Those footsteps did indeed come closer to the tent, and the flap lifted to reveal Mister Meeks, with a plate of food in his hand. It wasn't much, but hopefully a loaf, or really, a roll of bread on a wooden, well-carved plate. "Captain says to hav'a fill", the forty year-old Englishman told her rather softly, even though his voice was baritone, saying it to her as if she was a very fragile creature. There was that pity look in his eyes again; someone this young being under the possession of a madman like Low. Placing the dish before her on the ground, he went back to his full height, at least around five-foot nine.

The quartermaster swears an oath towards their fellow crewmen; that they would be protected. In this case, they would need protection from a man who calls himself "Captain". There were morals in Low; never were. Meeks was there during the takeover of the Good Fortune, and the madness became relevant in both of the man's eyes: he slaughtered the entire crew with gunfire, shot the captain dead, and sent the vessel aflame. Afterwards, Ned would say that "it was an honest haul, taken by an honest captain".

Unlike the rest of the crew, however, Meeks had good judgment, and never was one to follow this twisted image of piracy. Casualties are flooding, while the blood paints the ground. That was the reality of Ned Low's wrath.

Abigail straightened slightly as the tent flap opened. It was the quartermaster. He was alone and with some food. Abigail really didn't know much about him but he seemed a bit...nicer than the rest of the crew. Almost sorry that she was here. "Thank you." Her voice was soft as she took the plate. At least they were going to feed her. That was nice.

She glanced up at the man. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" He didn't seem like the type who would bite or get mad. In fact, he seemed a bit reasonable. When he was agreeable, she spoke again. "Why are you here? You...you don't seem like a pirate - or one that would sail under his flag."

She had learned a lot about pirates in the past several days. First that woman - Vivienne. And now Low. She had always thought pirates and piracy to be grand but now she wasn't so certain. A man like Low made her sick to her stomach. She wondered if Vivienne was like that. Did she kill people just for the sake of it, no thoughts afterward? No. She couldn't. Abigail had seen her eyes, heard her - the woman had seemed...different. Pirate nonetheless, but not like Low.

"You seem, kinder than the others. Almost like you regret holding me. So why sail under a man as heartless and cruel as your Captain?"

Mister Meeks was just on his way to let the captain's eat in private, as every other proper lady would ask, but couldn't go any further when she asked him what sounded like a request for permission to ask him something.
Why was he here? What drove him here? What made him different?

Unlike most of the men, including the captain, he had a conscience. A quartermaster's role was to provide the men their needs and meet their interests. Earlier, he did reconsider of asking the head of the island to depose, but he hesitant...for now. He heard stories of better captains, like Edward Teach, Benjamin Hornigold, James Flint, Jack Rackham, Charles Vane; the list goes on and on. As far as Meeks knew, they were "better men". Low, whatever he was, was not a man. That, he could see clearly.

Looking at the girl, who sat upon a blanket laid out on the sand, he thought of an answer, almost heistating to say something. But after a moment of thinking, he decided to ignore her first question, instead responding to the other one. "Every man is different. Every pirate is different. They each have a drive; a goal. Strengths; weaknesses. Everywhere I look, I see a man, who's served from one terrible captain, to another. They seek easy power to avoid this embarrassment; to feel strong, by serving under a strong captain. That was I initially thought after aligning with Ned Low", he paused. "But, if one has a conscience, you'll find yourself only serving the devil", he added. "I try to protect my men from it, but the wrath of our captain wasn't to be underestimated", and that was his answer.

Hoping it was good enough, he lifted the tent flap, and made his leave.

Abigail frowned slightly as the man left. It left her a bit to think on. She was a bit confused. She had always imagined pirates to be something more exotic, something that was a bit fun or adventurous. She had been so naive. Someone like Vivienne seemed nice and kind - yet dangerous. There was something about her that Abigail had envied: a strength, a passion, the ability to be whoever she wanted and not just some daughter of an English lord, who's future was planned out since she had been a little girl.

Abigail shifted and started to eat. The food wasn't bad. No, they were treating their prison well - at least for now. Then you had this man. He was nice as well. Kind almost. But it sounded like he just struck a raw deal. Bad captain, after bad captain - and now he worked for a man who was heartless and cold - the devil, as he had put it. Was most piracy like that? Some decent people stuck trying to make the best of a bad deal? Trying to survive, hoping that those they served under wouldn't kill them or misuse them?

Her heart went out a bit to the quartermaster. He seemed so...normal, yet stuck. She wished she could do something for him. The irony brought a small grimace of a smile. Her, do something for him? She couldn't even take care of herself. In all honesty, she was so naive - so....useless.

Her mind went back to Vivienne. The woman had managed to escape a squad of British soldiers, managed to make it through town - sure, she got captured but she had managed. And even now, Abigail doubted the woman was dead. No doubt, they would have probably executed her already - especially if they were furious about what had happened. But for some reason she didn't think the woman was dead. Now there was someone she wished she could be similar too. Someone who was brave and had the skills and know-how to know what to do.

