corner and froze up solid. Eyes going wide behind his goggles as he took in the sight before him.

Jericho.

Jericho was on the ship.

Jericho was talking to the captain. On the ship. Which meant he was probably under contract with the captain.

Fuck.

Baxley's breath abandoned him and he started to turn - started to flee - when the captain looked up with a wide grin and called out. 'An' there 'e is now! Ax, lad, c'mere an' meet ya partner.'

Baxley wanted nothing more than to flee from his supposed partner right now, but he wouldn't cause a scene. His expression, from what you could see of his face, was blank. His eyes cold and hard behind tinted goggles as he stiffly approached them. Everything about his demeanor spoke of a cornered beast ready to fight his way out. Baxley wouldn't look at Jericho as he approached, he keep his eyes on the captain and mutter, "Captain Murphey."

He couldn't help it though. Baxley peered at Jericho, but showed no signs of recognizing him. Just a terse nod in his general direction. There was no hint of any positive emotion. Just a tense acceptance that Jericho was there and wouldn't be going anywhere.

The captain chuckled softly and shook his head, 'Now, don' ya be payin' no mind ta Ax's attitude. 'E ain' said bu' a handful o' words ta me, an' I've known 'im for a good year now!' Baxley stared at the old man then flicked his eyes to Jericho and stared at him instead.

There was no way he could do this. He'd have to get out of this. Somehow, someway. He just couldn't deal with this. Not now, not ever. It had been well over a year, but it still felt like that day seeing him there in the flesh. His mind wasn't helping matters either.

Had Jericho thought about him? Missed him at all?

When Jericho had fled from him, again, Baxley had lost it in his own way. It explained his current occupation, but that didn't even begin to express how torn up he had been. So many sleepless nights spent tossing and turning; worrying if he'd ever see the man again. Bad decisions made that would come back and haunt him when he thought about them. He'd done things because of Jericho that he never would have even though of doing before then. Did the man even realize what he'd done to Baxley?

No, of course he didn't, nor would he find out.

Baxley was determined he wasn't going to be put in that position again. He'd treat Jericho like he would any other stranger. That is to say, he'd ignore him unless he was forced to interact and then it would be clipped word and flat tones.

[Obelisk]

It was over a year ago that Jericho had taken to the skies. The store he owned in Silvereye had passed into different hands and his extravagant home now sheltered an up and coming playwright. Jericho of Silvereye had all but disappeared and the rumors concluded he was dead, murdered by a conspirator’s hand. He had shed the guise of a nobleman and had fully adopted his persona of Liwe, which had always been his truest face.

Moving from town to town and picking up what jobs he could had become Jericho’s method of survival. Such a life was easy for him to grow accustomed to, as he’d walked that path before in his youth. Word of a potential job with a high pay-off came his way and Jericho seized the opportunity, desiring to quit Fossgate as soon as possible. Something about Sideris was unsettling and made him yearn for the cool rain of Caedere.

And feeling homesick brought forth memories and regrets he refused to contend with.

“Captain.” He stated in a low, unimpressed drawl as he allowed his single eye to wander through the captain’s quarters. Weapons hung on the wall, trophies from enemies of worth, perhaps. There was a large map that largely took up the available space on the north wall with various marks indicated places worth remembering. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to set his alarms off. The Captain’s jovial nature seemed genuine though Jericho, as was his nature, remained unconvinced. “Your crew seems sturdy enough.”

There were footsteps, quiet but noticeable from behind. Jericho didn’t think to turn and only bothered to throw his glance back out of a lazy show of tact. It was easy to miss the way Jericho’s shoulders stiffened underneath his cloth mantel, but no manner of training to disguise emotion and surprise could save him from this unexpected outcome. It was like seeing a ghost of a memory – that same shock and bitter affection swallowed down by an influx of guilt and then, finally, forced apathy.

“Ax.” Came the quiet word and a slight tilt of his head. An introduction. A greeting. As if they had never crossed paths before.

“Oi. What did ya say your name was?”

A green eye regarded the Captain coolly. “Wolf.” His native name translated into common.

Murphey popped a wide grin. “I’ve ‘eard stranger.” He moved his attention to Baxley. “I know you lad’s are in want of the specifics, but buckle down. I don’t bother briefin’ the crew till we’re high up in the sky.” His smirk turned lopsided. “Less chance of anyone trying to back out then. And if they do, I just toss em’ over the side.” He broke out into a loud guffaw but Jericho surmised he wasn’t joking at all.

