[IC] Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

[AmongHeroes]

Thomas smiled as Antonia started at the young boy’s touch. He had seen the boy approaching, and he had been most intrigued to see if Luc possessed the ability to sneak up upon a person as perceptive as Antonia. The fact that he had, made Thomas shiver with the thought of the skill the boy could possess should he turn to a life of wet work. If Antonia failed to notice his approach, then by God’s own wounds Thomas would be dead a thousand times over.

He studied Luc, idly wondering at the boy’s connection to the rogue. They were not related by blood, at least to the best of Thomas’ knowledge. It was yet another aspect of Antonia’s life he had not investigated. The fact that Antonia had been a slave made it almost impossible for her to be related to the family that owned the Parakeet, since it would be a true miracle for a family once riven by the slavers to ever find each other in the sprawl of the New World. Still, Thomas believed that blood had little to do with family, in the material and tangible sense anyway. He himself grew up under the fatherhood of a man that had no relation to him in blood at all, and yet, Thomas could not fathom a life without him.

As the boy took a seat beside Nicolette, Thomas took a long swig of wine from his cup, and decided that he was happy for Antonia. She had found a place here at the Parakeet that welcomed her and loved her. Despite what the men had done to rob her of her freedom so many years ago, whether directly, or by the circumstances of her birth, she had made it. She had beaten odds that Thomas could not fathom. A smile curled the corners of his lips as he took another drink. The ultimate vengeance is to make your own luck, he thought.

Thomas set the mug down, and offered the helmsman a smile and a wink. “Aye, that’s the spirit; a true pirate heart. I wager that with the Skate’s speed we can make the Serrana’s within two weeks. Hopefully, we’ll beat any Donnish ships searching for her by a fortnight, with luck on our side.”

His copper eyes moved to the First Mate, and he met her expression of skepticism with a smile.

“Indeed, I did not inquire after your opinions to sway my own mind. You’re correct, I had Dujo begin outfitting the Skate, for she will be sailing for Serrana’s. Make no mistake of that.”

Thomas shifted so he faced the beautiful pirate more fully, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows upon his knees. He opened his hands in a gesture of community.

“I ask after your thoughts on the matter, not for the reason of permission, but instead to aid my own thoughts. I am but a man, fallible and flawed, and though experience and cunning are always with me, I am not so filled with hubris that I cannot ask for assistance in choosing a proper course of action. Do you not agree, Lieutenant?” he said, punctuating the proper rank with a smile.

Thomas leaned back off his knees, his attention now affixed upon Luc. He raised an eyebrow at the boy, then looked to Antonia, and back once again to the boy with the light-brown skin.

“Tell me, son,” he said in a kind voice, “did they let you keep that coin I gave you earlier?”

Thomas leaned back, and gave Antonia a sharp look, “I’m betting they did not. We shall have to remedy that.”

Thomas took from his pocket another gold piece, this one plainly old, with the crown and anchor stamp of the Lima Mint. For a moment he twirled it between his long fingers, smiling with satisfaction as it moved deftly across his skin. Finally, he stopped, and held it up before the boy.

“Now, earlier I smelled the unmistakable aroma of Pound Cake baking, and if you fetch us each a hefty slice of it, you’ll earn yourself this gold to keep, for your own desires.”

Thomas’ mirthful expression turned more serious, and he lowered his voice and leaned closer to the boy. “Be mindful though, a man can change his life with just one of these.” He said shaking the coin slightly in his hand for emphasis. “A man once gave me gold, among other things, when I was young, and it provided all I have today.”

[tirgesfu]

“Well, damn,” Jax sat back in his chair again, “I don’t got gold for ya boy, I mean Sir Jean-Luc Williams or Luc, which rolls off my tongue much better. You do the man’s bidding, the Captains there and my simple tale and gift will wait.” He smiled and winked, “Got to know the order of things, Luc. And when a Captain asks, or instructs, you answer.” He let his shoulder roll and he grinned to Antonia, “Bet your lap lady can tell you that.” He gave the lad a wink and a nod to send him off for Pound Cake or whatever it was.