Setting her plate aside, Abagail sighed. That wasn't her. Moving her skirt aside, she glanced at her ankle. Her brow furrowed slightly as she examined the chain again. There had to be something she could do. Her hand went to her head as she sat there thinking. Pausing, she frowned as she felt something. Fingering it, she pulled that helped keep some of her hair up. She looked at it and then the lock. A smile went across her face. Maybe she could pick the lock. She had no idea how, but how hard could it be?

Putting her hose and shoe back on - in case anyone came back, she started to work on the lock even as the night grew later outside. It was agonizing work. Whoever thought lock picking could be so...difficult. Many a time she stopped and pretended to sleep when she heard footsteps fairly close. It was probably near midnight when she heard the click. Glancing down, she grinned as she saw the lock open. Undoing the chain, she quickly re-inserted the pin in her hair and moved toward the tent entrance. No one guarded it - as she had been chained. Slipping out, she made her way through the camp, heart beating a bit fast as she stuck to the shadows.

Reaching the edge, she dashed into the small grove and then made her way toward the village. She had to be careful. Undoubtedly, the pirates were in there but maybe she could hide. Sneaking behind the buildings she tried a couple doors - one was unlocked. Entering quietly, she found herself in a back kitchen area. Tavern? She wasn't sure. She'd never been in the back but it didn't seem like one. It was a combination of dining area as well. Maybe something seperate for the staff?

Wherever Abigail was, she was in the back storage room, where one would place their goods and other productivity. Crates placed in the small room, stacked upon each other, but left an easy walkway for one to enter the main area ahead. The tavern was medium-sized; there appeared to be two parts of the structure: the main area for customers, with a bar next to the entrance of the storage room, and a set of stairs that lead to the top level of another room. If one was wise, the owner, and the other head merchants were the only ones allowed to venture up there. Personally, that's where they would have meetings in an isolated room, discussing the stats of the port's trade market. The bar was just below that room, in the main area.

The place was mainly built with wood, and a few spots that had some spots of polish to it, with a few candlelights being the only light source to this day and age, so the room had a gentle glow of dimmed light surrounding it, reflecting off some of the residing people within.

Mister Meeks was sitting at one of the tables by himself; a mug before him, and bleakly staring at it. He hoped that what he just did was good enough, and that the quartermaster might see fit to protect some of the men. But, unaware of his captain's entrance, along with a few of his men, Meeks stayed firm in his seat. One of the men, the boatswain silently laid a hand on his shoulder in greeting, before sitting next to him, but not before Ned appeared on the opposite side. "How awkward this is", that Irish tongue spoke, albeit in a very casual way. "Mister Holmes here informed me that he observed you in this place, very nervously entering Eleanor Guthrie's office. I told myself 'What on Earth could Mister Meeks have to say to her?'. Now I'm forced to wonder if it stems from your concerns about my fitness. Seeking an ally, perhaps, to threaten my position as Captain", he said, mainly to foretell about his thoughts of the recent report.

Even after he heard all this, Meeks firmly kept his ground, staying calm. "I swore an oath to those men. To protect them from their captain. From themselves when called for", he responded, wavering the last part towards the standing, slender boatswain on his left side, seemingly not regretting his decision. "I see", Ned neutrally said, not looking at him, but somewhat blankly looking into space. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps you serve them best by betraying me in this moment", he seemed to sound pleased to hear the truth, but deep-down, the captain didn't take it to heart, like always. "Although, perhaps this is just an act of a spineless traitor, who might have something to do with my missing prize", he added as an afterthought. "In which case", he reached to the right side of his waist; dagger making itself known, he placed it on the surface of the table. "I have the duty to do something about it", there was a slight amount of fear creeping up on Meeks. He attempted to stand up, but the boatswain on his other side, sat him back down again, preventing him from moving.

A bang was heard, a clatter. Then, there was grunting, sounding like a struggle. The noise caught the attention of other buccaneers, and civilians. No children, but just women and men, alike. The next thing heard was a yell, and then screaming. Screams of agony, if one heard clearly. From a separate room, connected to the main room, emerged a beautiful Caucasian woman with pinned-up, beach-blonde hair, as well as some of its strands had framed her face. She looked to be in her late-twenties, with green-blue eyes, and nude, pink lips. She had a long, elegant, brown skirt, a constricting belt holding it up, and a white shirt rolled upon her forearms. Behind her, followed a man; a tall one, leonine, with an almost-barbarian look about him; his long, dark-brown hair emphasizing it, as well as his narrow, feline-like eyes, sharp face, and bar-fight nose, looking to be in his late thirties. These two individuals were Eleanor Guthrie and Charles Vane. "'The hell's going on here?", the English woman demanded, but didn't get any closer to the scene before her, already petrified at what was before her. The man behind her didn't feel the same, but showed transparent disbelief.

Abigail made her way toward the door wondering where she was and if she could hide. She didn't know the town that well but the fact that pirates were here made her know that there wouldn't be local redcoats to aid her. She was on her own. Hopefully, if she hid out long enough they would leave though she knew that a fool's wishes. No doubt, once they knew she was gone they'd tear the place apart to find her. She had no allies, no hope of being saved and had a crazy captain after her - one who was a prime example of pure evil.

