Woah, what a break from writing it's been! Still getting into the swing of the story again. I've had to re-think some plot points but I think we'll go well from here.

Thanks everyone for the awesome reviews over the years. Glad to see a few people have kept tuned in even with the huge wait!

-Gams

Chapter 37 - Complications

"We have a complication, LeBeau, and as a result, my service price has been elevated accordingly."

Raven Darkholme was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of a complication. Not in the cut of won capital, certainly not in lovers, and most definitely not in her trade as one of the most renowned Pirates in the Caribbean. She dealt complications. She had earned her right to be the master dealer of complications if it had a benefit to her own cause. But low and behold, here she was at the bloodied, rough-cut tether of one.

"Several hours ago, I had a visitor leave me a parting message…"

She took a purposeful swig of rum from the bottle set before her. No one around the table so much as flinched as she took her fill before she spoke again.

"When we parted ways with your crewmen, I left my orders with Maximoff to oversee the resupply of the ship and set a course for the next high tide. I returned to my quarters and found that things had been… disturbed. There wasn't a thing out of place but I could feel it…the minute I set foot inside…"

She took another swig of the bottle as a fresh droplet of sweat trickled down her temple and into her rain-darkened hair. A wince of pain caught between her teeth as she settled the bottle back on the table and adjusted her bandaged shoulder under her coat. A few eyes hooked on the wound like fish on a hook, only to be frightened away by the Captain's sharp gaze. Her long coat hung over most of her concealed arm, masking the linen sling that gingerly supported the wound in her shoulder but did little to ease her pains. Worse, the pallid shade of her skin and the deep-set frown that framed her pain-hardened glare gave her infirmity away clearly to the occupants of the room. Regardless of how stubbornly she cut her words, like they were discussing every-day business as usual, Raven Darkholme had been caught off guard and it was a sight to behold for those around her.

"The only thing that struck me as out of place was the door to the hidden quarters. It was left ajar, so, naturally, I approached with caution. But that is exactly what she wanted."

A long silence engulfed the room before Logan cleared his throat and spoke.

"You are certain it was a she, Raven? How?"

Logan's question was even and to the point. He watched with a wolf's cautionary patience until Raven replied. Her lips thinned into a grim smirk. A low growl that turned into a bitter chuckle rumbled out of her.

"Her frame was small but strong, a similar height and build to that of Mrs LeBeau if I am correct…"

She sent Rogue what could only be assumed as a friendly glance that drew the entire room's attention to her position against the back wall. Rogue resisted the urge to tuck herself closer to the shadows and instead held her statue stillness as the Captain continued her account.

"She was unlike any I have encountered. I didn't hear her or see her until she wanted me to. Not even a Guild Assassin has managed such a feat with me in the last decade."

"Did y' see her face? Note anything she wore that might identify her?"

Though Remy's tone was tempered with an air of austerity; impatience ticked in clench of his jaw. No sooner had they been informed of the Captain's arrival, he had taken Rogue by the hand and followed John to Cassidy's own private parlour in the basement of the tavern. With but one entry from the tavern and one that tunnelled out of the port to the other side of the island, they were as secure as a band of pirates on an island could be. Cassidy's own men guarded the tavern door and each member of their company held their own weapon close at hand. Remy kept close watch of Rogue who stood with her back to the stonewall behind him but three feet from the exit that lead to the tunnels. A quick escape was very much an option.

Though, Raven rolled her eyes and gave him an exasperated look, she took another swig of rum and answered.

"You must be hard of hearing, LeBeau. I did not see her face. She was clothed in simple black leathers from head to toe, a hood, a mask and I suspect she used coal or powders to conceal the rest of her face. Even her blade was austere and unadorned so as not to be noticed. She was for lack of better words, a ghost. Or perhaps… a messenger is the better description given my new badge of honour."

"Did she say anything t' y'?"