“Noted.” Baxley’s presence was impossible to ignore and again, that same claustrophobic feeling entangled Jericho, feeding anxiousness into his veins. He stood rigid, posture immaculate, like some soldier ready to march off to war.

“My, my, you lads certainly are quiet. Takes all types, I s’pose.” He scratched at his bearded chin. “Ax, do us a favor and show Wolf to the crew’s quarters. Might as well get settled in. S’gonna be a loooong flight.” In that instant, Jericho knew this would be a particularly ‘interesting’ endeavor.

He turned on his heel and brushed past Baxley. His outward calm disguised the maelstrom waging inside of his head. He was a spooked animal ready to take flight but his pride, always he goddamned pride, kept him on the ship. Jericho needed no instruction as to where to find the crew’s quarters. He was familiar with the model of the ship and most were laid out the same. Silence pervaded but Jericho knew it could not last; the crew would grow savvy to the awkwardness that existed between he and Baxley. Questions would be asked, suspicions raised, and ridiculous conclusions reached.

They’d have to continue to play their parts and play their parts well.

“You wouldn’t by chance have any information –details—regarding this venture.” Phrased as a statement and not a question. Jericho picked up on the fact Baxley had worked with the Captain before. Perhaps their relationship warranted a sharing of information that strangers weren’t open to. He spoke in the same bored tone he used with every momentary colleague, as if his time was precious and merely the act of speaking to them was a grievance.

He swung his bag where it landed on a bed. The crew sent him curious looks to which Jericho responded with one declaration. “Do not touch my things. I’ll know if you do.” Jericho turned that unrecognizing eye onto Baxley and crossed his arms expectantly.

“Well?”

There was a history written in skin and taste that he fervently ignored. The burn in his chest, despite his efforts, refused to quell.

[Baxley]

Wolf.

He knew that name well enough even after all this time. It seemed no matter how much Jericho might have changed, he was still the same bastard he always was. More anxious and flighty looking, but they could just be from Baxley being there.

Baxley eyed Jericho as he spoke and try as he might, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the man. Murphey started speaking again and he was able to pull his attention at least away for the time being, but Baxley knew he wasn't going to be able to stop watching Jericho. It had been far too long and Baxley had missed him too much for him to deny himself of at least watching. He felt rather childish about it, and he purposely ignored that feeling.

But then Jericho was moving, pushing past him, and Baxley thought that breathing was an impossible task. The man was just so wild and unpredictable and so.. so... just there. Pushing his way into Baxley's life and ruining what Baxley had finally started to pick back up and piece together after Jericho shattered it. He just seemed to come in and leave whenever the fuck he wanted and it was driving Baxley just insane. He probably didn't even know what he did to Baxley, or didn't care.

Baxley couldn't - wouldn't - do this again.

"... No," Baxley swallowed and tore his gaze away from Jericho. Glad that his tone was flat despite the emotions raging inside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned heavily against the wall. Watching as the rest of the crew scurried around while casting not so subtle looks their way as they set to putting away their stuff. "But if I had to guess? The same reason a portion of the crew is new."

He found himself eyeing Jericho again as the gypsy man stood there staring back at him. Jericho looked so different and yet at the same time he seemed just as Baxley had remembered him. Was that more grey hair, or was Baxley just imagining it? Trying to find every little difference between the Jericho that had stormed off that day and this one, or, rather, this Wolf as he called himself.

By comparison Baxley wouldn't look much different. Only because he made it appear that way. Still hiding away under layers of clothes and his mask and goggles. It would be hard to see the new scars he carried, or the still slightly fresh wounds from the last fight he'd been in. It wouldn't be possible to see the weight loss or the haggard, haunted look. Hell, if it wasn't for his familiar disguise he probably wouldn't have even looked like the same person. He sure didn't feel like the same person anymore.

Baxley waited a few more minutes, letting the majority of the crew wander off to keep themselves entertained, before continuing on. "There was a spat last trip. Part of the crew broke contract and fled when they stopped for supplies." He turned his head away from Jericho and raised his hand up, pressing it against his arm where a wound was hidden under his clothing. A thoughtful look passed by his face. "If I had to guess what we're doing; we're either looking for them, or they've found some of them and we're being sent after them."

After a moment pause he asked. "What got you aboard?" The last he knew, Jericho wasn't one to spend too long taking orders from someone. Then again, neither was Baxley, really, and yet here he was. Time seemed to change things far too much sometimes. He stared at Jericho and frowned. Yet other things never would change.