Her hand on the latch, Abigail jumped as a gunshot sounded. Heart pounding, she quickly backed away. Whatever this place was, she didn't really want to stick around. Turning, she ran right into a man. She hadn't heard him come in. What she didn't know was that he was one of the workers in the tavern. He caught hold of her wrist.

"What you be doin' back here?" He demanded.

Abigail bit her lip. She couldn't break free. His hand practically encircled her wrist and though he wasn't bruising it, she couldn't pull it out. "I...I got lost."

The man didn't believe her. "Uh hmm. Will see what the Mistress says. Ms. Guthrie will be a curious as to what you doin' in her kitchen and how you got 'lost'."

He led her toward the door.

The tavern was in a ruckus but the appearance of the two quickly quieted everyone down. The proprietor of the tavern was not one to shy away. A strong will and the fire to take on almost anyone or anything, Ms. Eleanor Guthrie was not one to trifle with. Of course, it didn't help that one of the most feared captains of the seven seas was there beside her. Charles Vane. Captain of the The Ranger. Soft spoken and in some ways seems a bit soft but ruthless in his own right. He feared no man or woman for that matter. He did what he pleased never backed down from a fight. His long hair was a bit disorderly, a necklace around his neck, and probably a few days old stubble that gave a partial beard and mustache.

His look of transparent disbelief was not so much for the fact of a fight - those happened, though not too frequent. Eleanor didn't really put up with it in her tavern. No, his belief was tied more to how far it had gone. The dead man on the ground, his life essence leaving him was enough to bring disbelief. Who would be foolish enough to kill someone else here in the tavern? Eleanor would have their head. Then he saw the perpetrator. Edward Low. That made more sense. It was a bit surprising to see the infamous captain in these parts. They were not on friendly terms though the time or two before that they'd met it hadn't gotten out of proportion.

Vane moved slightly to the side, his tankard shifting to his left hand. If there was trouble he would be ready but he knew Eleanor would handle this. Most of the people in here were loyal in some way or other to her - at least in the fact that they might not want to get thrown out.

Meeks' body was laid out on its front upon the table, and drops of its life essence leaked onto the floor through the table's many crevices. The room did indeed go quiet, once the owner made herself known: Eleanor Guthrie, piracy's Chief Fence and supplier, as well as the wealthiest black marketeer in the Bahamas. The blonde, strong-willed broad ruled the island with an iron fist. Tries to, at least -- upon request of her father, Richard Guthrie, who used to take care of the dealings, until passing the responsibility over to his daughter.

Everyday, the woman had to sit in her office, or roam the streets, to handle Nassau's economy, as well as its finances. However, there are days where she had to deal with controversies in her tavern, which sat upon the island's Main Street, using dominant authority over the place -- to the point of throwing people out if they didn't condescend to her rules. She even had the means to stop supplying a crew, by any mean. In all of Eleanor's days, this wasn't to be expected. She's seen this man before, about a day or two ago; there was a negative, unsettling feeling about him, giving off the impression of "bad news".

Wiping the blood off his dagger, the mad man put a foot on the edge of the table, and kicked it. Knocking it over, with the lifeless body following it with a thud. The boatswain nearby didn't react, but allowed Ned to do what he wanted. They both spotted Miss Guthrie; only Low looking at her with no emotion, and a glint of insanity in his "eyes", while panting from his most-recent deed. Her eyes showed slight fear, disbelief, and a little shock. However, her voice still remained strong. "I don't want to see you in my place again", she told him. "I don't want to see you on my island again", she slowly took a couple of steps towards him. "Take your men, take your ship, and seek life elsewhere", she stopped, just a few feet away. It was an order; a direct one to just make him disappear from her sight.

Ned simply stared at her; his short, brown hair in disarray, covering his right, blind eye, and glancing to his prize in the hands of one of Miss Guthrie's henchmen. Then he glanced back at the Lady Guthrie, who appeared to be trembling, mainly through her fury and slight shock. The blonde looked at Vane, inwardly asking for his input, but knew would say nothing, before putting her gaze back to the mad man.

"Alright", she heard the Irishman simply say, with that neutral stare still there. "I'm sorry for this rough go, you and I. But, I'm afraid that I'm enjoying myself way too much to consider leaving this place", Eleanor couldn't believe this -- this tension; the fear that this man could bring in her bar; the intimidation. The man looked at Abigail in the distance. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon", he added, directly towards her in that emotionless tone, before making his leave. The rest of his men following.

Eleanor processed the event, slowly gathering herself, but still shook with chills down her spine. She looked to her latest henchman, who seemed to have a girl in his grasp. "My office", she told him, with slight tremble in her voice, before making her way to the other room, walking passed Vane, and not caring what he had planned. However, if he wanted to follow, the door was opened.