Raven's expression stiffened to a blank unreadable look before she turned to Wanda who hovered close-by. She gave a silent, curt nod. Wanda nodded grimly and opened her coat, pulling out two items, which she laid out for all to see on the table. Wrapped in a bloodied shirt was a small dagger made of sleek dark steel with a leather-bound hilt. Darkened blood still caked to the blade edge from where it had met Captain Darkholm's shoulder. The other item was a piece of heavy black fabric, no longer than a woman's forearm. It was embroidered beautifully; red embellishments along its edges and what appeared to be a family crest at its heart. The crest was composed of a triad of gold circles- no, coins, framed by a triangle of three blades, connected tip to pummel, and a black rose at the centre of the design whose vines entwined the symbols together.

Amongst the gentle murmuring amongst the table, Remy was the first to reach for the cloth. Gingerly, he smoothed the tips of his fingers over the embroidered crest as Raven spoke.

"She didn't utter a word. Not when she pushed that blade through my shoulder or when she laid the cloth over me like a damned babe's blanket after she knocked me down."

Her grating frustration painted the silence in a new layer of tension as the two items were passed amongst the small group. Remy made a point of handing the cloth to Piotr for him to examine it. Piotr, a had many connections across the world who dabbled in all kinds of crafts and art forms.

"What do y' make of it mon ami? Have y' come across such craftsmanship before?"

Piotr took the cloth and for a short while, took his time to run his hands over the embroidery and turn the fabric over in his large hands in a closer inspection. After a time, he shook his head and handed it back to Remy. His brow creased as he spoke as if to answer his own questions aloud.

"Net (no). I do not recognise the craftsmanship, this maker does not leave any discernible mark to stake his- or her claim of ownership. But it is of wealthy make, there is no mistaking."

While several in the room nodded their agreement, Rogue took that opportunity to approach the table and examine the cloth herself. Her fingers grazed the rose at the centre of the crest.

"Black roses don't exist…"

"What was dat chère?"

Rogue shook her head as she set the cloth back on the table.

"Nothin'. Its just a thought…"

When she turned away to reclaim her place, she found that the table's occupants were all watching her with anticipation of an answer. Her family, her grandfather, had rarely held her in such moderate esteem. It was almost laughable that a band of pirates wished to hear the musings of an almost-Lady of the gentry. It set off fireworks of anxiety through her belly and yet the urge to speak freely was quick to grow like new vines, growing over the old instinct to keep her thoughts to herself. As their gaze weighed on her shoulders, Rogue was about to feign another lame excuse when Raven caught her gaze. She held it, much like a cat with its claws caged around a canary bird. There was but one way forward.

"Black roses don't actually exist. If they do, then they're just dipped in black ink to look real. Jean," She swallowed the short sting of hurt at the thought of her friend who had disappeared without so much as a goodbye, but it was fleeting and quickly stifled, and she found her voice a half-beat of a second later.

"My friend, she knows everythin' about roses. Plants in general, actually. If they're not dyed in ink, then they might just be a very dark red or plum colour. There isn't actually a black rose in existence. Maybe that's why they used it as their marker…some kind of symbolic connection…"

When no one quite knew what to say in response, it was Wanda who uttered a disgruntled breath and rolled her eyes as she spoke. Her voice was poised with her usual barbs and thorns.

"And this is relevant how? So they use a black rose. It's morbid, sure, but it's nothing. Most crews use whatever they can to distinguish themselves. They also use swords and coins, which this maker has also used. In case you weren't aware, M'lady."

Rogue barely resisted the roll of her own eyes as she leant forward and took the cloth in hand again.

"But this is not a flag. At least, this wasn't. This is like a calling card, an expensive one. Whoever they are, they want ya'll to recognise them by this crest like a name. Even Mister Rasputin here admitted the cloth was of wealthy make, so-"

"He also said the maker left no discernible mark to identify himself. What the fuck does a black rose have to do with anything, M'lady? It's just a damn flower."