“And,” Jax mumbled after the boy but not so loud as he could expect Luc to actually hear him, “Gold comes and goes Luc, it comes and goes.” He opened his arms over the now empty table where his small pile of golf had been some time ago.

He then looked to the First Mate and back to the Captain. Whatever dance they were doing he rather enjoyed. Oh she knew her place, but the Captain didn’t want her too strongly placed there, step this way dear. Assist me in this my lovley. I am just a man. A man. A man. See how my other lady, the brown sugar one, guides you to the dance? Come, first mate, dance.

Jax let his smile fall and he look to Nicolette. Oh no, he could not call her that yet. He knew it. He wasn’t in on this sly waltz. No she was just the First Mate Doctor to him. He knew his place. But as he watched her he put his hand inside his jacket and felt the leather of the book he had hidden there. He knew the hours spent under the stars with that book would be a gift she did not even know she gave. And what could he give to her? Nothing of course. Not yet. Or not much.

But as the other swept her up in this dance of theirs he could just offer a way out. Not that she wanted one. Not that she needed one. He looked up again to Tante Tonia. “Well, if it’s a drink and you’re offering, I’ll test it.” He winked to the Doctor, “Just to make sure before you mix thoughtful advice and nutmeg. I have heard tales of such unions that would bring hair to your chest.”

He cleared his throat as if knowing his jesting would go too far sooner or later. He grinned to the Captain, “The Skate is Dutch, as you know,.She can glide to the sandbagged hulky Spanish Flea Bitch and back before any know wiser. But then all here know I just guide the sails.”

He watched for Luc sure that maybe he had not earned his place at this dance. He would. He was sure. But maybe for now his place was cutting Pound Cake. Slowly Jax pushed out his chair. “Perhaps I should assist Luc. Pound Cake can be so….” Jax chuckled, “heavy.”

[Lillian Thorne]

There was a tense silence from the First Mate after Antonia’s words and the Captain’s reply. A tense silence in which she sat so rigidly, so tightly that she was very close to snapping from the tension. Like the bottle under her fingers, held together only because she lacked the strength to crush it without aid, her body held together and after a moment she felt like she had enough control of the moment back to let her grip loosen enough that Antonia could take the bottle from her.

Aid had come from an unlikely source, the smiling, quipping helmsman with his unsettling and oddly appealing grin. His words, his lack of concern and his joy in all things pulled the attention off of her just as Antonia’s chiding had pulled the unwavering attention of the boy off of her. She was still not comfortable in the moment, but she could move, she could talk and she would not crumble.

Then Captain called her Lieutenant. Even if it had been intended mockingly it brought her great ease. It loosened her spine some and she breathed easier. Even though that title was no longer hers, it was what she had once earned and in her heart she still bore it with pride.

“Thank you, No.” she said to Antonia with a nod to the Rum though she did release the bottle. “I think perhaps I have had too much. It is not my custom to indulge.”

She smiled, or tried to smile and the corners of her mouth only momentarily curved upwards. The familiar smile of the all-seeing look-out unsettled her nearly as much as the Helmsman’s. Had she grown so cold and fearful that a smile would undo her? She wondered but pushed aside the worry for a time when she was alone in the dark of her cramped cabin and could roll it over in her mine. For now it pulled her from the heart of the matter, the Captain’s command and is request for thoughts on a matter already settled. So she forced herself to pull her eyes to the captain, her honeyed voice low and respectful but still sweetness caught in the ear.

“Well since you are asking for thoughts, Captain, I will share with you my first one. That you should not tell anyone further of what our plans are, of our prey. We cannot leave immediately since we need supplies and so we will linger. Lingering means those men at ease must hold back such information against the rum they drink and that is asking more than one should of men who have had success and now seek ease. So we wait and when we are at sea and lips need not fear being loose you share with them our prey. They trust you, they will not mind the withholding.”

She paused and then nodded as if settling something with herself. “Is that the sort of thought you wished to hear, Captain?”

[Igraine]

"As you will, Mademoiselle Beauchamp," Antonia said pleasantly, still smiling warmly herself and taking the first mate's attempt at the semblance for what it might be worth. The rogue took up the newly freed bottle of rum that had, just moments before, been under threat of shattering in the first mate's grip - and turned her gaze to the helmsman curiously. He took her by surprise, a sensation she found oddly pleasant, with his own light-hearted request for a drink of bumbo, breaking the near palpable tension about the woman - not so much with his words of course, but by his own irreverent lightness.

