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2: The Warning

“Thank you,” John said. He smiled, waiting a moment for the barkeep to notice. She did not. He turned again to his wife, took a few tentative steps toward the man, then looked back to be sure she was following. As always, she was at his heels. John became aware of his heartbeat, the heat of his brow, his apprehension in approaching the fearsome man. Timidly, he reached back to grasp Iris’s hand.

The couple slowly approached the captain. Some of the other patrons, keeping an eye on the strangers as they moved carefully amongst them, left conversations, turned eyes away and openly watched as it became obvious that the couple was headed toward the large man.

John approached behind the man and, looking back once more in the direction of his wife, reached out one hand to tap his shoulder. He did not make contact. The man whirled with speed, grasping John’s wrist in his powerful grip. His pale blue eyes were alive with fear and defiance as he took in the younger man. John could feel the rough texture of callused hands on his soft skin.

He was a large, fearsome man. Bald, with piercing blue eyes, a full, white beard and fluffy mustache projecting out from his face. A severe, cruel cast hung about his sharp features, seeming evidence of a life fighting to greedily preserve what was his. Dull colored patches of skin hung beneath fierce eyes, as though sleep was a stranger to him. His gaze lost its haunted, hunted look upon perceiving that it was only a slight, fey young man and thin pale wife bothering him. A cast of snide derision entered his expression. He roughly returned to his drink.

“What?” he demanded.

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