The Sea Bitch

[Tprinces]

In all her days in all her life on this strange little planet, Catarina Siren had never seen a storm much to the likes of this. Oh she was familiar with storms. She'd seen them splash, seen them threaten, even seen those threats carried out. But this, this was a different breed of storm all together. As its waves slapped the belly of the ship so unfortunate as to be caught within its clutches, it rocked the world around it with ease. As though the boat itself was a mere toy subjected to a child's play. Thunder echoed against the helpless moans of the Felonious Ferret as it strained to stay afloat. Above the shredded masts, splinters of lightning cracked the sky like an egg. Water fell from every which way, so drenching the crew to the very bone that they felt practically underwater themselves. Boots squeaked and rope flew as each turn, each move, threatened to capsize the schooner entirely. It got to the point where the icy cold and harsh sprays made a body entirely numb, and still they fought on. There was no other choice in the matter.

With her heart in her ears, Cat yanked down on a rigging's rope, trying to secure the fluttering mast above. Though her vision was obscured by the sea splatter, she could see every fray and every nick of the rope clutched in her hands. Every passing struggle it wrenched itself from her grip, taring her skin to the point of drawing blood. Her arms tugged and yanked as though they threatened to pop out of her very body. And still, she held on. With every last bit of strength in her tired body, she held on.

That's when it happened.

It happened so quickly, the pirate barely had a chance to keep her head on straight until it was half way through. A monstrous wave, pulled up from the deepest circles of Hell itself, smashed itself against the side of the Ferret, knocking her off her balance without notice. Like a bullet, she was launched from the deck, weightless against the rain, before plummeting into the cold, cold waters below. For a split second, she could find no way up, no way out. Upside down and blind, she flailed beneath the water, her lungs panicking as they were devoid of air. Finally, she managed to pop up from the surface and gasp in what little air she could manage. Still floundering, her hands came to a hard, buoyant object beside her. She flopped up against the fallen crate long enough for her to realize what had happened. Lifting her head, she saw the ship had already been tossed yards away from her. It was as if the storm itself was swallowing up her very life. Had she any energy left, she'd have tried to call out. Wave. Do something. But it was a hallow gesture. For as she floated helplessly against the pounding waves, she saw the ship she once called "home" float further and further away.

------

There was something magical about Tortuga. Not just to the pirates who made port there, or to the businesses and wenches and bartenders who made their living there. Not even to the poor saps who were stuck to live out their lives on its crumby shores. Anyone who so much as gave a look to this little turtle island was unable to deny its dirty charm. As the day turned to night, and the blue sky bled into orange and pinks, the buildings and shops of the port town started to glow with flickering lamplight. Laughter and song filled every crevice of the place. Music came through the windows of inns, sung along to by drunken men with ale to spare. The squeals of whores and the rickety wheels of horse drawn buggies only added to the constant chatter along the cobble stoned streets. For the right kind of person, it was heaven.

Nestled away in the bumpy folds of the island sat a small tavern. It was modest in build, but promised a satisfying time for all with money to spare and a night to lose. Above the door hung a wooden sign that pronounced its name for all to see: The Sea Bitch. Within its doors were patrons that reflected the diversity of the little island, whether they be singing, laughing, drinking or fighting. It was all the same here. Along the bar, tankards of rum splashed against the wood grain, making the surface sticky sweet to the touch. Women danced on table tops, the men who watched them flinging coins into their supple bosoms. It seemed to be promising to be a normal night.

Off on the bar end, a figure sat, nursing a tankard of ale. A rapier's scabbard shot out from the figure's left hip, a gun and dagger sitting securely in their belt. In spite of this figure's dirty pants and leather boots, it was clear by the face alone that whoever this person was, they were in fact a woman. Yet that was the only womanly feature about her. Her hair was unkempt and wild beneath a blood red headscarf. A few scars littered what skin could be seen around her collar bone. Her nails, broken and chipped with days of work, had dirt wedged beneath them that never seemed to go away. Not that she tried to clean them, really. As she gulped down the last few remaining glugs of ale, she sat herself back against the wall, (she sat at the corner end of the bar) and watched the life of the tavern around her in silence. Yet it was clear she wasn't looking for anyone. She was, for all intents and purposes, alone.