"You'll not regret it, Monsieur Jax, trying the bumbo. You'll see - you'll never want piss water grog again, I… Guarantee… " Her voice trailed off slowly though, doing her level best not to scowl at Thomas when he chided her – and by extension, his Maman and Papa - regarding the original gold piece for Luc. She bit her tongue as she moved behind the bar, listening to his tale without interruption – and then smiled, softly, genuinely when he was finished.

Ah, Captain Lightfoot. The first Captain Lightfoot of course, Thomas’ adopted father. That was a very old gold coin her lovely man rolled so easily between his long fingersHow dearly he loved that man, treasured the years he’d spent, all he’d learned at his side. Antonia smiled to herself as she poured the cool water into the flagon for the rum mixture, knowing Thomas’ heart on the matter, and knowing she would not have it in her to return his gentle chiding. Thomas would be Thomas, and would always do as he saw best, as the First Mate was discovering.

Though it seemed Luc might have a thing or two to say for himself, and his words tickled his Tante ‘Tonia to no end, giggling softly to herself as she listened.

The boy’s dark, amber-lit eyes grew even larger at the sight of the second gold piece in a single day, and attended every last word Captain Lightfoot had to say, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Did you know, Capitaine Lightfoot, that Tante ‘Tonia says the first gold piece will bring a tutor to teach me about the stars? Charts, navigation – all the knowledge to pilot my own ship one day if I like.“ There was a warm smile for the helmsman, before his eyes returned to Thomas.

“And now a second? A man will give me gold while I am young. Who’s to say this won’t be start of my all my fortunes then, for all I will have one day?” Luc couldn’t help a glance toward the lovely Nicolette at his words, though he was mindful of Tante ‘Tonia’s admonition and looked away just as swiftly, and did not stare.

“Yes, I shall change my life for the price of Maman’s pound cake then,” Luc said a bit cheekily, with an impish grin as he looked up to the copper-eyed man, getting to his own bare feet, “You’ll not regret this, sir.”

Luc paid little attention to the ship talk, though he waved the helmsman closer when he offered his help with the pound cake. The boy might have even taken the man’s hand as they walked to the kitchens, but for the mortification of seeming no more than a child before the angelic Nicolette. As he fell into step beside Jax toward the kitchens, he spoke easily as they walked.

“Tante ‘Tonia says there is wisdom in stories, Monsieur Jax,” Luc said with a sweet smile for the man, “And she tells so many. I would still like to hear your tale as well, if you’ve a mind. Wisdom, and knowledge, and fortune all in a single night? I don’t know why Maman and Papa will not allow me to stay up so late every night!”

[AmongHeroes]

Thomas chuckled lightly at the helmsman’s quip about the Dusk Skate being Dutch, and her inherent prowess upon the high seas as a result.

“I can’t argue with that. Truly the dry docks of Rotterdam put out some of the most beautiful curves in the world, especially when compared to the average figure of the Dutch lady,” he said with an exaggerated cringe.

He turned his attention to the First Mate once again, as her smooth voice came to his ears. Her mention of him keeping the crew in the dark about the nature of the voyage came as a surprise, as Thomas never discussed the details of a raid with anyone but the ranking members upon the Skate until the ship was well at sea. Usually in Monkey Bay to the north of Port Royal. Though the First Mate was new to his ship in relative terms, she had witnessed this ritual at least twice. Thomas took no umbrage to her advice however, accepting the spirit in which it was given.

“Aye, a sound piece of guidance, Lieutenant,” he said once more, having noted the genuine ease that followed his first pronouncement of the rank. “The details of the raid will be divulged in Monkey Bay, and the voting upon the rules, and my station as captain will take place there as well.”

It was traditional among pirates and privateers for the captain and the ground rules that governed the crew to be voted on at the beginning of a voyage. The vote was usually perfunctory on both accounts, and the only real import of the motion was to give anyone not willing to continue with the ship one last chance to disembark. Only then was the expedition revealed to the crew, and the dividing of the coming treasure into shares was also stated. If after this point any member of the crew attempted to leave, they were shot on sight without trial, preamble, or explanation.