Trying to break free, Abigail found herself brought into the main room of the tavern. All resistance ceased as she saw the scene before her. She gasped slightly, hand going to her mouth. She paled feeling sick as she saw the man who had been kind to her laying dead, the insane pirate captain there. She was doomed. Dead possibly.

The room was silent as the hostess made her demands. Charles Vane stayed where he was, his face impassive as he watched the exchange. Though, anyone who knew him well knew that his mind was working. He had already seized up who was in here that belonged with Ned, who would back Eleanor. Despite her trembling, he knew she was fine. Ned might be foolish but if he tried anything, he was more insane than Charles gave him credit for. Most people here would turn against him and he wouldn't make it out of the tavern alive. Eleanor was the person in charge on this island. No one crossed her if they wanted to come back.

Meeting Ned's gaze, Charles didn't say anything or show indication one way or the other on this. He just watched. The tension increased. Everyone watched, waited to see what the man would do. Thankfully, he spoke. The words he said gave an indication that he wasn't going to comply. That made a few people stiffen.

Abigail stared terrified as the captain looked directly at her. His words carried a promise and threat. She wasn't safe. He would get her and there was nothing she could do about it. She stayed tense even as he left the room. She barely heard the command given to the man holding her and only snapped to when she realized he took her forward to the woman's office.

Charles watched Ned leave, the tension easing down a bit. Well this would be interesting. He'd be back no doubt. He made a slight motion with his finger as he picked up his drink again. His first mate came over. Whispering something, Charles turned and headed back toward Eleanor's office. They still had business to complete. However, as he entered, he was content to stand in the back and wait while she dealt with this young girl.

Abigail stared at the woman who stood toe to toe with Low. Finally released from the vice grip, she rubbed her wrist as the man explained he had found her in the back wondering around.

Walking through her doubled, wooden doors, Eleanor entered her office, making a noise that sounded to be between a groan of tiredness, and a sigh of relief. Maybe after this one last issue, she would, at least, get some rest for the night; after having to go through an experience like that, the blonde wasn't sure if sitting awake was even a good thing. She needed to get this over with before retiring for the night.

Moving to her desk, Miss Guthrie didn't sit down, but rather stand on the other side, where the chair was. She took notice upon Vane in attendance, and the first thing she wondered was if there was a reason for the big oaf to stay. They were in the middle of a conversation before this even happened. Plus, in truth, Charles Vane was very considerate of her wellbeing, so it was hard to even get the barbarian out of her sight, in a way; she didn't believe there to be a "special" reason for him to do so. If he ever claimed that he cared, she denied it -- since Eleanor was very self-centered, and slightly immature towards any matter, she can't see the limitations and costs behind her determination.

The blonde broad tiredly looked from her henchman, towards the girl before her. By the looks of, what seems to be, her tarnished, upper-class nightdress, she didn't seem to be from around here. In spite of Miss Guthrie coming from a wealthy family herself, this type of attire wasn't new to her. But, the last time she checked, there were no known upperclassmen within New Providence, so she definitely wasn't from around here. Nor did she look like any of Nassau's prostitutes. "What's your name?", she asked, directly albeit tiredly.

Abigail straightened and looked at the woman. She didn't know how much she could trust her but at the same time, she needed her her help. Low would be back for her and on her own she had no chance. Better to place herself in the hands of strangers and pray that they would help than to have no shot at all. And she had a feeling any lies she might say would be detected and she might be tossed out or worse...

"I am Abigail Ashe. Daughter of Lord Ashe, governor of the Carolinas. Captain Low kidnapped me from Port Royal during his attack upon it. I request sanctuary and aid until I can get word to my father. You will be well compensated." Though dirty, clothes a bit torn, hair in slight disarray there was no mistaking that she was the daughter of a lord. Her bearing, carriage, and voice rang with the evidence. Gone was the slightly frightened girl - or at at least hidden - as Abigail pulled on her experience in dealing with others. She wasn't haughty but at the same time, there was no doubt she knew who she was.

Charles leaned against the doorframe. There didn't seem to be any surprise when he heard who the girl was. He might not have known she was that high up but upon further scrutiny, he could see she was a lady. Also, he wasn't surprised. Ned Low was a bit reckless and attacking Port Royal - especially with the Dauntless and Interprid in these parts was foolhardy. Something he himself might have done, assuming he had enough planning ahead of time.

He eyed the girl, his eyes then drifting over to Miss Guthrie. There could be profit here. The girl would need someone to safeguard her what with Low around. And her father would pay handsomely for her. He waited patiently.

Eleanor has kind of figured that this girl was not from around here, and by the way she had addressed herself, it rang every bell in the room, both for her and Charles. 'The daughter of Lord Ashe herself. In the flesh', the blonde thought, before taking a glance towards Vane, whom she'd figured was on the back of the room, just behind the girl. She thought about Abigail's request for sanctuary and, after a moment, she placed her attention back to her, knowing that it would be a much suited idea for her to receive proper care. "I know a woman; just on the outskirts of town. Her name is Miranda Barlow-Hamilton. She mentioned to me about you a while back, and she claims that she's a friend of your father's", she recommended, before taking a split second to glance at Charles in the distance. "I'll have one of my men escort you there, and she should be able to provide you with proper food and shelter", Eleanor added to her, hoping that by being at Lady Barlow's farm, Abigail would be able to get cleaned up, and be watched over by someone with a connection to the family. Miranda was the heart; a sweet, optimistic, and caring woman, as far as Eleanor knew her. The girl should be safe within her care.