[Imperial]

Ambrose spat mud out of his mouth as lay face down in the dirt. A stinging jaw greeted his return to consciousness, though it was unclear whether the pain was from the heavy landing or the fist that put him there. Hands on either side of him he pushed himself off the ground, testing his jaw as he got up, is it supposed to make that clicking noise? A cart rumbled past right where he had been laying, doubtless it would have run over him rather than stop, especially since the driver was nowhere to be seen. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings an burly man with an ugly scar along his jaw stood with fists ready and an angry scowl. Behind him stood an even angrier looking woman, with a sparse amount of clothes. Ambrose narrowed his eyes and thought about the situation, he pointed to himself and then to the woman as he silently mouthed what he thought might be the case. He had hoped this would be one of those times when he awoke the day after being knocked out, but alas it had been just thirty seconds. Ambrose smiled, bowed and fled.

His run was slow and comic as he squelched through the mud, the man close behind while his woman screamed profanities from the whorehouse doorway, unwilling to get dirty. Ambrose turned a corner and found himself on a pebbled surface, happy to away from mud, he smiled as he jogged lightly down the alley. The alley stopped abruptly and a sniggering laugh behind him alerted Ambrose to the dead end he had previously failed to spot. With a swish of his cloak Ambrose turned to face the advancing man, who had since drawn a cutlass and a knife and had murder in his eyes. Ambrose stood straight, adjusted his dilapidated coat and strode forwards.
"My good man. My large, good man. I implore you to see reason! Daisy was just-"
"Dorothy." grumbled the man.
"Quite, Dorothy was just fetching me a drink." Ambrose came closer.
"The compromising situation you stumbled upon was just a comedy of errors! I had spilled my drink you see." Ambrose stopped a foot away from the larger man.
"I had deigned it gentlemanly to aid her in removing the soiled clothes-" A heavy thwack sounded as Ambrose drove his forehead into the man's nose and in a single movement grabbed the man's knife wielding hand driving the blade up and thought he base of the jaw and into the head. The man dropped dead.
"How was I to know she had been payed for?" Ambrose remarked to himself as he strode away in search of a tavern that hadn't banned him for the week.

The sign above the door swung slowly in the cooling sea breeze. The Sea Bitch. Ambrose hesitated before entering he recalled the bartender had threatened to kill him if he entered the place again... or was that the Sea Hag by Shorestrap lane? Thinking he might as well try his luck, Ambrose entered with all the swagger and gusto of a man half drunk and oblivious to the brawl right at the door. He stepped over a concussed man and made for the bar. The Keeper of the Inn gave him the usual angry scowl that he seemed to attract but no threats of killing or maiming arose so Ambrose was satisfied this was not a place he had become unwelcome in. He ordered ale and sat by the bench as he begun another normal night in Tortuga.
"Troubles brewing in Europe, another war so they say. Means a harder life for the decent pirate." Spoke an older man who was continuing a conversation with the Barkeep.
"Most of the lads are shipping out over the next few weeks, people fear a raid on the island." Replied the Barkeep, handing Ambrose the ale.
"And you sailor? You leaving like these other boys?" he directed at Ambrose.
"I fear not. No ship will have me. Over-qualified you see." Replied Ambrose who by now was much more interested int he contents of his tankard than of their conversation.
"You must have a plan to leave should things get worse?" pressed the older pirate, a few seats from Ambrose.
"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." Ambrose chanted, still staring into his cup.
"Right..." The barkeep and the man moved off to one side to continue their conversation.
"The lord has a plan for every man, or so they say." Declared Ambrose, eyes still in his cups.
"But he fails to mention women in this plan, so maybe they have their own?" He spoke at the bench but his words were aimed at the lone figure to his right. For he had seen her as soon as he entered the establishment and had deduced her gender from afar.

[idlehands]

Maeve gripped her fiddle, drawing her bow across it, skipping lightly over the strings and she grinned at her small audience. She tossed her loose red curls back and began playing an old but well loved jig and hands began to clap and sing along with the bawdy lyrics. A couple of pirates grabbed some of the barmaids and danced in tight circles, kicking the heels of their well worn boots as the girl's skirts flared out in their spinning steps. Maeve laughed with joy and picked up the pace of her tune, the dancers twirling and shouting. When she finished she took a small bow to their applause and held her large plumed hat out into which was tossed a variety of coins of silver and copper.