After his exchange with Nicolette, Thomas had spoken to the boy, Luc, about his desire for Pound Cake. With the gold piece displayed before him, Thomas listened intently to the boy as he spoke of the intent for the first doubloon going to pay for the services of a tutor. The thought filled the pirate captain with pride, though he knew not why.

“A most noble cause for your very first piece of gold,” Thomas said with a smile. “There is nothing like being upon a ship as she cuts through the waves on her best line, the spray of the waves upon your face, and the promise of fortune beckoning with the wind at your back. And the second piece could indeed be the start of a life of great fortune.”

He paused briefly, wanting to add that the life of a privateer would bring Luc the most rewarding of opportunities, but his eyes glanced up to Antonia as she worked behind the bar. It was apparent that Luc’s family wanted more for the boy, something more tangible and respectable than the life of a murderous scoundrel. In Thomas mind, there was nowhere else a man would want to be than free aboard his own ship, making his own luck in a world still new and young. He was aware enough to realize however that his own existence was not as glamorous and noble as he made it out to be. In truth it was a life of a professional gambler, one where your own head was the collateral for the chance at fortune beyond reckoning.

“You can make a great life for yourself among the merchantmen of the New World, your ships ranging from the East Indies, to the ports of London.” Thomas spoke to the boy at last, a wide and excited smile upon his face.

He watched Luc walk away towards the kitchen, following in the wake of the sea-artist. Thomas laughed breathily through his nose, before affixing his attention back to Nicolette and his mug of wine.

“To be a child again, eh?” He spoke to the First Mate.

Thomas opened his mouth to ask after her own childhood, but he stopped. He did not know the angelic and mysterious woman well, save for her ability aboard a ship, and there was a reason for that. Secrets were a pillar of existence in Port Royal, and one’s past life was something that rarely mattered to the scallywags that called her home. Thomas decided that he would not pry, even in the vein of genuine curiosity.

Instead he decided to pursue matters of more relevance. “Lieutenant, you have been amongst traditionally trained gun crews during your time in Louie’s Navy. How does the Skate measure up in that regard? Could the men be sharper at their work?”

[Lillian Thorne]

“To be a child again…” the captain’s words rang in her ear and soured her stomach. To be a child, to be a silly thing full of dreams and no substance. To be foolish and coddled and stupid. To be weak. No thank you. Better to be as she was now, a woman who was making herself, protecting herself and controlling her reality. Scarred and battered but aware and realistic. Better that than the innocence of childhood that kept one unprepared for when it was over. Unless one was very lucky. She flicked her eyes towards where the smiling helmsman and his big-eyed companion had gone and shivered, hoping as she always did when dealing with children that his transition would be a gentle one.

The Captain didn’t linger on the subject and for that she was grateful. This evening had been long and full of unpleasantness and even the unexpected fun of the game had been tainted by her Captain’s displeasure. Displeasure that made her want to shift in her chair and flee though she remained still and faced him like she wasn’t quavering inside.

She had been trained among traditionally trained naval vessels and though the different nations had different tactics it was hard to say which was more effective in the long run. She suspected that in this case the Spanish sailors who were part of the convoy with the treasure would be some of the best the Spanish crown had to offer. But what did that mean in this case? They might be well trained but even the best trained man would be off his game if he was starving or parched for lack of water. If their crew had been shrunk by loss in the storm even better. Holes in the ranks could be to their favor. Sometimes such regimented training as the Navies tended to favor made for soldiers who did not think on their feet and their formations would suffer if their officers did not fill them. Officers drawn from the same ranks as those obedient soldiers. It was too hard to say.

But one thing she did know was that the crew of the Skate was skilled to a man. Each on worth having at one’s side even if they were often not disciplined. They were getting there with her best efforts in that regard. But also, almost to a man they were good at innovating, at reacting to the situation as it was, not as they had been trained. That meant a significant advantage in the right situation and this captain was very good at getting them into the right situation.

