The Sea Bitch

[idlehands]

She looked up at the woman pirate that called herself Catarina Siren. She doffed her large fancy hat and bowed, "Me name is Maeve Roisin, roving minstrel and songstress of the sea. For a silver I'll play yeh a song to make yeh shiver, fer a copper, don't ask cause I won't bother."

The redhead put her hat back on and smiled brightly at them, a well practiced routine but it always seemed to work. She slid off her stool when the man called Hart started to tell them of his plan. It was a bit incoherent but even in the fog of ale she could understand what he was getting at.

Maeve listened to his rambling and she put one hand on her hip which jutted out to the side. Stealing a ship was a serious plan, one that could mean the gallows. The man must be crazy as well as drunk. Still, she did not have many options. Commandeering a ship would mean freedom, to go where ever the winds blew. The risk was great but so was the reward.

"Aye, so yeh talk big, Mister, I mean Lieutenant Hart," she said. "Wot is yer plan then? Keep in mind, I don't like the English so it better be a good plan, if I'm gonna follow yeh."

She lowered her voice, looking at both of them. "Wot kinda weapons do yeh have? I'm pretty handy with me dagger but anything bigger is a bit much fer me. Not much of a fighter to be honest."

Maeve blushed slightly, hoping her admission would not get her left behind for the two people in front of her looked like they had been in countless scrapes and battles. Cat, at least, looked like she was usually victorious. In fact, she looked down right intimidating, someone she would not want to be on the bad side of. When Hart stumbled out, she shrugged and picked up her bag, following him out the door.

[Holobunny]

"Billingsley!"

It was the boatswain.

"Ere the riggings, and into the nest with you, boy!"

The butcher couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt himself bristle. He turned around to find the man standing feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, looking him up and down, unsure of how this little test would turn out.

"Dammit, Tuttle! Ye know I'm the finest surgeon on these waters, and ye know me also to be two years your elder!"

He paused to belch loudly.

"I ain't climbed no riggin' in fifteen years, and not you or The Holy Ghost could entice me to 'ere them now"

Bill took a step towards the man.

"Now, lis-"

Neither one of them really expected the blow to come, but it connected squarely with his Adam's Apple and took the smaller man completely off his feet. Bill could only sigh inwardly as he listened to the man's ragged breaths. Nothing to do now he supposed, but grab his pack and try to get off the ship. He hid Tuttles crumpled and mortally wounded frame behind a large communal trunk, and began...

[Tprinces]

Glancing at the songstress, Cat gave pause before motioning her to follow, the two women tailing after their new, speedy friend. When Maeve caught up to her, Cat put her hand on the hilt of her sword. "This here's me finest friend," she said proudly. "Had it e'er since I be able t'use one. Then o'course I got me dagger an' pistol an' whatnot..." Still, her sword was perhaps her most prized weapon within her little arsenal. A dagger and a pistol were just fine when needed. But get her with a sword in her hand and it will practically become an extension of her arm.

Picking up her pace, she leaned in around the man's shoulder, curious to see just how drunk/big a lair he really was. "Sooo... This hijackin' plan o' yers..." Feeling sprightly, she turned and ran backwards, hands behind her head as if she was taking a leisurely stroll. "Ye gots yerself a crew t'go with us or...?" Her words trailed as something caught her eye. Turning, she paused in her step. Well that she did, too, for right there was the prime place to stop.

Sitting before them, perched in the dock, was a swift Portuguese made Carvel. Small and slight as it was, there was a good ten to twenty men lurking around its deck. Cat did a quick headcount. Alright... fifteen by her mark. Seventeen if the fat lard in the middle was to be counted for two. Cat sucked on the front of her teeth before setting her elbow on Hart's shoulder.

"Question, mate," she said simply, holding up her finger. "How's it that the tree o' us, one o' which perf'ers the strings o' a fiddle to bullets in a gun, an' one o' which who's drunk off his fat arse, is gonna take a ship that's cornered by at least five n' ten sea farin' lads?"

[Imperial]

"If we do things right, we shan't need any weapons at all." Hart said eloquently, or at least as eloquently as one could when wiping away vomit tinged spittle from his lip. He pulled himself up and looked at the ship with the practiced eye of a man who knew ships better than the back of his hands. The knowledge and the mischief were of the man was visible in his stance, his presence. He turned to his companions and smiled, if one were to look past the grime, ruggedness and stench of alcohol, they could see the person he had once been. A handsome, intelligent man who would be the toast of a nobles court, a military hero. He bore himself like he hadn't a care in the world, which could only mean he had lost everything a man could lose and still go on breathing. It may not have occurred to some how a former British officer was able to survive even a minute in pirates company, let alone in their stronghold, for years without being killed a dozen times over. A man with a pronounced speech and donning a worn naval coat who acted like he was still a commanding officer. His entire being reeked of danger and violence. A soulless man if there ever was one.

