The year is 1872, the Rogues of London move away from their hometown and out to sea in search of new adventure. However, oceans bite back, pirates are waiting, and stranger love is to be found out there.
Larry Stylinson, including all of One Direct...
Below: Sketches of Louis, drawn by Harry. Harry has named this piece, "The Greatest."
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*
Zayn sat on the windowsill, looking out at the town around him. The stars shone down and set a glow on his face. He wondered if the stars back in London were alright, if they were shining like they used to. He missed home, he missed the old man, and he missed Penny. Home may have been a bad place to live, but it was still the only place they had that would always be there for them. Maybe, just maybe, running away from there hadn't been a good idea.
And maybe, most certainly, Zayn was right.
*
There was an empty chair at the table, a shattered photograph on the wall, and that was it. Harry stood by the window, smoking a cigarette and polishing his copper prosthetic. It had gone rusty at the joints where the screws were made of steel, and no matter how much he tried to polish the hand, it never seemed to shine anymore. He growled in frustration, breathing in the smoke from his cigarette while he tried to one-handily bend the fingers of his prosthetic. Normally, he would have asked Niall to clean it thoroughly for him, but this time he was pretty much alone. He had not seen either Niall, Hanji, nor Erin since he'd arrived, and the only people in the Inn at that moment were himself, Blackbeard's crew, and Louis who couldn't help with cleaning since he was half-blind. Harry scrubbed his prosthetic again but it let out a loud crack and one of the fingers snapped off. He thought he would erupt with anger then-closing his eyes and exhaling heavily-but having no one to vent to, he stayed in his silent rage while mentally cursing in every language he knew.
It was then that a rattle came at the door. Harry looked up, not telling anyone to enter but not expecting them to leave either. He watched the door open with a loud creak and Rory's head looked around it. Harry almost threw the prosthetic in his face but restrained himself as Rory closed the door behind himself. His eyes were down, his stance showing that Harry intimidated him as he leaned back to the door like he would make a run for it at any moment. It was plain obvious that these two people despised each other in ways that even Louis wouldn't reach. Harry had once attempted to shoot Rory with a pistol while he'd been commenting on Louis' appearance once again, and Rory had made a similar fatal move by pouring poison in Harry's drink when he was on breakfast duty. Harry had only got away with blasting a hole in Rory's most expensive and only coat while Rory had merely managed to make Harry throw up continuously for a whole week straight.
And so, Harry watched him, dark green eyes waiting for Rory to back down and leave but the Prince forced himself to disregard their glare. He stepped forward, ignoring the signs of rejection that Harry was clearly giving him, and he stopped in the centre of the bedroom. He glanced at the bed, suddenly picturing Harry and Louis there. Disgusted with himself by the explicit image he'd conjured in his mind, he turned his eyes away. "I-Blær was-There's something bothering me, and I don't know what to do." He said, changing the start of his sentence and leaving Harry to wonder what Blær was. Rory was uncertain when he spoke, wondering if he'd made the right choice to come here, but being a Prince, he assured his decision like he was supposed to.
