The peace of Euless bored Crowe. Nothing much happened in this village and everyone operated by routine. People worked without urgency and enjoyed their peace and prosperity, working during the day, wrangling children in the evening, and returning home to supper and rest before repeating the cycle over and over again. A boring harmony only spiced by the far-fetched stories boasted from small-time travelers. Crowe decided it was all rather dull as he watched villagers meander across town from the bow of his ship. So very dull, except for one unexpected variable: Joan Berwin.

Crowe stopped trying to understand why she'd chosen to live in this town a while ago, still at a loss as to why she had not immediately jumped at his generous offer to steal her away from a life that did not provide her with happiness. There were many people who desired a free life in the skies, and he thought it strange that she refused him. She’s in denial, he decided. Who wouldn't want to explore the world? Taste foreign delicacies? Savor the richest whisky money can buy? He wouldn't let her shut the door so easily. And the reason? Crowe wasn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart or the moral satisfaction one apparently receives when reaching out their hand and offering it to an unhappy person in need. Joan had a certain potential, and he wanted to capitalize on the opportunity. She was an interesting surprise.

But she wasn't here.

"Captain!" Valerie poked her head out from the bridge and called to Crowe from across the deck. "We're ready to sail!" Crowe pulled back his crimson coat sleeve and checked the time on his wristwatch: 1:03. He gave Euless one more look, but did not hesitate to turn around and stride toward his crew mate.

"Let's go," he decided immediately. There was no use in waiting for someone who won't come. He'll just have to look elsewhere. How vexing.

Crowe followed Valerie into the cabin and was greeted by Ren gripping the captain's wheel.

"Crowe, I wanna fly the Paradise," he declared.

"And I want a crew mate who doesn't say stupid things."

"So we're ditching Gideon at the hospital?" Ren asked with an exaggerated excitement.

"Ren, no, he can’t defend himself," Valerie chided. Crowe approached the wheel.

"Move," he ordered.

"You're no fun," Ren complained as he languidly released his grip. Crowe took his place and pressed down on the intercom button on the controls.

"Jasper, ready for take off," Crowe commanded. There was a pause, followed by a pop of static and a response.

"Roger." Crowe took the reins of the airship, and with the flip of a few switches, he could feel the familiar deep rumble of the engine resound through the wood and metal of the cabin. It was the best feeling life had to offer.

To an airman, the sounds of a steam engine's ignition, the resonance of the iron gears, and the pressure you felt when taking off for a worldwide journey were liberating. It signaled a return to all actions unrestrained and all possibilities limitless. It incited an inherent electrifying rush of excitement and thrill.

...But only to an airman.

As Joan slowly became aware of her own semi-conscious awakening, the first thing she noticed was the coarse vibrations reverberating into her heeled boots. Her eyes opened sluggishly, blurry and unfocused, and before she could make out the vague shapes before her, she heard the sound of a gradual low rumble fill the space around her. She shook her head and widened her eyes. The room around her was dark with only a single source of light- a lone lightbulb that bounced above her from its short wire. Wooden crates stacked along the walls and a wooden chair stood haphazardly facing the room's corner away from her, near a metal door that served as the only way into or out of the room. Joan raised her hand to brush her hair from her face, but her movement was halted by a sudden coarse burning on her wrist.

Fuck. Joan struggled and thrashed against the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the wooden chair in which she sat. Fuck! Where am I? Where did they take me? A hot spike of horror drove itself through Joan's heart. She couldn't get out.

CHNK.

It came from the lone door in front of her. The metal latch heavily beat upward, and Joan's head shot up as she tensely awaited whatever was to come next. The door opened, immediately revealing the two kidnappers from the potionary. They walked into the room mechanically and took their positions on each side of the door. Behind them, a third figure paused for a moment before making his grand entrance.

"So this is the company he keeps. How... underwhelming." The thin figure strode self-importantly through the door, dressed in a long, gold coat with red accents. Unlike the scratched and singed uniforms of the crew beside him, his clothes looked pristine, without even a frayed stitch from the embellishments. He had a long face and his teeth were quite large. The man paused and frowned, looking over Joan. "I'm a bit disappointed, I was expecting garish clothing and maybe an eye patch, but you look rather mundane." You look like a horse! "Maybe that's why he left you to rot in that mediocre village. Nevertheless, I can't wait to see his reaction when he learns that I stole something of his. What say you?"

"Why am I here?" It took all she had to not let her voice waver. The man grabbed the spare wooden chair and roughly dragged it in front of Joan. Upon closer inspection, there were two flaws to his seemingly immaculate appearance. The first was a singular tuft of hair that bulged from his head and refused to comply with his slicked-back hairstyle, which ended in a curled ponytail. Joan's attention went directly to the more noticeable of the two- a gash on his long face, just above his left eyebrow, and shoddily patched with two thin bandage strips. It seemed uncharacteristic of him to have a scratch, especially when considering his pristine appearance. The man looked down at her and spoke his answer.