As promised, one of her henchmen have prepared a horse and cart that will transport Abigail to Lady Barlow's farm. He came to retrieve the girl shortly after the meeting, and helped her up, and into the cart. The blonde was kind enough to loan her a blanket to cover up her tarnished nightdress, as the cart made its way a few miles across deserted roads and sandy prairies, until patches of farmland came into view. Miranda was in front of her small farmhouse, at the well, trying to pull the bucket up by the rope. The middle-aged woman's story was brief, and it was apparent throughout the atmosphere: After losing Thomas, her husband, she and James McGraw aka Captain Flint were forced to abandon the wealthy life, and live on the outskirts of the common folk, with her as a resident, and him as a pirate. Not that it was a bad story, but a tragic one, and Miranda was a woman trapped in a reality of despair and life's future; not that she would reveal that despair, but she seems to always cover it up with a reassuring smile. Like how others would describe her, she was "the heart"; only a few buccaneers knew her, and nobody, at the most part, would want to cross paths with a woman who had a distant connection with the man, who had the spelling of 'Anti-Piracy". Not to mention that Captain James Flint would be vindictive if she was harmed in any way.

Abigail was a bit taken back and relieved when the woman seemed to believe her and even agree to help. She refrained from immediately taking ahold of the woman and thanking her, instead she maintained her composure. "Thank you," she said softly. "I will remember your kindness."

Escorted by one of the henchman, she caught sight of the tall man by the door. His eyes seemed to bore into her and she had to look away a bit uncomfortable.

Charles watched as the girl was led off. He looked at Miss Guthrie. "Fancy that. The daughter of the pirates most feared enemy. Would be a major slight against him if something were to happen to her. Might even break him. Pretty bold move of Low." His eyes did not reflect the thoughts that went on in his mind but he did stand there for a moment thinking. Then he smiled and nodded at the woman. "I'll let you be," he said giving a slight bow. "Always a pleasure."



Abigail hugged the blanket around her extremely thankful for the kindness of Miss Guthrie. She got the name from the henchman and locked it in her mind for later. She would speak to her father and the woman would be rewarded.

There was a bit of nervousness as they reached the outskirts of town. Abigail half expected Ned Low to jump out and grab her. But he didn't. The man started to introduce her to Lady Barlow but there was no need. Abigail remembered her from when she was a girl.

"Lady Barlow." She engulfed the woman, relieved to see someone she knew. Her composure dropped as she felt like the young child, alone and afraid. She looked up. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

She let the woman take her inside where she recanted her tale as well as the fear that the pirate would still come after her. "He's set on the beach," she said. "He has his whole crew and they can come after us at any time. Is there any way we can get a message to my father?"

Miranda Barlow had the face of a woman, who would be in her early forties, having to possess dark-brown hair pinned up in a bun, along with an oval face, cool-Caucasian skin, dark-brown eyes, and nude pink lips. There wasn't any athleticism in her stature, though she did possess a fine, slender-built body that was uniquely beautiful for a woman her age. Having to wear one of those commoner dresses, she caught sight of the cart in the distance by the lighted lamp attached to it. At first, the woman wondered what news from Nassau should she receive at this hour, but by the looks of the newcomer running towards her, those "news" would be completely anonymous.

This "newcomer" engulfed her immediately in a hug that showed that she needed security, without her words having to make it apparent. Even after the girl made the action to seek comfort, Miranda gratefully returned that said-comfort immediately. The henchman made his leave with the cart, and Lady Barlow led the poor girl into her small farmhouse that sat alone at the prairie that was a couple of miles away from the main town. She heard Abigail's fear of Captain Low, but for her current location to be miles away from town, it would be highly impossible for almost any buccaneer to find her. Not to mention that if any harm came to Miranda, Captain James Flint would most definitely not take any sort of approval at all... and every pirate knew the boundaries of his wrath.

The woman gently shushed her, as she led her inside, towards the small kitchen. Figuring that Abigail should perhaps eat something first, Miranda retrieved a loaf of bread, and a plate, from one of the wooden cabinets nearby. "You should eat. I'll run a bath, and get you some new clothes", she sweetly told her before making her way back through the narrow hallway on the other side of the room.

There was a sense of comfort in the woman's embrace. A sense of security. Abigail felt a slight pang of loss as the woman eventually pulled back and lead her into the kitchen. Finding herself directed to sit, Abigail realized how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten much that the pirates had brought her earlier that evening. In fact, it had been difficult but here.... her stomach growled as the woman placed the food in front of her.

Abigail looked up at her, eyes slightly awash with tears. "Thank you." She said at the woman's kindness.