One of the men, a large man missing half his teeth shouted a request and she nodded, picking up her bow and began a lilting and looping rhythm, pausing to sing out the words of a well loved favorite:

I've been a wild rover for many's the year
I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more

She continued the old Irish folk song, many of the men singing along with the lyrics, drinking their ale deeply. The man rubbed his eye with a sigh of nostalgia and patted the rear end of the chubby wench next to him. He tossed a few silver into Maeve’s hat and she nodded a thanks as she concluded the song.

A few shouted for another, “Give us somethin’ to dance too, lass! A hearty reel!”

Maeve obliged them, her fiddle shrieking with a fast and rhythmic song, her fingers ached as she clamped the strings down but she smiled brightly at the people dancing in the crowded tavern. As her eyes moved over the crowd, she spotted a lone figure of a woman in men’s clothing, sitting with her back to the bar and she seemed more interested in her tankard than the merrymaking.


When the song ended she waved off the requests. "No more, I must take a break or me fingers will bleed again," Maeve waved off the calls for more songs and tucked the coins in her leather pouch tied to her bodice next to her ivory handled dagger. "Jolly good dancing, mates!"


The redhead put her wide hat back on and tucked her fiddle in it’s case. She made her way to the bar, not far from a man who looked like he’d been on the poor end of a brawl. She eyed him warily as she ordered her ale. Tossing a few coppers on the bar she took her mug and sipped it, rubbing her raw fingertips against the cool glass.


Maeve sat down, her loose skirt swirling around her calf length boots and she set her mug on the bar. She watched the people, her eye critically examining their clothing and weaponry. No big spenders here tonight, she thought with a sigh and drank her ale. Her gaze fell once again on the unkempt woman and she was curious. It was not the first time she had seen a female dressed as a man but this one did not seem to make much effort to hide her sex.

Her ears picked up the conversation with the man who near her and the subject made her frown a bit. If men were leaving it meant less income for her, for who but men would pay her handsomely for a song and a pretty smile. She frowned and tapped her fingers against the bar. She hated to have to leave Tortuga, where she was well known and relatively safe from harm. He had not sought her here and that meant safety enough for the time being. To have to relocate if all the pirates and sailors moved on would mean venturing into the unknown and possibly to her death.

[Tprinces]

Whether the woman had seen the other two, she neither made a move to show that she noticed nor cared. The music, while familiar to her, was nothing more than a background hum, accompanied by the constant beat of foot stomping and whooping laughter. Propping her chin in her hand, she stared off into the distance. Perhaps she should make herself merry this evening. She'd been there a week, a full week, and had yet to find good news in a way of travel. If she was destined to die here, might as well do it with a song in her heart. That thought made her smile bitterly. How sad. To die alone, without a crew, in the belly of the scum infested Tortuga. Leaning back against the wall, she pondered her situation further, tankard on her hip, before something of the conversation to her left caught her ear. Blinking, she perked, tilting her head just so to hear the conversation at hand.

"Most of the lads are shipping out over the next few weeks, people fear a raid on the island."

A raid was it? Ha! No navy would ever be so bold. It would be like a vulture willing to bare down on a pride of lions. It would be a bloodbath to last a day, only to be followed up with celebration of debauchery that same night. What fools these kings men were! And yet she did not write this statement off. If there was rumor of a raid... that meant ships, which meant registries, which meant, all the more importantly, finding a new place to call home.

"Pard'n me, lads." A smile sat on the woman's lips as she swung around to her feet. With her fingertips loosely clinging to the rim of her tankard, she approached the small group. There was a curious spark in her eye. "These lads shippin' off of late. Might one be pressed as ta know where they be signin'?"

The older pirate, sitting to the man in the redcoat, gave a not-too subtle snort. "An' what would a bird make use of such an answer?" he said sarcastically. "There be no quill waitin' fer the likes o' you, me dear heart. I can promise ye that."

A noticeable twitch was seen in the woman's face. "Oh?" she cooed, her eyes narrowing. "Seems like ye don't think me fit fer a ship, mate."

He laughed. "Only ting women is fit fer is a good meal and a good fak."

The lady pirate was silent, though her smile had not dropped entirely. Her thumb tapped on her tankard as clear thoughts went through her mind. Suddenly, her smile brightened. Walking forward, she took the last gulp of her alcohol and set the mug aside. "A shame, that," she said smoothly, making her way right up to the side of the man. "An' here I was meanin' ta save the rest o' me well earned fortune fer life at sea."

The old sailor cocked a brow. "Fortune? What fortune?"

