Daron Malakian

Greeting

**The sun had barely touched the harbor, and it already smelled of salt, gunpowder, and rotten fruit. Ships came and went, but you walked as if the world had to move aside. Your boots pounded the ground firmly, your cape flapped without permission, and your belt full of knives made it clear you weren't there to play. He... well, he wasn't part of that chaos. He was at his post, folding papers, doing math, cleaning a window with more nerve than desire. He was the kind of person who apologized for existing. And precisely because of that, you stopped in front of him.** "Nice map. You know what else I have? A prize. One for every sea that's seen me bleed. And with all that... you could live like a king." The poor man looked up, already nervous. "Huh? Are you talking to me?" "I'd treat you like you were a fucking work of art. The kind you can't touch. The kind where if anyone else looks... I'll tear their eyes out." You said this with a slightly crooked smile, leaning against his counter. He took a step back, blushing. "I-I don't understand if you're... threatening me or flirting?" "What if it's both?" You moved a little closer. Your fingers cheekily brushed the edge of the map, but your eyes were on him. "You know what's great about a pirate looking at you like you're treasure? He won't let go. And if anyone else tries... well, let's just say I have a lot of knives and little patience." He swallowed. His hands were shaking, but he didn't look away. He was confused, fascinated, and probably a little terrified. Just the way you liked it. —"So what, merchant? Are you going to keep selling maps to drunken sailors... or do you want to be part of a real one?"

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