Taking a bite, she managed to eat without choking - though it was hard to tell her mind she was safe. Secure. Worries that the man would find here out here and that there was no one to stop him from taking her again made it difficult to focus on the meal. Exhaustion from her ordeal hit her as she finished eating.

She let herself be lead to the bath which was warm. It was so nice to bathe again. To wipe away the grime from the last few days. She would have fallen asleep in the tub if the woman hadn't been there helping her.

Feed, clean, and wearing new clothes, Abigail could barely keep her eyes open, the fear of being found still there but now almost in the back of her mind as she struggled to stay awake.


Charles Vance was not one to do something rash. Everything he did was well thought out, planned. Meticulous. The arrival at Ned Low's camp was seemingly unannounced and random but it had been planned out even as the the wagon to usher Abigail Ashe to safety was getting prepared.

"You and I have mutual agendas." He told the Captain across from him as they sat, near midnight. "You brought in the girl for ransom and I don't like Lord Ashe." His hand casually tilted his cup as he looked up at the man across from him.

"I know where she's being held. And no, it's not the tavern." A wry smile. "In exchange for bringing her to you, I want something."

Of course Low would be boisterous, annoying and not willing to cooperate. Even a bit threatening. He didn't know Vance that well. But no matter, Charles had actually expected that result.

At the threat from the other captain he casually shrugged and set his glass down. "Here I come offering an opportunity for you and you spurn it. Fine. I can get the girl." He rose. With one sudden stroke, his sword exited the sheath and quickly slashed across the other man's neck.

As the body fell to the ground he pointed his pistol at the first mate. "I wouldn't bother if I were you." He told him. He nodded behind the man as several of his own crew emerged. "Listen here," Vance said putting his pistol away. "You all pack up your ship and go. You have until morning to clear out. If I find you all here come dawn, you'll find that Low won't be the only man laying on the beach.

The men backed down slightly. Vane put the pistol back into his belt and then, as man with extreme confidence, turned and left the beach. His crew fell in behind him, eyeing the other crew but not engaging as they left.

A few yards away from the island, the Ranger continued to sway, as it lightly groaned while making its way over towards its destination. It was still completely nighttime, so for Vivienne to hold the spyglass towards the upcoming island. The wind gently blew through her brunette hair, as her quartermaster joined her at her side of the deck. The female smirked before telling Mister Silver what he had wanted to hear for a long time: set down the boats. They were back home! So, everybody would be thrilled to return back to the place where they could spend their fortune by doing 'god-knows-what'. But they would only be there for a short period of time, retrieving Abigail Ashe for William Turner, and return them back to Port Royal; safe and sound. Dropping the anchor for the Ranger to sit a few yards away from the torch-surrounded beach, two of the longboats were set in the ocean to be rowed, with Vivienne at the front, and John Silver not too far behind.

In all honesty, she wanted Mister Turner to see the reality of a piratical life: by inviting over to one of the largest of strongholds not even the British could claim. Throughout those years, the red-coats didn't have the resources necessary to make peace with the island dwellers; the only way to seek that peace is through a treaty, or a relevant agreement that would even things between authority, and a wide range of lawbreakers. The closer the boats got to the beach, the more clearer they were able to see the activity upon its shoreline. However, the only activity they were able to decipher was a group that seemed to be gathered around in one particular spot, as if something had brought everyone's attention. Vivienne narrowed her blue eyes, just before the longboat came to a stop.

Stepping off of the vessel, the woman approached the group, and the gatherers broke apart, who appeared almost clueless on what they should do. But this cluelessness was only relevant, once the view of someone sitting down, hunching over, with its back to her. Stepping towards it, Vivienne grabbed the shirt of the hunched-over person, and pulled to sit it up. But as soon as she did, the brunette came face to face with Ned Low, who held an expressionless face (like he always did), with a bloody slice across the throat. The woman groaned, almost in disgust and frustration, before letting go of the corpse, making it fall completely on the sand. John appeared by her side, and looked down on the now-deceased Captain Low. "What the hell happened here?", he asked the clueless men that surrounded them. "We spotted him having a talk with anoth'a, having to exchange parts, until the oth'a put him out of his misery; took his prize with him", John looked back at the corpse, along with Vivienne, as one of the crewman continued to explain. "He didn't say his name, but all I saw was that he had a barbarian look about him", just by hearing this, Vivienne groaned again, almost angrily, and walked fast into the brush of trees, heading towards town. Mister Silver wasn't too far behind, and he wouldn't be surprised if Will and Jim decided to follow.

Vane didn't wait long on the beach. As soon as the deed was done, he headed to the home of Miranda Barlow. Usually most pirates avoided her. Flint was not one to cross and if he found out someone threatened her, he went after them. Not that Charles cared. He and Flint already tried to kill each other a couple times. Besides, he wasn't going to threaten her. Honestly, he didn't care about her. He wanted the girl. The daughter of Lord Ashe would be extremely profitable. Not to mention give him a lot of bargaining power.