[Obelisk]

His wild mane of hair was a little greyer and there were a few more lines etched into his face, lending him an older, dignified appearance. Baxley had changed, too, though that may have largely been Jericho’s imagination. There were a few subtle visual cues but his instincts told him the change ran deeper. His instincts told him to care.

“Ah. Internal politics. Fantastic.” This was not the usual situation he chose to engage, but Jericho had given Murphey his word and backing out now would feel like retreating in more ways than one. He had Baxley to thank for that.

The crew started to file out, likely off tending to the ship before they disembarked. Soon, they were alone. The room was less crowded but it felt smaller and Jericho’s carefully-maintained anxiousness spiked, leaving him unwilling to pursue their guise of conversation. His bravado had quieted over the year and he’d grown introverted, and far less willing to play the part of the charmer with the flowing words and easy smile.

He would not let his emotions get the better of him. Not this time. “Necessity.” There was little more to it than that. “Certain times and situations call for…certain choices and actions.” His was a similar situation to much of the crew. He needed money but most of all, he needed a means by which he could sate his hunger for freedom and danger. There was nothing freer or more dangerous than the sky.

Awkward did not begin to explain how Jericho was feeling. He felt skewed and out of place, as if the world had shifted and he’d stayed in the same position. Old wounds reopened and he took the pain as validation. His mind had been right where his heart had lead him astray. He never should have overstepped their boundaries. If he had simply denied himself and acted proper, all of this bad air could have been avoided.

The thought of that, the denying, the not knowing and experiencing – it only made the ache worse.

“And yourself? I understand you have worked with Murphey on numerous occasions.” His tone suggested he was returning the question out of tact but Jericho was genuinely curious. He wanted to know why Baxley was there. He wanted to know why the nivali hunter had thrown in his lot with the likes of sky pirates. An ugly remnant of jealousy reared its head and Jericho looked away and out of the small, round window. He had no right to feel so entitled and yet he did, as if ownership extended through absence, abuse, and false accusations. Ownership? Jericho mentally scoffed. Clearly he was overtaxed by the recent events. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

This was precisely why I left. Around Baxley, he could never think clearly. His mind soon amended – You mean you ran away.

This was an old argument he had carried on with himself for months. He conceded and understood he had fled but Jericho wouldn’t accept it. The truth left too bitter a taste and too sharp a sting.

[Baxley]

Baxley knew those situations all too well unfortunately. After that night things had just spiraled out of control for the nivali hunter and before he even knew what was happening, he'd found himself in far too many bad spots for his liking. On the verge of being kicked from his home and in debt to far too many greedy and dangerous people, he had fled. Much like Jericho had now that he thought about it. Without word or warning; there one day and gone the next.

It had been a nearly broken man that had stumbled upon the Captain over a year ago. Desperate for money and a means to forget. Willing to take any job, do anything thing, kill anyone. Just to kill the pain he had been feeling and get some money in his pockets. The Captain had been more than willing to allow someone with his... skills in tracking and hunting aboard. Baxley was just glad Murphey was so damn cheerful, it helped ease the sense that what he was doing was wrong.

He stared hard at Jericho while he debated whether or not he should answer or just walk away. It wouldn't be a problem to disappear in the crew and ship. The older members of the crew liked him well enough - he kept his nose out of their business and brought no trouble - and he'd become part of the crew over time. They'd hide him away and send Jericho for hours in circles to try and find him. His heart however wouldn't allow that.

Emotions he'd long since buried burned and flared up. Insistent and unwilling to be forgotten. Held back and dulled by the hurt and betrayal he had felt and continued to feel to this day, but still there and thrumming just under his skin. If he focused on those negative feelings though it was easier to remember he wasn't going allow to be put in a position where Jericho could hurt him again. Still, despite that Jericho had hurt him those goddamn feelings just didn't want to die and for some reason he actually felt like he owed Jericho an explanation.

He knew sticking around was a bad idea, but he couldn't back out now. Murphey would have him killed for breaking contract.

"Necessity," He replied back and even with his mask on the smirk he was wearing was evident in his words. Baxley turned his head away and closed his eyes. Silently scolding himself for the slipup. He was supposed to be acting as if the man was a stranger, not a long lost friend. "He pays me well enough for my skills and it helps to quell certain urges that flare up."