"Ms Roisin, you may not need to fight, but you better know how to sneak. You and Ms Siren here are going to sneak on up the side of the ship, I trust you know how to ascend such a vessel? May require some getting wet..." He paused and fumbled for something in his pocket. He pulled out a couple of small spherical grenades, though were made of clay and decorated in Asian scripture.
"Got me these in Singapore, all smoke and no bang. For what we are staging is what all god-fearing men in a ship fear. Fire. You two lovely ladies will sneak in and set these off. Smoke up the ship and set the crew running, then we'll swing in, victory in our eyes and claim the ship as our own jolly sea bucket." He out one finger to his chin as he regarded the crew on deck.
"You'll need a distraction... So I'll pick a fight with one of the crew... that one." He moved the finger from his chin to give a slight point at the hulking man on deck.
"Thoughts?"

[idlehands]

Maeve looked at him with a mixture of wonder and misgiving, "I think yer blooming daft is wot I think."

She looked back at the ship, it was a long climb up the sides and in a soaking wet dress it would be even more difficult. She was a good enough swimmer but in a long skirt and heeled boots it would be a test. Maeve looked at Cat but the woman seemed cocky enough to try his hair brained scheme. In truth she had never had to ascend a vessel, she was not involved in the fighting her pirate lover had engaged in. He had kept her safe below deck in his quarters when that had occured. Sighing slightly at the mess she had got herself into, the redhead looked back at the drunken man.

"Bloody English, always so overconfident," she muttered.

Maeve looked down at herself, her low cut blouse and snug corset showing off her figure. "Look here, why don't yeh let me distract those lads. Yeh don't look in any condition to fight and I got somethin' they'd want. Yeh can go hauling yerself up the side of that ship and set off yer pretend fire. But if yeh insist on trying to scrap when yeh can barely stand up straight, go right ahead, no skin off me back."

Raising her eyebrow at Cat, she waited for the pirate's opinion on the matter. The woman would no doubt be keen on the wild idea, she looked like the type. The musician bit her lip slightly, going over her options again and it came down to this. It was truly her only shot at getting out of here before the raids without drawing too much attention. She would hate to end up on a ship that would turn out being worse than if she had stayed in Tortuga. Maeve fingered her ivory handled dagger on her belt and watched her new partners.

[Tprinces]

Cat took one of the clay smoke bombs into her hand. It wasn't nearly as weighty as a typical explosive, but heavier than she expected. It rolled against her palm, bumping up along the seam of her week old scar. Her eyes became deeper as she stared at it, almost forgetting the bomb in her hand. That sadness came to her in a flash as she remembered what she'd lost all those days ago. It seemed like an eternity. Taking a breath, she pushed it from her chest and tossed the bomb up, catching it in her other hand. It was with that action that caused her to begin anew.

"Ye're both wrong," she said quite confidently. "You." She turned to Meave. "Ye're certainly charmin' enough to get a sane lad away from 'is wife fer a few hours, t'ain't no denyin' that. But not a whole ship load. An' even if ye did, how the bloody hell would ye get back up while e'ery bastard was eyein' yer jubblies? An' you." The pirate rounded to Hart. "Take one swing at that big bastard an' I guarantee ye'll be dead 'fore supper. Ye're in no condition to fight, let alone fight an' win." Cat tapped the edge of the clay work with her finger nail, eyes moving up to the deck above. Suddenly, she smiled.

"One fine figured lassie ain't gonna pull them bastards out fer long. But a full house of 'em might." She turned on the both of them. "If the two of ye were ta make it seem like the whore house was given' out freebies fer some reason or 'nuther, sure 'nuff they'll come a'runnin'. An' fore they know no diffrn't, I'll light these lil' darlin's an' throw 'em to deck. While they're flappin' about like fish on a deck, the two o' you will climb aboard, an' we'll be on our way."

[Imperial]

"English? I can tell from the spin of your tongue that you're both of the emerald isle, but you know nothing of me, Ms Roisin." His tone was playful but there was an underlying sharpness to the sentence that was off-putting. He did at least note the way both of them had protested his fighting plan. Either some mote of sympathy for him or lack of trust in his ability to stand in a fight were cause of this. Perhaps both. He listened to each of their suggestions carefully however, and nodded along with both their adjustments.
"It seems we need to combine our ideas if this is to succeed. Free booty at any brothel is less likely than a pardon from the King, if you don't mind me saying..." He glanced at them both in a way that could only be interpreted as sly.

"Very well. Ms Roisin, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me." He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her too him.
"Ms Siren, It won't do to throw those on deck, they won't start smoking straight away. You'll need to get them below deck, preferably somewhere near any gunpowder or rum stores... And they'll flee like the devil himself were on their tail." He turned and started stumbling up towards the ship. It was impossible to tell if he was still that drunk or merely acting. He gave Maeve a sideways look to ensure she played along. He hoped she could.

"Oi lads, Peter the Fist has buggered off and his Brothel is in shambles!" He hiccuped as he spoke but even stumbling he did not let go of Maeve.
"The girls are giving themselves away to wotever lad will av 'em! This one ere begged me for a shag and when I told 'er I didn't av the coin she took me anyway!" The men on deck were surprised, but already were slowly edging towards the plank. They looked ready to run off down to shore but were held back, somewhat due to not wanting to disobey the authority on the ship, others due to not quite being convinced of such good news. Ambrose noted their indecision, they aren't buying it, he thought.
"We need more time for Ms. Siren..." He muttered through clenched teeth.