While Piotr flushed a little pink and cleared his throat, an exasperated snort from Wanda cut him short. She rolled her eyes to the heavens, folded her arms and sat back in her seat at Captain Darkholme's side. Her posture was like a wordless dismissal of Rogue's very relevance in the discussion, which was heard, loud and clear. But one look from Raven was enough to steel her resolve. With her hip cocked to one side Wanda's indifferent posture, Rogue kept her voice cool as freshly sharpened steel.

"Look at the design. The rose is made of black thread and outlined in gold. I've seen so many house crests that use flowers as their moniker but never a black rose because they are not real. This makes the design itself unique amongst all others. And if I'm right, and it's a rare design, if ya'll were to ask the right questions, to the right craftsmen with the right kind of experience…"

"We might trace it back to the original maker and find whoever commissioned them."

Raven's austere command of Rogue's finishing statement was met with general murmurs of agreement from the others. Wanda's scowl merely hardened to another layer of impenetrable stone as the others began to share their own thoughts.

"Someone might recognise it. We can't be the only ones getting these calling cards."

"We could put the word out through the Port. Get our contacts in the London black market to earn their keep for once…"

As the chatter broke up the silence, Rogue met Wanda's cool gaze and matched it for mettle. Wanda weighed her words between a cruel smile and a roll of her jade-green eyes.

"And who would you suggest we ask M'Lady? Do you have a few relatives tucked away in the aristocracy that are kept abreast of the design and make of all the family crests of England, France and Scotland?"

Rogue felt Remy shift beside her, his fingers latching between hers and the light pressure of his silent support.

"No. But if you were to keep your eyes open, Mistress Maximoff, ya might find someone holding the same crest. Link the roses together and you get a chain. Chain them together, sooner or later, you get to the chain maker."

The pocket silence disintegrated into general murmurs of talk once more as Wanda left, muttering something about making a search of more port for the table. At her departure, Cassidy, who had remained unmoved from his position of silent ease in his chair at the head of the table, finally shifted amongst the group to take the cloth Rogue had discarded on the table.

Cassidy eased the fat cheroot cigar to a small tray on the table as he eyed the cloth closely between his hands. A few minutes later, he took the dagger for his own inspection. One by one, everyone fell into silence and became attuned to his observation of the blade. Finally, he gave low sigh and set the blade down before him.

"You may be onto something Missy. I would have Mister Rasputin develop duplicate drawings of the design and have it passed amongst our contacts. See if we might find a sibling or two and, what was it? Link the roses together so we might get a chain?"

His kindly smile was followed by a teasing wink before he took both items and with a nod to Piotr to follow, left the room. One by one, they began to depart the parlour until Remy and Rogue stood poised to follow and Raven bid them wait.

"A moment, LeBeau. As you have yet to make good on payment for my services, I would have my encounter come under the Accord of Compensation set by the Guild. I demand compensation by right of grievous injury. As is our way."

"As is our way. Oui."

Remy didn't so much as blink as he met Raven's extended hand and shook it as if he had signed a contract with ink, paper and quill. Rogue, however, looked puzzled and expressed her view freely.

"Why does he have to compensate you? This had nothing to do with-"

"Guild practices are not your concern, child. With respect, you do not know our ways."

Remy gave her a look that spoke volumes as he added, "Yet."

"One last thing…"

Raven slipped a hand into her coat and pulled from it a two-toned braided lock of hair. White and auburn. She held it out for Rogue to take but set her hard gaze on Remy as she spoke.

"That was tied to the pommel of the blade. Like a ribbon on a gift."

Rogue felt the braid between her fingers that suddenly felt chilled and numb. Remy's warm hands overlapped them as he took the braid from her gingerly and inspected it. He gave no indication of fear or alarm as Raven gathered herself from her chair and made for the exit. She stopped only to rest a hand on Rogue's shoulder and speak.

"I believe you are overdue to meet with your new Father-in-law, my dear. I would make that journey on the next favourable tide."

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