Like the urge to find Jericho. To kill him. To kiss him. To beg for him back. To take his knife and slice his neck. To - Baxley blinked and shook his head roughly before raising his hands up to ease his tinted goggles back and rub his hands across his eyes. In all his time aboard the crew he'd never shown his face, not even his eyes. Jericho hadn't been there even an hour and Baxley was already doing things he hadn't done in a long time. Breaking character, removing part of his disguise. What was it about the man that left Baxley floundering all of the time?

Tired eyes stared at Jericho once more as Baxley pushed himself from the wall and backed up towards the door. "Murphey will have us moving soon. He'll probably be calling us up in a few minutes once everything is ready to explain things. After that... well you can do whatever until we land." Baxley swallowed and pulled his goggles back over his eyes, hesitating before finally muttering. "We'll be busy for the most part."

We won't have to see each other.

If they were lucky they'd barely run into each other until they had to be in the company of each other. He nodded stiffly to the other man and turned away to make his way up once more before Jericho could speak again. If Baxley had it his way they'd wouldn't even catch a glimpse of each other and this whole damn thing would be over as soon as he could manage it. The faster they got done, the faster Jericho could get out of his life, the better.

So why did the idea of Jericho leaving, again, make his chest hurt so much?

[Obelisk]

It grated on him to have his curt answer tossed back at him so coolly. Necessity was an awful thing and left little room for dreams and desires. Necessity turned a proud wolf into a scrounging rat scheming and falling to rotten habits in order to survive. There had been a time not long ago where Jericho took pride in his work. There was a certain skill one needed in the game of deception and this was a game he had dominated. Now he was aboard a ship with a group of brigands that had the finesse of a drunken bull.

Baxley was not counted among those lesser folk.

“Urges.” A dangerous word that Jericho repeated flatly, as if it carried no double meaning. “I can understand that.” Urges were what saw Jericho into trouble in the first place. He had been a calm and controlled man who understood the need to remain detached, business-like, practical. Then Baxley had come along and those thoughts and those urges sprung up unbidden. Infatuation he had dealt with before. Infatuation went away and burned out gloriously. This was a slow burn that still burned and the end of the line was nowhere in sight.

Jericho schooled his thoughts and quieted the heat in his veins. Mind over matter. It was simple enough. He thought of horrible things; botched assassination attempts, people decaying from the ash disease, corpses rotting in the red sun, horrible things. It was not until Baxley moved that Jericho realized he was speaking. With his arms crossed over his chest and the way he stuck close to the wall, it seemed as if Jericho was on the defense, and he was. The situation was awkward and though he was a master at playing pretend, their shared history was not one easily ignored.

Or forgotten.

“Noted.” His eloquence was gone, as was his mastery of words. He could make elaborate speeches that wooed the sternest of opponents, but now he was left with nothing in his arsenal. Baxley knew all his tricks and to pull them out would prove useless. Jericho would have to adjust his methods and this was one game he wasn’t willing to play. Not here. Not like this.

Baxley’s spine was rigid as he left and Jericho’s eye followed until his mind chided him for doing so. He looked away and at the empty room where dust motes floated about. His only company. His legs gave out and he fell onto the old, lumpy mattress of his bunk. There he sat with his face hidden in his hands until the call was given out to report to the Captain.

The room was packed with bodies that crowded around a large table. Murphy sat at its head, looking content and jovial as always. Jericho stayed in the back, leaning against the wall near the doorway. He wanted to make a quick exit once the meeting was over. Though he tried not to, Jericho’s gaze kept moving to Baxley, catching quick glimpses before returning his attention to Murphy.

Captain Murphy waited until the last member stepped inside – the cook. It was then he began to speak.

Jericho had one dreary thought; this was going to get messy.

[Baxley]

Baxley had kept his back to the wall and his eyes glued to the door the very second he could get into the room. Murphy kept sending him those poorly disguised looks of amusement - which he was pretty sure had Murphy wasn't trying to hide at all, but he could pretend - but didn't comment on it thankfully. Neither did he say anything and so Baxley was left alone to his thoughts. A blessing and a curse if Baxley ever saw one.

He just couldn't keep his mind off of the man he had just fled from like some coward. Ridiculous notions of going back down there and trying to talking to him, to make him see sense, kept creeping their way into his mind. Digging deeper into his thoughts and in places he had long since sealed tightly up from any positive emotions that concerned Jericho. Just seeing him there, knowing he was going to be working with the man again, was enough for those thoughts to latch on like a leech. He was being ridiculous. This whole situation was insane.

Maybe Murphy would kill him if he asked? It'd be far more agreeable than trying to work in close quarters with Jericho again.