With a sudden flick of her wrist, the woman had yanked out a gold and silver dagger, slicing off the man's penny purse, before tossing it into the air and catching it with her free hand. Then, with a boot on the edge of the stool before her, she popped her rump on the bar, one leg over the other, holding the coin bag well out of reach. "This fortune, buck-o."

After a moment of shock, the man flailed, face red with anger. He reached for his pistol as quick as he could. "Why ya thievin' cun-!" His hand barely got half way before that dagger was up against his meaty jowl. And what a dagger it was. The blade was curved and serrated on some parts, well sharpened but also well used. The chips in the blade were proof enough of that. The handle, seen through her fingers, was a figure of an Indian woman, topless, sitting perfectly in her hand. Judging from the woman's appearance in general, she sure as hell didn't buy it.

"Barkeep," she said suddenly, that smile wider. She tossed the bag to the barman with ease. "A round o' whiskey fer me an' the gents here." Feeling charitable with someone else's money, her eyes went to the red-headed violinist. "An' refill that one's cup as well. Ye can keep the change, o'course."

That was the first time the barman's lips curled upward, glad to receive such a tip, before pouring three fresh tankards of whiskey and refilling Maeve's own cup.

[Imperial]

Ambrose tapped his fingers in time with the music, the Irish ditty was familiar, no doubt a favorite of one of the Irish crews he had commanded against the Dutch. The memories soured the taste of the ale still on his tongue, all for nothing. He zoned in and out of the conversation at hand, barely noticing the music had stopped and it's player now sat nearby. Another woman. A worrying sign. A curious expression passed across his face and he turned to face the rest of the tavern. At first glance the night seemed as any other, the regulars were in and merrymaking fierce. But that was just the problem. Very few new faces, very few men celebrating a recent haul. The pirates were old or lame, or just plain dumb. Too many women to each man. A rare thing in Tortuga. Ambrose felt as if the tide was receding, like it did before a great wave. Pirates were leaving faster than first thought and Ambrose was stuck here.

His thoughts were interrupted by the whiskey placed next to him. A look from the barkeep towards the rough looking woman explained it. The knife at Old Mick's throat confirmed it. She was quick and as savvy as any man, that much he could plainly see. She might be useful.
"Lads and lassies, I must beg your pardon and tip my hat to you M'lady for the drink... if I had a hat that is. But M'lady I must confess that the old blighter Mick here is a good for nothing sack O' carp and makes his money cheating at cards, hasn't set foot on a ship in ten years I'd say. If you're looking for a ship to get off this rock, I'd be happy to oblige." As he finished he downed the whiskey in one go, stood up abruptly, shook his head and swayed a bit before nearly collapsing to the floor. Without losing a beat he straightened himself and moved over to a booth that sat next the bar close to the red-headed bard's seat. He landed in a disheveled heap and beckoned the lady pirate over with a conspiratory gesture of the hand. As she approached he spoke, his speech clear and his eyes bright despite the haze on drunkenness about him.

"I have a ship. That is to say, I don't. But it's there and waiting for me and perhaps for you. Problem is it waits for others as well. As the Barman will say, it's the only ship in port that's looking for new members. There is a problem though, they won't take on gentlemen like myself or ladies. The captain fears it frightfully bad luck to have a woman on board, or a... ah, me. Something about a wife or rigged dice... I forgot which, the important thing that we need to leave. Do understand savvy?" As clear and unslurred as his speech was, Ambrose was clearly not quite sound of mind, the alcohol largely to blame. He saw that he wasn't quite getting through and losing the attention of the woman.
"Hold up, you see what's happen yes? The mood? The ebb? Talk of a raid on Tortuga is just so crazy that some fool of a commodore will actually try it. All the captains here were smug in the fact that no one would try it, yes? So why are they leaving? Why have they left? News travels faster on water than on land, the raids coming and pirates are doing what pirates do. Fleeing when the trouble's to great."

[idlehands]

Maeve accepted the free drink and tipped her mug to the woman, flashing a smile at her. She had watched with amusement the pirate put a knife to the blowhard’s fleshy throat and take his ill gotten coin. The man was an idiot and hardly ever tipped her after a song so she had no sympathies.

The drunken man was speaking again, this time to the woman pirate. Her ears pricked up when he spoke of having a ship in mind. She mulled over her choices, she could stay and hope there was no raid by the English or she could flee to unknown shores. Maeve did not relish the idea of being dragged off to prison, she was still wanted as a pirate when she sailed with her former lover. Though she did not personally commit any acts of violence, she had liberated quite a few dresses and jewelry from women in the ports they raided.