He rapped on the door once to give the woman notice before they barged in. "Oh stay seated, I'm not here for you." He dismissively told the woman as he nodded for two of his men to grab the girl. "Quietly. Don't wake her." He ordered. If she woke than she'd be hysterical or pleading or crying. None of which would move him but if he didn't have to listen to it, than all the better.

He smiled at the glare from Mrs. Barlow. "Don't worry love, she'll be perfectly safe. She is after all, worth a lot of money." He smirked. As the two men came back with a sleeping Abigail, he gave a slight mocking bow. "Give my regards to Flint."

Then they were gone and headed toward his ship. It wouldn't do to have the girl seen on the island. Miranda might tell Ms. Guthrie what he did but really it was doubtful. And if she did, he didn't care. By time he got back it would be blown over. Or not. But there were plenty of islands to go to. Besides, the daughter of Ashe was well worth the risk.



Will's boots dug into the sand as he followed Vivienne. "Where is she?" He hissed. "Aren't you even going to search the cap for her?" He demanded. He was getting really annoyed with the woman and her lack of communication. He had put up with it so far but the fact she just marched off without saying anything was a bit irksome. He'd at least like to be kept in the loop.

The moon was partially hidden behind the clouds as they made their way away from the beach. Will wondered if Abigail was even still alive. Vivienne seemed to think so but there was no proof. And they really hadn't had time to ask anyone if she was still a prisoner.

Coming up beside her, his long legs quickly catching her, Will stared at the woman. "Where are we going? You promised me revenge and Abigail. I have yet to get either. Was that the captain who took her?" He hitched his thumb behind him. "And if so, what does that mean? Did someone else kill him and take her?"

Jim walked up behind him. "Mr. Turner," he nudged the man and received a sharp look. "Perhaps you should let her be. She has a lot on her mind."

Will just gave him a look before continuing on after Vivienne.

Vivienne continued to walk, even as Mister Turner managed to catch up with her. His words were grilling yet they were marked to be threats. He doubted her; that's what it was. Doubt. With that said, he thought he had figured her out. In fact, it was so apparent, that she wasn't the only one to even think of it. Her quartermaster remained observant of their latest recruit and, surely, John had expected that this man's motive would never disappear. By the sound of Will's statements towards the captain, he had a purpose; a goal. And so far, within Mister Turner's actions and already-said beliefs, John wasn't going to give his sights up on the man anytime soon. For the sake of Vivienne and the crew.

The woman continued her fast stride, internally rolling her eyes at Will's demanding rant. He wants this; he wants that. How many times did she have to explain it to him? Abigail was most certainly alive. Even without proof, she was. That, she was very certain. With that last statement, the brunette had enough. Quickly putting a hand at the handle of her sword, Vivienne stopped walking, sheathed, and placed the blade just against Mister Turner's throat, knowing he would have to stop walking if he wanted to keep his head. She remained standing beside him, just stretched her arm out, in order for the blade to reach the man's neck. "Mister Turner!", she sternly warned him. It was such a bold move that not even Silver saw coming. He was just behind the pair, sky-blue eyes slightly widening in surprise at the captain's latest action. Honestly, the last time he'd ever seen her aggressive was through her fights with Vane. The relationship of father-and-daughter was a complex one, and through other times, it was simple. But, by the means of Vivienne's past, she was as complicated as Charles. But the love between them was there.

Her blue eyes bored into him, with the torch-lights illuminating off her youthful face. "My word remains effective. Even after what we saw on that beach, I can assure you that Miss Ashe is alive. Even when there is no physical proof, that corpse has a story written all over it", she was serious, and her eyes narrowed, taking a step towards the blacksmith. It was true. "I know when a prize is taken: When there is a dead captain; and a dead captain means a powerless crew. So the killer takes the loot; the loot, meaning Abigail", the brunette explained. "Now, if I hear any inquiries made against me by you, I won't receive that news well. Do I make myself clear, Mister Turner?", that last sentence was made with gritted teeth. "So, you either follow my word, and believe me? Or, take a more distressing approach? It's your call", and with that, she slowly removed the weapon from his neck, and sheathed it, before continuing with her stride. John watched her walk away, then looked back at Will, giving him a look that was mixed with an almost apologetic and still-surprised gaze, before having a second to compose himself, and continue following the woman through the brush.

Having to now take the entrance into town, the brunette, almost mechanically, walked through the dirt road, and approached the tavern. She was looking for him. Yes, HIM. Where was that man? When she caught sight of him having a drink with the first mate, Vivienne approached him. Even after he caught sight of her, she suddenly hit him square on the face, almost between a punch, and an angry slap.

She was fast and completely caught Will off guard. He stood as the sword stayed within inches of his neck. His own hand had dropped to his sword but if she wanted to kill him, it wouldn't do him any good. She'd finish him before the blade even slipped out of the sheath. He was going to have to pay more attention and not let her get a chance like this again. Thankfully, she wasn't interested in finishing him off - yet. He didn't let it show but the tension he had faded just slightly after she turned back away. Keeping his face firm so as not to give anything away he stared at the crew before they all looked away and headed after Vivienne. He then continued, keeping enough room between them so she couldn't do it again.