Baxley roused when the men started to pour into the room and pushed himself further into his customary corner where he could see the door and everyone coming in it. The crowd grew, but when Jericho walked into the room none of the other people even mattered anymore. Baxley couldn't tear his eyes away until Jericho started to look up, and even then he kept sneaking peeks whenever he thought it safe. How was it despite the large number, it was Jericho that made the room feel far to small? Baxley swallowed and diverted his attention back to the captain as he started to speak.

"Alright, alright, settle down now, lads," Murphy barked out and waited until the crew fell silent. He stood from his seat and walked towards the wall behind him where a large map had been placed. "Now, as you older folk know, last trip we picked up a sizable load of valuables. You also know some of the crew didn't take kindly to havin' to waitin' until their contract was up. They took it all." Murphy tapped the map where a large, red circle had been placed. "And the rats fled 'ere when we stopped for some supplies. Now, I don't take kindly to people breaking contract, an' I sure as hell don't take kindly to bein' robbed. Lucky for you all, we've narrowed down to were they've gone."

Murphy turned back to them with a wide grin on his cheerful face, but there was a certain edge to that look that made it as dangerous as it was friendly. Baxley followed as Murphy pointed out three separate locations on the map and explained his sources told him they'd split the treasure up when they had jumped ship.

"I want my treasure back, lads, but most importantly I want this swindling thieves 'ere as well. Alive." The tone in his voice left no room for argument. "For each one dead, I'm dockin' you all." Some of the crew shuffled and murmured to themselves, but no one protested outright. Baxley wondered just how many would end up dead by the end of it all. "Get me those bastards, alive, and bring 'em all back 'ere and you'll be well rewarded with what I've promised you, and a cut of the treasure they stole." That quieted the uneasy feeling in the air. The promise of a bonus turning their thoughts to a lust for gold instead.

"Wolf. Ax. You'll be dropped off first 'ere." A quick tap on the map. "You two are the better wordys swindling type. Get me information about them. Anyway you can. Find me each and every one of 'em and my treasure. Once you do, we'll split the crew and get them." Murphy grinned at both of them and the barked out. "Well? What are you all standin' 'round for? Get!"

The crew wasted no time in filing out hurriedly to do their appointed work. Baxley was among the last to leave but as soon as he did, he used his best tricks to make sure he stayed as far away from Jericho as he could. Always staying just out of the man's way, but close enough to catch glimpses of him out of the corner of his eye. He felt oddly like a stalker doing so, but he justified it as making sure Jericho wasn't going to cause any troubles. He wasn't sure if the man could be trusted after all.

Yes, that was it.

It had nothing to do with the fact that each little glimpse made his chest burn almost painfully or the fact that just seeing Jericho alive and well helped calm those urges he'd been keeping restrained. Nothing at all like that.

Baxley sighed and dropped his head back against the wall he was leaning on near the kitchen. He had popped down to see if he could snag something to munch on since he didn't ever really eat with the crew and instead he'd lost himself to thoughts already. Just knowing that Jericho was on the ship somewhere was enough to drive him crazy. Crazier than he already was for caring in the first place.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. This was getting to be ridiculous. How the hell was he going to get through weeks of this, in the same cabin, sharing the same rooms, the same meals. Not to mention he'd have to soon find the other man and work out just what the hell they were going to do when they landed. Meaning they'd have to actually talk to each other, again, only this time there would be no meeting to escape to.

Baxley covered his face with his hands and groaned deeply. He was fucked.

[Obelisk]

Murphy spoke and Jericho listened, and with each word the assassin grew increasingly unsettled. Personal vendettas were the messiest of the lot and though on a small scale, manageable, something this size would prove difficult. Jericho also had the handicap of not knowing the crew or the extent of their abilities. He was the odd man out and had no idea who was worth preserving and who was a candidate for sacrifice should things get messy – and they would get messy. His single eye moved to Baxley and Jericho thought lucidly that there was one person he understood and one person he knew to be worth preserving.

The ache in his chest was persistent and almost mocking – the shadows that played in his mind chided him for his sentimentality.

The meeting ended and Jericho slipped out silently, squirreling away into a place out of the way where he waited free from the scrutiny of the crew. With miles of open air beneath them, there was no turning back, and even if he had the chance, a secret part of him knew he’d never leave the ship until he saw it those it carried reach safe harbor.

Not those, his mind amended, just the one.

