The sun was stronger than usual on this exciting day. Pelicans watched as an all-female crew loaded a ship with barrels, boxes, and sacks of supplies, preparing for a long journey-- successful one at that. Among them was their captain, Mika Crow, tossing bags up onto the massive wooden vessel.

If you looked beyond the docks, towards the city, you would notice an overwhelming crowd of onlookers watching them with interest and speculation. They were a sight to see, after all. They were the first of, hopefully, many crews to encourage feminine competency in the Queens fleet. After all, Sirens were a real threat, nowadays. There was at least one new story a month about how a whole crew, pirate or sailor, had been lead to their watery grave by heavenly voices.

Mika rubbed a coin between her finger and thumb then kissed it and tucked it into her blouse, her golden eyes scanning the deck. “Ladies, I hope you have prepared yourselves. This is our test and we will pass it with the ease of disarming any skilled swordsman… with a mere smile.” Her lips twisted up, wryly, brightened her expression and putting a glint in her eyes. “Today is the day we pave the way for wayward women to come. We will be a shining beacon to little girls with bravery and curiosity in their hearts--To ladies who seek adventure and freedom on these rough waters.” The women gave a war cry, howling and whistling as their captain walked to the edge of the ship, a bottle of champagne in hand. She tied thin rope around the neck of the bottle and held it up; a few other women did the same, around the ship. “Heave the mooring lines on board! Pull the anchor!” she yelled into the endless blue sky as she tossed the bottle off the side, letting it shatter against the freshly polished wood. The other women did the same then got to work, scattering across the deck, handling the masts and sails.

They’re destination was a small moving island, which some rumored to be a giant ancient sea turtle, where seafarers gathered to trade stories and goods they've acquired legally or otherwise on their travels. Even to build up or chop down crews. It was a place of loose morals and a tight sense of comradery. If their culprits were anywhere, that would have been a good place to start. What pirate wouldn’t love to brag about offing an entire ship of the queens fleet and getting away with their supplies and merchandise? None could come to Mikas’ mind as she stood at the aft of the boat, staring back at the crowd that waved and called after them.

“Captain your hair.” A petite blonde woman stood beside her, looking up at the 5 foot 10 woman with bronzed skin. Mika quirked an eyebrow, then realized what she was talking about. Her braid had escaped the pins on the back of her head and unraveled down her back. “Oh-I—“the little woman waved Mika’s hands away and began braiding it again. “So, is this your first time on the ship as well?” she asked as she wove Mikas hair.

“No, actually, I have plenty of experience underway.” She sighed, knowing that most of her crew had never been out to sea before. She had picked them herself, under the queens command. It took a lot of traveling and waiting to assemble the best crew she could manage. There were plenty of farm girls, bar maids on board, and daughters of smiths and officers.They were hard workers and you could tell by their callused hands and muscled arms and legs. They were not flesh and bone like noble women. “Do you really believe in us, captain?” the woman asked, her voice had dropped to a mumble.

Mika took her hair from the woman and pinned it herself, turning to the reddening face that looked up at her. “There are no doubts of success in my mind.” She grinned. “We will come home much happier, and wealthier, with justice in our hearts.” She placed a hand on Lorains' shoulder and turned her around. “Now go help the other’s. Stop dilly dallying on my watch.”

It took three weeks of traveling to arrive their, and it had been rough. Several of the women found out they got seasick, and had to stay in their cots until they got a handle on their sea legs. Canon Mary taught some of the girls how to handle the gun powder and canon balls, then how to operate it all. As a requirement by the queen, they had gone through 4 months of training. Some had skills in swordsmanship already, other's knew how to cast minor enchantments, and most were just general hard workers with common sense.

They pulled into the docks, mooring their ship down. They had taken off all flags and tell tale signs that they were from the queens fleet.Navy Sailors were never really welcomed, and there were some residents that would go out of their way to make that point known. They even changed garb, putting on raggedy clothes and trading in their feathered hats for cloth wraps and jeweled pins. It was just another elementary school game of dress up, to them.

The crew entered the watering hole by the name of 'Davey Jone's Locker', ignoring the whistling and cat calls as they took up a few tables and seats at the bar. Mika sat with her Canon Molly at the bar. They ordered a drink and kept their eyes and ears open for any clues as to who might have sunken the Frederick Harolding a few weeks back.

"You're going to get raped, if you space out like that."

