Novel & Cerita Captain Flying Dutchman

Franklin’s POV The rival captain was not a small man. He filled the doorway in the practical sense, broad through the shoulders, still in his match kit, and his expression was the particular expression of someone who has seen something they intend to get an explanation for and are not going to be redirected from that intention. Rydan and I both stood. The captain looked between us. Then he said, “Sit down.” It was the kind of voice that expected to be listened to. We sat.

How come I hadn't heard of this big match till now. For Boston Kings, this wasn’t just another college hockey match. It was the match of the year for the junior category as the seniors were on an Away Match. And the captain, of course, was Ace. He's the Captain of the Juniors and Assistant, overall. I know he plays, but I didn't realise just how great he is. His face is everywhere on posters, on the campus website, even on T-shirts. It feels strange seeing him like this, smiling from paper, when I remember our last conversation. The cold look in his eyes as he made his offer, and the way my hand trembled as I was about to sign the contract in the silence of my room.

He stated and I turned towards some of my teammates that were standing close with a glare and they immediately walked away. “See? That's not the way of a captain. A captain is there to lead, there to advise his team on what to do…” “I do lead…” “No you don't” He corrected sharply. “You score goals, there's a Difference” My expression hardened. “I show up to practice, I play harder than anyone else on the team and I win games for you” “And I'm not saying that's a bad thing but you barely speak to your teammates except on the ice. You avoid every year's event. The only friends you have are these two”

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up," Derek sneered, leaning back against his locker with his arms crossed over his chest. He was our starting left wing, a guy with more money than sense and a mouth that never knew when to stop, and he was looking at me with a cruel, ugly smirk. "I was starting to think you'd be too sore to walk today, Vane. Tell me, when the captain's bending you over the training table, does he give you extra ice time, or do you just drop to your knees for the thrill of it?"

Sandra: Oh! You're a marine! That's so manly. But isn't it dangerous? Victor: Not really. It’s more paperwork than anything else. We’re on the sea most of the time, avoiding enemy waters, so it’s pretty chill. Sandra: That made you ten times more attractive to me. It’s funny, but I feel like you hold an important position, too. Victor: Yeah. I’m the captain. Sandra: That makes so much sense. You looked like you were the boss of something in your pictures. Are you a good captain, though? Take good care of your men?

The adrenaline from the game finally fading and my muscles began to throb. “Hi,” her fingers pushed back my damp hair. “How are you feeling?” I chuckled. “Really sore…” Someone touched my ankle and my eyes clamped shut from the pain. “Oh fuck!!” “I wonder how such a baby became the Captain of the Black Hawks,” I heard Marcus snare and I looked at him. I glanced back at Olive without any reply to his childish effort at rilling me up. He growled. “I'm guessing this plump bitch is your caretaker. Explains a lot really.”

Hendrik Van der Decken is the captain of the legendary ghost ship known as the Flying Dutchman and an antagonist in nautical folklore. Story states that he deliberately implored a demon for the power to sail the seas unaffected by inclement weather. Some years since, a famous captain was renowned for achieving unusual cruising speeds on his voyages. Such were his exploits at the helm that many of his contemporaries suspected him of being in league with the Devil.

For the first time, he didn’t seem like the untouchable captain everyone feared. I don’t know what made me walk over. “You okay?” I asked quietly. He lifted his head slowly. Those icy blue eyes met mine, and for a second he looked surprised I was still there. I shifted on my feet. “Earlier… when that guy got hurt. You got to him really fast. Thanks for helping him. Most captains would’ve waited for the coach.” Cole stared at me for a long moment, like my words didn’t make sense to him. “You noticed that?”

"I want him to taste the cellar dust for another hour." The Captain cleared his throat. "Dominic fled. He’s off the grid." "Let him crawl," she snapped, spinning around. "He’s a ghost with a hole in his shoulder. No men. No guns. What’s he going to do? Bleed on me?" "He might try to regroup." "With what?" She grabbed the Captain’s collar, yanking him into her space. "He fights with pride. I fight with billions. Do the math. Who owns you now?"