Hours passed and the hum of the ship’s engine turned to a lullaby, luring Jericho into a light sleep. The air shifted and changed; it grew thinner and colder. The noise of the crew was now walled off into a certain section, their muffled voices resonating through the wooden walls. They were either taking supper or engaging in a game of cards and dice. He realized then that it was night and felt a need to feel and taste the fresh, open air.

He found his way onto the deck which was empty of her crew. The wind was fair and not overbearing, and served to whisk away the last of his grogginess. Jericho leaned against the railing and peered down at the clouds highlighted by the stars and the moon. He could not see the earth save for a stark blackness but knew there was life there, somewhere down below. He was not alone on the deck and had in fact been the second to arrive that night. Jericho knew who the other was without looking. Baxley had never been one for social situations. Or parties, he thought ruefully.

If they were to have any chance of success, they would need to communicate. Safety and survival depended on their cooperation, but Jericho feared his mask might slip. He quickly weighed his choices and released a sigh that was swallowed up by the wind.

“Do you have any ideas as to how we will accomplish the task assigned to us?” He asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the roar of propellers and wind. He turned around and leaned back against the railing, staring at Baxley and for the first time, truly acknowledging his presence.

“I may be gifted in the art of deceit, but I’ve no knowledge of the men we’ll be dealing with. Perhaps you might impart some information.” When he’d said he was gifted in the art of deceit, there was something in his tone, a suggestion, a hint and perhaps an understanding of his guilt.

It may have been a trick of the mind and the moment passed like a ghost into the nether.

The wolf waited, feral green eye glinting in the moon’s touch, for the cat to respond.

[Baxley]

Baxley felt ill. He had escaped to the top for some much needed air when the crew made their way down for their nightly activities before lights out. The moon light casting shadows was a welcome change to the views down below. He felt a little less jumpy, though he kept casting glances around like he was expecting to see Jericho emerge from the shadows.

The ship had become too stifling. Each corner he took he kept holding his breath, thinking that this would be the one that he and Jericho would run into each other. It would eventually happen. There was no way they could dance around each other forever. Baxley felt paranoid, more than usual, and kept glancing around nervously. Hoping, praying, that he wouldn't run into the assassin.

His heart disagreed; it wanted to find the man. Find him a strangle him until he paid attention and just listened to him.

Baxley sighed and leaned against the railing, staring down at the darkness below. In all honesty he had no idea how it was he was going to survive this. Survive Jericho's presence. Survive when he left, again, and left Baxley alone. He closed his eyes and raised the goggles up again, rubbing his hands over his face with a deep sigh. This was going to kill him. He couldn't even talk to the man without slipping up. How would he ever survive working along side him, alone?

Well, his mind added as he became aware of Jericho's presence nearby, he'd find out soon enough.

Baxley went rigid and stared straight ahead of him, trying not to draw attention to himself. If he stayed quiet, maybe Jericho would leave him alone. They could ignore each other and go on about their own business without talking. No such luck though.

Jericho asked his question and Baxley sighed, raising his hand up to tug down the mask covering his mouth. He approached Jericho so that they could speak without having to yell over the roar of the wind and the ship. "What's to know? I'm sure you can figure it out." Baxley crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Jericho. "They were part of the crew. I'd worked with them over a year. They decided that they didn't like the rule anymore and jumped ship after robbing us blind. Money hungry little bastards. Cowards."

Baxley stepped to the side of Jericho and leaned against the railing again. Continuing to stare down at the darkness, thinking. How were they going to do this? Baxley raised his hand up and pushed his hand through his hair nervously. "I worked with them for a year. They know my reputation. They've seen my... work when Murphy wanted it brought back as an example."

Baxley tilted his head to the side and looked at Jericho, shrugging. "They fear me. If we can get one of them, they'll tell us where the others are and where the treasure is. That's what Murphy wants." He was babbling again. Too nervous and jumpy. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to act around the man.

Baxley turned his head away again and pushed away from the railing, taking a few steps back again and staring at Jericho. What happened now? Were they done talking? Baxley kind of felt like running away right then. Running away and hiding in the bunks until they were done and home. He glanced at the man and swallowed hard, goggles and mask were set back in place.

"We're both good at finding people. I'm sure we can handle that." He eyed Jericho curiously. "Unless you don't think you're up to it?" Baxley shrugged and started to turn around. He felt out of place. Strange. He didn't want to deal with this right now. "It may sound insane, but trust Murphy. Sometimes I think the man is a seer or something. He may seem insane, but he wouldn't put us in unless he was sure it would work."

Please be done. Stop talking. Just let me leave.