Also worth considering was the Helmsman’s assertion that the Skate was fast and could be there and back before anyone was the wiser. This was true and maneuverability was also key for the Skate’s success. They sailed light, not over gunned and that allowed them to avoid cannon fire and get into place to deliver effective shots rather than a barrage of them. Which meant that more goods survived the sally, which meant more profit.

But there was always something to be gained from discipline, from training, she believed this with everything in her. It is why she worked herself so hard, why she read and trained her mind. There was always something to learn, always some way to improve.

“The men could always be sharper at their work, Sir.” She replied, her honeyed voice cast low and tight with unease at the Captain’s attention though she stubbornly kept her chin up as she answered honestly but succinctly. “But that does not mean they have been slacking. They do their work, they listen well enough and I think they are up to this task. They have more at stake than any paid crew. Their livelihoods depend on it after all, which seems to always motivate a man more fervently than even their lives being at stake.”

[Igraine]

"To be a child again, eh?"

Though not directed to her, Thomas' offhand question-cum-statement, apropos of nothing weighty in the least, a comment he merely tossed to the winds, was still sufficient to raise one dark eyebrow. And she wondered.

Antonia wondered at herself, that the words did not spear her as they might have, whether flippantly stated in the course of conversation or no. But she supposed that in the grander scheme, her childhood at least had been one of ease and indulgence. There had been tutors to teach her to read and write both English and French, endless music and dancing lessons, and all the pretty silks and satins for the giggling, grey-eyed girl of the childless Master's favored house slave. All this in stark contrast to what might have been her life but for his favor, just past the plantation house gates in the casual, callous brutality that flourished among the endless fields of sugar cane.

She could not help but wonder too: does the meticulously-bred colt or the prize hunting pup ever realize that the Master of its devotions truly considers it mere property, only gradations more valuable than the carriage horse or the fighting cur? Does the creature ever imagine that the Master can never match the devotion of his beast, any more than he would think to write sonnets for his mahogany desk or call his favorite pistol "beloved?"

She knew the answer to those questions all too well, and it was always "No." No, the beast knows nothing until it is far too late, when the bit tears cruelly into the tender flesh of his mouth and the crop lashes at his haunches. Not until the boot connects with his ribs, after his sharp puppy teeth mouth the game too deeply.

Antonia bit the inside of her lip, keeping the useless sigh inside. The flagon of cool bumbo for the helmsman was ready and, silent but for the rustling hiss of her skirts, she returned to the table to set the drink at Jax's vacated seat. Thomas and his first mate were deep in ship matters that had precious little to do with Antonia's work, which would begin in the morn for the next two days until the Skate was underway once more. And so she listened on with half an ear, her gaze following after the helmsman and the boy, disappearing into the kitchens.

And Antonia wondered. She wondered what Luc might choose to do with the doubloon purchased by virtue of his Maman's pound cake, and she smiled. Anything he wished. Her heart thrilled with the sure knowledge, Luc could do anything at all. Merchant? Intrepid explorer? Scholar or proprietor, or tradesman even should he have such skill? There were no chains, no bars or shackles that would ever bind him. Luc was free, and there was no man on this good Earth he would ever call "Master."

His mother had made damn sure of that.

Antonia settled back in her chair, her gaze moving from the kitchens to Thomas, her smile softening, those incomparable eyes shining with the light of genuine gratitude for her lovely man. She knew very well how he loved his world, his life, his beautiful Skate, the vast, endless horizons of the open sea, and the siren's call of peril, all of his own choosing. A life lived entirely on his own terms, each and every second from beginning to end.

And yet to Luc he spoke of merchants in this New World, of the fleets of ships the boy might one day command across the oceans. She would not interrupt his business with the first mate of course, though she mouthed the heartfelt words to him nonetheless, when she thought she might yet catch his eye. 'Thank you, Thomas.'

[tirgesfu]

Right along side the boy Jax moved from the common room back to the kitchen. Let the threesome play with their eyes, words, and posture, as nice as most of it was. He let himself think of the two finely crafted woman, their sways and stands, before he chuckled to himself and looked to the boy.

