"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."
- Walt Whitman

--

From the minute he first laid eyes on it, Mesquite knew it was his ship.

Knew by the way the wind swept through the rigs, stirring the sleek white canvas beneath and drawing a groan from the slow-sinking hull, the waves like foam-slavering hounds at its feet. It was a different sea on that day; but then, Mesquite was a different dragon, back then.

"The name, Sir?"

A brief sideways glance was all it took. The young dragon shrunk beneath the weight of the Captain's gaze, barbed tail coiling inwards to touch against the paintbrush in his talons.

Colour and venom. Mesquite bit his teeth down together, flicking an ear indecisively before simply turning away.

The painter could wait; for now, he would watch. Watch the galleon rise and fall in its place, tethered to the dock yet still searching, searching for the outer reaches of the harbour in a desperate attempt to answer the commanding voice of the wind.

Mesquite's gaze wandered briefly back to their party - SkyWings swooping overhead, mere singes of dark against the otherwise azure expanse. The floor below teeming with white-golden SandWings, eyes so deeply in contrast with the brightness they seemed to produce an effect almost hypnotic. A few scattered figures already aboard; a plump ship's cook and an unwilling SeaWing navigator, accompanied by a pair of aggressive-looking SkyWing guards.

Would a ship really hold so many dragons? Worry flickered through the Captain's mind for a moment. It was a new promotion, to say the least; and far beyond his typical field of work. But alas, the Prince had commanded it be - and who was he to argue?

I can threaten that SeaWing if there's any trouble.

There. The thought comforted him as, distracted, he shifted his wings and studied the boat once more. A trio of MudWings had begun to make their way aboard, hefting between them a broad sack he knew to be filled with gold.

"Hope it floats," Captain Mesquite muttered, shifting talons and treasuring the sensation of sand between his claws. How long would it be before he felt sand again?

Perhaps a day. Perhaps never again.

Perhaps...

"Perhaps" can wait, he thought to himself with a growl.

That was when he realised the painter was speaking:

"Hope it what, now?"

"Floats," Mesquite said, flicking his tail to indicate his displeasure. The young dragon bobbed his head and shuffled hastily away, pausing to test the wings before spreading his wings and leaping up to hover against one widespanning side of the ship.

"Is that one word, or two?"

"Three," the Captain hissed, then paused. "Wait - by all the snakes, not the name, you -"

"Sir!" A voice from behind him called. "The troops are ready to board."

Caught between two places at once, Mesquite breathed a silent sigh to the heavens. Far overhead, the SkyWings were circling, in a descent formation not unlike that of the carrion birds he had observed so often in the starving outskirts of the Sand Kingdom. The ship was their quarry, and they the parasites far below - waiting to swarm and take their fill for as long as the sea would permit.

I am no prey.

So why do I feel so hunted?

Mesquite shook his shoulders and tilted his wings back. This feeling, he told himself, was illogical.

Then, he was about to partake in a voyage on the deck of a ship named Hope It Floats.

Stupid painter. I'll have his neck between my talons in the next few days.

The thought comforted him, for the time being. Taking a deep breath of ocean air, he turned to face the soldier - a SandWing, her scales a deeper shade of sunset gold than his own - and nodded. "Of course; inform the SkyWing general that I will speak with him shortly."

Here he half-turned, well aware of the importance of effectual pauses in dialogue. The soldier blinked at him, confusion apparent in her gaze, and raised one talon before he added, "And please tell the painter of the name to have a word with me this evening."

"Yes, Sir."

The respect thrilled him - and still it would, for many years to come. So he carried it as he stepped off the shore and onto the wooden plank stretching out between himself and the body of the ship. It dipped beneath his talons as he entered the shadowy belly, swaying with the added weight even as he settled himself once more in the sun.

"Mesquite," a pair of SandWings murmured, dipping their heads in acknowledgement as he took up his place at the furthest point at the head of the ship. The Captain smiled and tipped his chin, embracing himself for a moment in the cool touch of the ocean air and the strange certainty that nothing would be the same.

--

AUTHOR'S NOTE: [ Warning - spoilers for The Brightest Night. ]

Mesquite, as he so often is, was horribly wrong about this.

For the next few years, he will travel in this ship - the Hope It Floats, nicknamed Hope by its ever-changing crew - in service of the SandWing prince. One of the deceased brothers to Smolder - indeed, his death was what caused Mesquite's party to remain at sea for the duration of the War of SandWing Succession.

It was his intention to return once one of the three sisters had secured the throne, in the hopes of charming his way into her favour via gifts of treasure procured on his travels.

But time, as we all know, changes many things. As the Hope's rations began to thin out, dragons aboard grew desperate. Several took wing and braved the wrath of the ocean, attempting to cross in the hopes of finding land. The current whereabouts of such dragons is unknown - most, being MudWings, SandWings or SkyWings siding with Queen Burn, will have come into contact with the Kingdom of the Sea and, as a result, find themselves taken prisoner or killed in border conflict.

By the time Mesquite's somewhat diminished crew (and pride) encountered the little band of MudWings, they were simply desperate for food. They attacked the little rafter, killing whichever crew they could find and plundering what goods they could find.

This eventually grew into a habit; the Hope It Floats became a rogue ship, and the dragons aboard it hardened ocean criminals. Once food became easier to secure and the last of the weaklings had been erased, they began to expand their horizons and initiated the first of many treasure conflicts, pillaging merchants' boats and eventually an Imperial ship belonging to the soldiers of Princess Blaze.

[ TBN spoilers up ahead! Read at your own expense. ]

By the Second Brightest Night, Captain Mesquite was a well-accustomed pioneer of the ocean. Any thoughts of returning had long dissipated. When the war was concluded and Thorn became queen of the SandWings, any remaining fragments vanished for good; Mesquite, disgusted by the idea of a non-royal monarch, set sail once more and has since then patrolled the oceans with all the vigour and violence of your typical storybook pirate.

[ TBN spoilers over and out. ]

... which is where we find my characters now. Dragons of the high seas, caught in bitter combat with a growing military rival led by my namesake IceWing general, Oapha. As far as I know, these babs are the first Pyrrhian pirates to tread the seas of the fandom, although I could be mistaken.

No, this idea is not in any way owned or copyrighted by me. If you would like to make your character a pirate or write a WOF pirate au, please feel free to do so.

If you wish to make your OC a member of the Hope It Floats crew - do not. Please. Unless you're super super close to me (hint: if you have to ask whether you're close to me, you probably aren't) or manage to bribe me with something really good, I'd prefer for you not to do that. It'd be like me plopping one of my OCs right into the middle of your group.

If you'd like to involve the Hope in any other way - e.g. in a story or bio, or perhaps as a rival pirate crew, please message me just to check if that's okay. It will be, 99% of the time.

Thanks, and happy writing!

- General Oapha and Captain Mesquite