The Captain wasn't so much an enemy as a joyful adversary. A rival who would be happy to fight an was fun to tease, but at the end of the day, everyone would walk home. Or fly, depending on who you were.
Petermon's dagger sliced through the small Digimon below him.
"You broke your promise!" he snarled.
"I-I'm s-sorry! P-please st-st-stop!" but he would not stop. Petermon would beat the In-Training Digimon until it was unconscious. When it awoke, he would treat it as if nothing ever happened. The punishment had been given, and Petermon was always willing to give someone another chance.
Tinkermon's bell "dinged" beside him. The little fairy Digimon's wings making a sound like wind through wind chimes.
That was, perhaps, the only comfort the In-Training could have.
"Captain!" the Babydmon chirped, quickly running (well, floating) around the barrels, ropes, and other Digimon to get to his destination. "Captain! Troub-oof!" the In-Training tripped (clumsy little thing) on some rope, falling face-first into the floorboards. It sniffled, trying not to cry.
"Babydmon," a gentle but powerful voice teased, "you little klutz." Kind hands picked up the little Digimon and brought it to their owners face. The smaller Digimon, with tearful eyes, looked up at his captain. The soft blue eyes he looked into were caring, and a bit concerned.
"CaptainHookmon…" it sniffled, shaking its head, trying not to show weakness in front of his beloved captain. It hated being so little, so useless! And now here it was, being held by its captain, crying like a little baby!
"What's the matter, Babydmon? You seemed frantic," CaptainHookmon placed a kiss to the little ones forehead, his fingers lightly stroking down its back to comfort it.
"Trouble, Captain!" he sniffled, "I saw Tinkermon! I know I did, she's flying around here!" The look on the Captain's face went from comforting to concerned surprise. He set the little Digimon down and turned to his crew.
"All hands on deck!" he yelled, his previously gentle voice now demanding and stern, powerful enough to vibrate the floor he stood on.
"Aye!" his crew filed up to their captain, who bolted up to the quarter deck.
"Keep y'er eyes out for those pests, Tinkermon and Petermon!" he yelled down when he was certain everyone was there. "Get out y'er weapons and prepare for battle!"
"Aye!" the Digimon yelled in reply, scrambling about the deck to prepare weapons. CaptainHookmon turned to his first mate, who had been busy steering the ship.
"Panjyamon, what do you think?" he asked the white lion Digimon. "What will the young fool do this time?" Panjyamon just shook his head.
"Captain, the boy is an unpredictable, immature menace. If I could predict him, I'd have deleted him. Or told you how," he mused. "I suggest creating a plan of action." The Captain nodded.
"Keep an eye on the ship," he turned away. "I will retire to my cabin for now. If you see the boy, sound the alarm."
"Aye, Captain," Panjyamon said, not taking his eyes off the deck before him.
Babydmon watched as the Captain returned to his quarters, and silently scolded himself for being so weak. But he knew the Captain didn't like it when he did that, so instead, the little Digimon went to go see where it could be even the least bit useful. As the Captain always said, 'you're only as useless as you think you are.'
The Digital Duel has sailed the waters of the Digital World as long as CaptainHookmon could remember. Yet, in recent years, one, bratty Champion has threatened to sink her more than once. It pained him to think of his rival.
A Pied Piper of sorts, controlling young Digimon who slept to do its bidding, no matter the cost. Mercilessly beating these children- his friends, he called them. The unjust cruelty and brutality the little monster portrayed almost- almost- made him want to slit his own throat. CaptainHookmon could simply not stand it. But the worst part?
The worst part was that HE was pegged as the villain, while Petermon was a glorious hero of all young Digimon.
It was sick.
CaptainHookmon had never done anything worthy of being called a "villain." Sure, he'd stolen, cheated, and lied in his time. He'd robbed the rich, but nay would he keep the treasures all to himself. Oh no, he knew others out there needed it more. He only kept enough to pay for upkeep and rations. Was this wrong?
Sure, he was a liar. In fact, he was an excellent liar. He knew just what anyone wanted to hear, but was it not better to tell a small lie than a horrid truth? No, he didn't lie to those who absolutely needed the truth, but to those that didn't…
Perhaps he had battled a ruthless opponent in his time, perhaps taking an unjust route in battle. But could he be blamed? It was survival of the fittest, and if they did not play by the rules, what law said he should? He'd felt bad, of course. A win wasn't a win if it was unfair.
For all his sins, no matter how he could justify them, he felt bad. He truly and honestly felt bad. CaptainHookmon knew better than to dwell on this, though every now and again, the memories of lies he'd told and people he'd mistakenly hurt would come flooding back to him.
This, unfortunately, was one of those times.
Damn that Petermon.
An ache was slowly rising in his chest, moving its way to his head. He threw off his hat, coat, and boots, and fell hard onto his bed. Laying on his back, watching the ceiling, seemed more calming. Like this, he could feel the ocean waves rock the ship like a mother rocking her child's cradle.
Maybe that sounded a little weird, but to him, that's what it was.
CaptainHookmon tried to keep his breathing steady. He found that if he stayed as calm as possible, the pain wasn't as bad. The memories weren't as vicious. If he could just forget them again, he'd be fine to return… but…
His hand moved idly up to his scar. The memories fought back with a sledgehammer to the doors of his conscious. And it hurt. Real, physical pain shot through his head, and he clutched it, groaning. It was a pain he'd felt time and again, one he had no cure for, and one that he could never get used to.
Depression, his crew called it. He suffered from depression.
The word was like salt on an open wound. He knew better than to think it made him a weak fool; it was real, not made up. It was an actual sickness that plagued both Digimon and humans. Some had it worse, others, not as bad.
Today, his was particularly bad. Which was annoying, since he had a battle to prepare for. And he'd thought today had started so well, to.
Trying to get up to prepare, he felt a pain like a dagger to his chest. His attempt to stand was pathetically defeated as he flopped back onto the bed, groaning and moving his hands from his head to his chest.
Okay. Not doing that again anytime soon.
At this point, all he could do was wait. It helped to think to himself, though. About his crew, about how silly this situation was, about his little friend Babydmon (who he was certain was close to Digivolving, but he wanted the little fella to be surprised when it happened), and about his past adventures. Treasure, epic battles, all the Digimon he'd met…
But one thought kept creeping back into his mind.
Damn that Petermon.