"You, my dear, are what I'd like to call leverage." He sat down regally in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, maintaining his prim ambiance. "That brute has created a considerable amount of trouble for me. I can't even begin to imagine how I will make up for the lost time and effort he has cost me." He leaned in closer. "But with you, that won't be as much of an issue. Do you understand?"

"I-I don't..." Joan replied reservedly. The man abruptly stood up and paced around the chair, flailing his arms in annoyance.

"These last twenty-four hours have been a living hell thanks to your captain and the rest of your crew! Don't think for a second that I won't take drastic measures to get back what's mine! Now, where is he?"

"I don’t know who you’re talking about."

"Crowe!" The man's hands gripped the back of the chair as he leaned over, turning his knuckles white. "That bastard Crowe Meyer! Don't you know your own captain's name?"

Crowe? What the fuck? What does this have to do with me! This wasn't fair! Joan had just met the guy! And now she's tied up at who-knows-where by mister petty asshole, who believed he had been wronged in some way and is obsessively searching for the man he deemed responsible. Why is Joan being dragged into someone else's fight?

"He's not my captain," Joan stressed.

"Let's not play this game of back-and-forth, my patience is severely limited."

"Believe me! He's not!"

"You were with him!"

"His crew mate was hurt, I was only trying to help--"

"A hurt crew mate? Poor man!” He started pacing again. "But what about my sympathy? What about me? What about how much I've suffered?" Joan's surging feelings of revulsion surpassed her fear.

"Who are you?"

"You lie to me, and yet you haven't the decency to remember the name of your victim? It's Tennington! James Tennington!" In a fit of rage, Tennington gripped his chair and threw it across the floor. Joan flinched when it cracked against the wall's wooden boxes with a sharp slam, her eyes wide in disbelief. She desperately hoped he wouldn't do the same to her in his crazed anger as he continued his rant. "Your captain has stolen my treasure, and yet you continue to insult me?"

"No, he runs a delivery ship, there has to be a mistake--"

"No mistake! How could I mistake the man who destroyed my airship?!"

"He... what?" Crowe said that his ship was attacked- that fact was unmistakable- but he didn't mention something like this.

"Delivery airship? Is that what he told you? How can you be so dense?" Tennington spoke in a low voice as he approached Joan. "Crowe and his merry band of followers are Aviators. You do know what Aviators are, don't you?" He abruptly turned around and flailed dramatically. "Aviators! Sky pirates! The scourges of the air! They steal from the innocent, blast airships out of the sky, and plunder the remains before they sink to the earth. And do you know why?" His head whipped around to face Joan. "The money. And where do they get that money? From their contracts. They'll do anything to complete these contracts, just like how they'll do anything for money. Even if it means hurting people who get in their way."

Joan's mind reeled. She wasn't sure if she was surprised or not, wasn't sure of who to trust- wasn't sure of anything, really. But of what she knew about Aviators, from all the horror stories and news articles, Crowe and his crew seemed normal. Well, not normal- moderately eccentric was probably a more accurate description- but they didn't feel like criminals. Despite Crowe's brutal honesty, they didn't seem like bad people, especially when compared to her own kidnapper, Tennington. But stealing? Destroying an airship? But they were attacked, weren't they?

"Crowe told me they were attacked."

"Well, of course," Tennington chimed nonchalantly. "I attacked them."

"You...?"

"That captain of yours destroyed my airship and stole a precious treasure of mine. I will see to it that he pays for the embarrassment and misfortune he has caused me." He approached her one last time. "Let it be known, miss leverage- I will be the one to take that Aviator down. Now--" He lightly gripped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, tipping her head up to look at him. "What's your name?"

"Joan..." She acquiesced.

"Joan." She felt disgusted, hearing him say her name. He let go of her face and turned around, motioning for his men to join him. "I thought you would be some useful to me as a source of information, but I guess you're better suited as a hostage. Either way, I will reclaim what's mine." The two sailors went ahead of him, waiting outside the door, but he stopped and glanced back to Joan, smirking in his victory. "Your captain has deceived you. If I were you, I'd wonder if he'd even be inclined to come to your rescue."

Joan watched his gold coat flash once more before disappearing from view, and with a deep metallic screech, the door heavily shut behind him, the latch falling once more with a thud. Joan was once again trapped in rope and darkness, with only the single light hovering above her. Even after his departure, she felt tense and couldn't stop her body trembling from the unrelenting adrenaline. But now they were gone. She had to escape.

"I'm not waiting for rescue."

(Continued in Stolen II)