The black-haired, grey eyed young man turned his head slightly to the side to stare at the busty, brunette standing over him with little interest and returned his gaze to the grungy floorboards above him. The loud, tasteless music that echoed from the Davy Jones tavern above, filtered through the slow-rotting wood down to them. "What is it, Clara? I'm on break," he said in a bored monotone, somehow talking around the almost finished cigarette in his mouth. He shifted a little bit on his makeshift bench - a barrel that had been stuffed with some god-awful smelling substance - and uncrossed his arms. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it beneath his boot. Then he rested his limbs in between his thighs and closed his eyes. The raucous on the streets as yet another fight broke out added to the terrible music and was giving him a headache, which made him irritable.

Clara bent over further to look at the young man more closely showing off very deep cleavage; her bright blue eyes narrowing, . "Kris? Are you feeling all right? You look kind've pale?" She placed her hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "You're warm."

"I might be high," he muttered. The young man opened one eye and reached up to rest his rough hand over her delicate one. "I see you're not working right now." He watched in amusement as the young woman's face took on a deep blush. He released her hand and unbuttoned his shirt a little. He stood up slowly and looked at her, gauging her reaction. His sheath clinked loudly against the barrel behind him as he adjusted his sword belt more to the side. His grey eyes were dark and suggestive.

The young woman swallowed and giggled, her blush growing deeper. She shook her head rapidly and took a step back. "N-no," she stammered, her eyes widening as the situation changed. "I was just here to get some more ale." She turned quickly and grabbed two medium-sized kegs beside him on the shelf. "J-just ale." She squeaked when he took her arm and pulled her closer. "W-wait, Kris. Wait, we can't -!" Her words were cut off by a deep, tobacco flavored kiss. Her protest melted into a pleasured moan.

The young man released her arm a moment later and stepped back, his disinterested expression returning to his face; grey eyes dulling in boredom. Pulling out his tobacco bag, he calmly proceeded to roll another cigarette. "Clara, be more aware. This isn't the city anymore. Laws are rules: easily made; easily broken," he murmured, placing the cigarette between his teeth. "Men like me are hard to find. You'd better be careful."

Clara swallowed, her blush deepening as embarrassment filled her. There was a loud crash above them and a roar of laughter. The brunette sighed. "You'd thinking after making such a haul, that crew'd lay low for a few days... I bet every ship in the navy's heading this way. Poor turtle..."

Kris waved his hand. "This turtle's fine. He's been through much worse than a few ships battling it out. They'll get what's comin' to them." The grey eyes watched as the young woman made her way hastily to the door, anxious to get away from the shadowy man.

Clara adjusted her hold on the kegs and paused to glance at him again. "By the way, Kris... It's... Men like you... That scare me the most," she whispered to the doorframe. Then she quickly left, shutting the door behind her.

The young man snorted and sat down on his barrel again, the unlit cigarette hanging loosely between his thin lips. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against the support beam that looked as though it could easily be destroyed. He briefly glanced around the tiny, wooden storeroom momentarily, taking in the tattered, weatherworn state of the wood planks and beams, before settling into a more comfortable position. After a long moment, he realized his cigarette was still not lit. He chuckled at himself as he pulled out his box of matches. A quick flick of his wrist and soon there was a tiny flame in front of him. He stared at the warm, potentially deadly energy, debating his intentions, then lit the cigarette and watched the match burn down to his fingers before blowing it out. He inhaled deeply, letting the heavy smoke fill his lungs. As he exhaled, he murmured, "Don't worry... I'm scared of myself, too."

Mika kept her head low an proceeded to eavesdrop into as many conversations as possible, but nothing was really catching her interest. “It feels like people are avoiding the conversation, all together.” Canon nodded and sipped her mug of ale, peering around her from the shadows of her hood.

It was no surprise that amidst the dancing and hollering, someone had decided a fight was overdue and threw a punch. It just so happened that the strangers fist made contact with little Loraine, stroking the ego of a rather large bearded man with rotting teeth. Little Loraine stumbled against the table and fell sloppily onto her ass, looking stunned and bewildered.

Mika was on her feet in a matter of seconds, her hand on her hip where a blade had been tucked away. Little did she know Loraine would have a handle on the situation. After being knocked down, Lorain had easily picked herself back up onto her feet, dusting her rear and looking around for the culprit of the ‘slight inconvenience’. Her eyes zeroed in on him and that’s when an incredibly astonishing event took place.