“Yes, stories and coins, what more could you want?” He chuckled, “But remember lad the reason for both.” He opened the kitchen door and looked around the surprising clean area, no dried on leftover food, no smell of aged drink. Jax moved to the cupboard and began to open a few. Must hide the good stuff in here somewhere. “Your Tante, nice as she is, tells stories, but I..” Jax stopped and hit his chest, “I tell real live adventures.” He opened another counter door.

“And that Captain, as wonderful as he is, gives you what he gives everyone, just a piece of gold, just something everyone trades, but I..” again he closed the door not finding a good bottle of anything, and hit his chest once more, “I give you magical luck of grand design.” He opened one more cupboard, still nothing of interest and closed it.

“What are we getting?” Jax looked around as the boy smiled and pointed to a tin box on the edge of the counter.

“Pound Cake,” Luc almost giggled.

“Right,” Jax lifted the lid and saw the fresh golden loaf underneath. “You see boy, what I am giving to you was given to me by the Mistress Moon herself. Or so she helped and fought for from the beasts of the sea. You know of her of course? The Lady Moon?” He glanced to Luc, “We have a thing going on, her and I.” Jax wiggled his eyebrows up and down as if that would explain things. “She meets me each night and seduces me over and over. She found me when I was just a bit older than you and I have been her lover every since.”

“Plates?” Jax asked Luc reached to one of the cupboards Jax had already opened and began to get out a stack. Jax went on. “One night she was teasing me hiding behind thick dark clouds, roaring seas, and wicked winds as if I wouldn’t know she was there.” He took a plates from the boy’s hand. “Woman are like that, they tease and hide when they want to be caught and noticed.” He winked to Luc.

“I raised my head and my hand to the dark sky she was playing behind and demanded her to come to me. She heard my calls and lept to me with such force I fell from the deck of the ship and into the sea. Oh, I was the place I am most, boy, on a ship, of course.”

“Do you eat pound cake with fingers or forks?” Luc giggled and opened another small door . The small hands pulled out forks. “Where was I? Oh yes, in the cold dark sea. Now of course a smart boy like you would know if my lady the moon was hiding behind clouds it was because the sea was wild with winds and waves; taller than highest hill on this island and windier than the strongest gales. Into that I feel. The water was cold and the waves slapped me like a feather, pushing me this way…” Jax leaned way over and nudged Luc, “and that.” He leaned back the other way.

“I can swim in the roughest of seas, of course, but my ship, without me was drifting in the wrong direction, away from me. So I had to swim with all my strength to stay close. But that is not the climax of this tale, oh no, net yet.” Jax took the pound cake off the serving plate and onto one Luc had given him.

“Should we cut it or just rip off pieces?” Luc giggled again and pointed to the block of wood with handles pointing out. “Ah yes,” Jax pulled out a sharp kitchen knife. “Right as I was near to the bow a giant, and I mean huge, bigger than this Inn, great white shark swam right up to me.Of course he thought I would be as delicious as pound cake. He opened his mouth sure that I was an easy treat.” Jax twirled the knife and stuck it right into the center of the cake for dramatic effect.

“Not so fast little fishy.” Jax smiled. “I let him think he had me and I swam right into his mouth.” Jax pulled the knife out of the cake. “Then I floated around and punched as hard as I could through his teeth.” Jax laughed. “His mouth shattered and I caught the teeth as he sputtered me out back into the arms of my longing mistress moon. She let her light cast over the sea and the wind and waves stopped. She lifted me up on a moon beam and placed me right where I should be, at the helm."

Jax paused letting the idea take hold as he cut the cake, in mostly even pieces. “I tossed her one of the shark’s teeth and if you look very close the next time she is bright and full you will see the tooth because she wears it proudly.” Jax put his hand with the knife right over his chest to show Luc where to look at the full moon. He smiled and put the knife back.

Quickly Jax opened his hand in front of Luc, “But one I saved and kept close to me for that one time I meet someone who will follow the lovely moon as I do. Someone who will count the stars and think of the seas. Someone who would know the powerful luck of a single tooth.” Jax opened his fingers and there in his palm was a big gray shark tooth. “Someone who seems to be you.”