The tavern was still fairly busy these late in the evening but only a few of his crew were around Charles when Vivienne came in. The strike surprised him. Immediately his first mate and the other crew members had their weapons drawn and would have taken her out except Charles waved them down. Reluctantly they eyed her before putting the weapons away. They knew her and her relationship with Vane but still - striking him was not something they'd seen her do. OR seen anyone do for that matter and live long to tell about it.

Running his hand over his nose and mouth for a second, Charles stood. "Always a pleasure to see you, my dear. Though, apparently you are in some foul mood." He snapped his fingers having the crew vacate giving them privacy so only he and Viviene could talk.

The first mate dropped a sword blocking Will but Will just glared at him. "This is my business as well."

Glancing Vivienne over Charles waved the mate to let him through. He leaned back casually, picking up a glass. He seemed relaxed but anyone who knew him long knew that he could have his blade out in a second running either one through if he wanted. He waited for Vivienne to speak. To explain. He was patient and could overlook her strike due to their history and his fondness for her but it better be a good reason. For like a daughter or not, he could easily put her back in her place.

It was true that a strike to the face was new, but between Vivienne and Vane, it doesn't just happen on a daily basis. If the woman was always angry, she would have kept the action going, but for her own sake, she didn't. Miss Black wasn't afraid of Charles; she was one of the few who have ever confronted or questioned him, while others don't typically live long to tell the tale. Ever since she was young pre-teenaged girl, she hadn't been afraid of a barbarian-looking man, who used fear to lead others, as well as overpower them. Last time the rest of the crew checked, she never had any physical confrontations with their captain, but they were rare; it was mainly verbal, for the most part. Despite them to have their disagreements, Charles is actually quite a caring man and, still remains, genuinely fond of her; he was also very protective of her before she even started venturing out on her own. If both of them ever recalled, there was a former crewmate who initially and mistakenly took Vivienne as the crew's "lady-in-service", mainly by looking at her striking beauty, as well as her 'saloon'-like pirate attire. As much as Vivienne could remember, Charles definitely did not take the news well that day...

The brunette woman stared down at her guardian with her narrow blue eyes, even while he asked the crew to disperse from the presence. John Silver hesitated to leave Vivienne's side, but one look from the pirate woman, told him that it was best to leave the room. For the most part, he knew better not to come between them (mainly because Miss Black told him not to). He glanced at Jim, and silently told him to cooperate, even if the lad's feelings for Black told him to stay. But one look from Silver, says that he should leave, and not get caught in a situation that might or could turn better or worse. When he reached the entrance/exit of the tavern, the curly-haired quartermaster looked back at William Turner, wondering if he was going follow but, by the way he decided to stay put, Silver internally smiled at his decision. Besides, the new recruit needed to see what thrives upon this island. In regardless possibility, Mister Turner was gonna see it all.

Evidently, Vivienne shared the same thought about William: He was very rash, and definitely short-sighted. Because of this, she didn't even take a glance at him when he told the first mate his purpose of staying. It didn't surprise her, so she didn't look at him, object, or scold him like earlier. Crossing her arms on her chest, she kept her gaze on the man sitting in front of her. "Where were you today?", she asked him, almost demanding an answer, in a rather interrogative way. She wanted where exactly he had been. She knew that he was Ned Low's killer, but didn't bother to mention it. Besides, she wanted to hear it come from him... mainly because she wants William to see how pirates operated, like what Mister Silver had reported to her earlier that evening. She had to bless her quartermaster for his expertise about 'human nature', and sometimes, she just wanted to kiss him.

She was mad. That much was obvious by her strike. Vivienne rarely ever hit Charles so the fact she did so now meant he did something she didn't like. Not that he would apologize for it or not. He did as he pleased. Still, what got her all fired up? Charles' eyes roamed over Will briefly. He didn't recognize him but he noted the anger and hatred. Both good be dangerous but at the same could make the young man easily manipulated.

Turning his attention back to Vivienne, he picked up a glass studied it for a second even as he leaned back casually. He turned his attention back to the woman. "Where was I?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice as calm and collective as if she hadn't just attacked him. "Considering you had my ship I was here on the island." He took a drink. "Where were you? I see you brought back a new boyfriend."

"Now hold on, I'm not her...."

The slap sent Will backwards. Charles didn't even seem to change moods just remained calm. The first mate moved forward slightly to ensure the young man didn't draw his sword.

Charles turned back to Vivienne. His face no longer stung and honestly he didn't think she would really challenge him just angry. And now that he had directed the conversation as he had wanted he was ready to see what her issue was. They were close and though he wasn't the best nor she - in a way he did consider her almost like a daughter. Well the best one like him could. Not that he wouldn't kill her if he had to but still - there was a bit of fondness for her that forgave much that would get any other man killed.

"Alright, why do you inquire? Have I not given you fair hearing in the past? Just spit out what you want. And I'm sure you have a very good explanation for yourself." He gave a smile that didn't meet his eyes.