Her cuffs began to softly glow as she tapped the man on the shoulder. He spun around, fist flying through the air, aimed directly for her jaw. She caught it in her palm like it was an egg tossed by a child. Her eyes glinted and she squeezed, his hand crumpling onto a tighter grip. The man howled and fell to his knees, trying to pull away. “Say you’re sorry.” She said calmly, her soft brown eyes locked on his. The man only continued to yell and holler for the release of his paw, but she was relentless and tightened her grip, a sickening crack and pop interrupted the silence that had recently fallen over the room. “I-I’m sorry!” he whaled; face reddening beyond that of a turnip. “I’M SORRY.” He repeated his voice more shrill and dripping with fear.

Her intense stare had relaxed and released his hand, cupping his elbow and helping the man who cradled his hand against his chest. In the blink of an eye, Loraine had kicked his foot out from beneath him and aided gravity with the inevitable smack of his head against the table top. Blood splattered the wood table and the filthy panels below it. The man lay motionless on the ground, Loraine’s small frame looming over him like the grim reaper.

“Ya think he’s dead?” Canon whispered, standing stiffly by Mika’s side. As if on cue, the man groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, blood dripping from his mouth. The tavern erupted with deafening hooting and hollering as a group of men lifted Loraine onto their shoulders, cheering her for her strength. “IRON MAIDEN.” They chanted as they guzzled down more ale and made up a song about her beauty and strength.

“I was definitely not expecting that.” Mika laughed, raising her mug to salute Iron Maiden’s gleeful expression. “Although I am happy to see her making a legend of herself, I have yet to discover the legendary crew that took down Frederick Harolding!” she yelled, raising her voice above the noise of the tavern, throwing her arms up in frustration.

“I’m going to walk the streets, see if I can get anything from out there.” Mika whispered into Canon’s ear. Canon waved her hand and nodded. “I’ll stick with the wee one!” she smiled and then proceeded to get lost in the crowd. Mika chuckled and shook her head, finishing her mug, leaving a few coins for the cute bar maiden, and then heading out. She took in the fresh sea air than mingled with the mud that lined the sidewalks. “I shouldn’t have coined this off so easily.” She muttered, plucking the coin from her chest and rubbing it between her fingers.

Kris had just begun puffing on his newly-lit cigarette when the door opened again and a loud, gruff voice bellowed down into the small storage room.

"KRIS, GET YOUR ARSE UP HERE, YA LAZY PIECE O' SHIT!"

The dark-haired young man sighed heavily. He kicked the barrel beneath him with the back of his boot, adjusted his sword belt, and stood up. He extinguished his cigarette on the doorframe and let it drop into the receptacle by the door. Then he trudged his way up the stairs, listening to the edge of his sheath scrape along the wall as he moved. He reached the top of the stairs and stared disinterestedly at the burly, hairy, bald-headed man glaring at him. "Hi, Carson."

Carson fingered his thin mustache in annoyance. "You figurin' on workin' t'day or what, Kris? I ain't up for payin' people who aren't gonna work."

Kris rubbed the back of his neck and deftly avoided a pair of drunk fighters as they careened into the wall beside him. He looked around the noisy tavern and shrugged. "You got yourself a brawl here, Carson. I don't do brawls."

The burly man's mustache could have stuck straight out, if it were so inclined. "Kristopher, I hire you for one job and one job only: to deal with rowdy customers who - EEEEE!" The mid-sized man let out an unmanly shriek as three entangled patrons collided with him and the four of them went tumbling down the stairs.

The black-haired youth stepped to the side as a stream of others raced down the stairs after the tumblers. He adjusted his sword belt so that no one would catch it and made his way through the crowded bar. He brushed past a group of females who were huddled together and paused for half a second to cast a glance over them. Well-kept fingernails. Impeccable posture. Tensed frames. Alert eyes. They were navy. He proceeded towards the exit. They were, most likely, there to find the crew that recently took over a government ship. Not that it was any of his business.

Even though it was.

He stepped out through the doors and turned the corner, thinking he would stop by the fish market to see if anything edible had been caught that day, when he nearly walked into a petite woman, who seemed wholly interested in the coin she was holding. He side-stepped to avoid her and tripped over a set of low buckets. He clanked and clunked his way along the wall before falling over the low dividing fence and landing unattractively in the flower shop's water trough. "Geh-heh!" he hissed, rapidly bracing himself up on the edges of the trough, his clothing now dripping wet. "Damn."