She leaned in and listened as he slurred on about a ship that he could procure. Maeve slid off her seat and moved closer, looking at both of them. Her mind was made up, she would would not wait and be marched off to the gallows by an Englishman. Or found by Marcello, his black-hearted crew would be eager to pick off what was left by the raiders.

“Aye, yeh can really get this ship?” she asked in a low voice, speaking to the drunk man. “I’d be interested if yeh could. I have a few coins and a fair knowledge of the sea and wot to do on a ship. Would yeh take me aboard so we can get the hell out of here?”

Her green eyes glanced up at the woman, her rugged appearance was assuring in a way, she looked like she knew what she was about. “How about yeh? Would yeh go with this plan?”

[Holobunny]

Bill lie in his hammock looking up at the moldy ceiling. He'd never understand why they put him on top, but he didn't mind. His bunk mates had long since made away. He already hated this ship. The stares and murmurs had already begun. "Keel haul them to a man." he thought to himself. He just knew he was going to have to pulverize the big, burly, dandy making some kind of eyes or other at him when he boarded. He just hoped he wasn't an officer. Based on the man's dress he wasn't holding out hope.

.oO(If they only knew how easy I could kill them all, or bring them back from the brink of death.)

The cabin creaked as he rolled over onto his side.

He realized he was alone.

[Tprinces]

The woman looked the two of them over, clearly deep in thought. "T'ain't wise t'trust a drunk man..." Her brow darkened as she thought of the consequences. After all, the man could be flat out lying, for all she knew. In her mind, she weighed out the goods and the bads about this situation. For one thing, he was quite drunk, and therefore an easy opponent should this turn sour. For another, a drunk man's words typically were true to a man's heart. She'd hardly seen any man on liquor coherent enough to concoct a scheme like this. Furthermore, it could be her one chance to leave this bloody island and go back to her life at sea. And then came the bads.

The man could not be drunk, and instead, could be supporting a hearty rouse to lour two women into his clutches. But even thinking that out, she'd taken on worse than him and survived. Thus, weighing both the pros and cons, she finally settled on an answer. With a smile, she slapped her hand down on the table. "Ah! We only gots one life t'live, don't we, mates? If ye can get me aboard with no trouble, I'm willin' to sail with ye.

"By the by." She put her hands on her hips, smiling at the two of them. "The name be Cat. Catarina Siren."

[Holobunny]

Post retconned.

[Imperial]

Ambrose eyed the the other woman in a curious mix of disbelief and amusement. Female pirates were rare and here he was with two! Or so they claimed. The haze that clouded Ambrose's thoughts was not yet lifting so soon after a swig of whiskey, but he already he was feeling disappointed that he would have to sober up if the plan were to work. He rubbed his eyes to try and help the process as he listened to the women speak.
"Unfortunately you shall have to prove your seamanship on the sea, as I can't pilot the ship by myself. You are both hired!" He exclaimed a little too loudly before sinking in his seat looking sorry for himself. He was not feeling too well.
"Mademoiselles, I can get you off this island. You have my word as a... decent man. My word." He stood up at this and did a slight bow that made him swoon, though he held himself upright before he fell.
"Lieutenant Ambrose Hart, at your service Ms Siren. Yes still a lieutenant despite my appearances, the Navy can't discharge me without dismissing the court martial trial." He smiled slightly to himself at this, lost in his own head.

"But alas my ladies, we have a problem. You said without 'trouble' Ms Siren? The 'trouble' depends entirely on your own ability. You see I was in the presence of a rather secretive pair who went to great lengths to keep their privacy. Why I was there is not important... involves a wig and a bad reaction to makeup... but I was able to overhear that the last ship to dock here arrived in a state of turmoil. The crew had recently mutinied and was without Captain, and the sense that a captain brings. My meaning is this; the ship is lightly guarded and stocked for a long journey, the crew has only just started to spend their gold here in Tortuga and are unlikely to have yet heard of the coming troubles... though that is merely a matter of time." Ambrose paused waved over the barkeep for some water and continued once quenched.
"The plan? Steal the ship!"

Ambrose strode out between them and walked purposefully towards the exit. As seemed like he was just going without so much as a word from his co-conspirators, he turned and threw up just outside the door.