Luc smiled and looked at the tooth for only a minute before he wrapped his small fingers around it. He looked up to Jax. Jax winked. “Now, you carry the cake because you got the coin and the payment. I’ll just follow behind after I Iook around just a little more.” Jax stood back. “Well, really, do you know where your Mama hides the special drink?” He laughed and shook his head. “No. no, forget that. Somethings just fade hard.” He ran one hand over his head sort of in his hair.

“Onward, Sir Luc, and back to the curves, eyes and sassiness. Let them eat their cake.”

[AmongHeroes]

Thomas nodded, his mind sifting tacitly through the First Mate’s response. If he had been asked personally he would have said that the Dusk Skate had the best manned guns of any pirate vessel in the Caribbean, which is precisely why he had asked after Nicolette’s opinion. She was not jaded as he was by pride, and Thomas was man enough to admit he had plenty of that, especially when it came to his livelihood.

The First Mate was an astute and dedicated officer, and for one so often bold and calculating, he wondered with an amused arch to his brow and a slight curl to his mouth what about him set her so ill-at-ease. He could hear it in the timbre of her voice, and the way she forced her expressions. It was odd to him, seeing as how she had come to the Skate for a chance to join the crew. She must’ve heard about him, and known of his reputation and style of command before she walked up the gangway that day. Perhaps the reality of his company was even more of a shock than he realized? That prompted a genuine smile from Thomas.

“Your assessment is appreciated, of course, Lieutenant. Let us hope that during our coming venture that the Skate’s guns are allowed to remain silent. Still, being sharper is something I can always abide. During the voyage I think it best if you hone the men further. A sword can hardly be too sharp.”

It was during this time that Antonia placed a cup of bumbo before the First Mate, and retook her seat. Thomas shifted his eyes to hers, sensing her desire for his attention. He saw her mouth the words of thanks to him, and he understood. It was not often that Thomas colored his true feelings for anyone, even a young boy. In truth however, he hadn’t done it for the boy had he? You’re going soft, Thomas, he thought as he looked to the exotic rogue with a smile, and a wink that said everything he needed it to.

[Lillian Thorne]

“For Certain, Captain. Consider it done.”

He might as well have given her instructions to breathe as tell her to train the men. What did he think she did with her time? Strut around the deck barking orders at the seagulls? Like as not. This captain confounded her but for all that she did not regret her berth or the bit of mad boldness that made her seek out the position in the first place. The ship that willingly had one woman was surely the best place for a second. Not that there was much in common between the two besides a tongue. She could not complain, he did not take advantage of her, as so many others did. He did not expect a certain sort of gratitude and so she fought down her irritation at the confusion and lack of control and did her work. Brilliantly, she liked to think.

She was a like to be reading Naval history and Maritime sciences as she was to be reading books on botany or astronomy. She was well versed in technique and if anything was said to be her flaw it was in spontaneity. She was a brilliant strategist when there was a map and markers and a sense of the battle that was upcoming. Unknowns and changes were hard for her. She would panic, over plan and though when the time came she would not flounder but would act, it was hard. The insight and brilliance she lacked in this regard the Captain more than made up for, and as her eyes flicked to the grey-eyed look-out, or perhaps the team of them made up for.

Regardless of the source of brilliance she sensed that the captain was unsatisfied with her answer, with her in general despite his grin at Antonia just then. She found that her hands were twisting the edge of her ruined coat where it lay over the edge of her chair and told herself to calm down. Nothing was going to happen to her there, she had not lost her place. She had done nothing wrong. The words did not help settle her nerves. She knew what would.

“Besides general location and assumed condition of this ship, what else do we know? I can best help you with more information.” She said as her hands slipped into her pocket and brought out a scrap of parchment grey from having been written on so many times, and a nub of charcoal.

“How big was the original fleet, for starts. Do we know where they are at currently? Who commanded the fleet and who commands the prey?” she asked, charcoal nub held in shaking hands over the well-used paper.

[Igraine]

Luc smiled brightly up at the strange, brilliant man who never stopped grinning, and palmed the precious shark tooth in his hand. Tomorrow he would beg a thin strip of leather and twine from his Maman, and that would be the very first setting the match to Lady Moon's own gift ever saw. The years to come would see this gift set in leather, and in silver and in gold, but this hard won token of the helmsman's great love for his Lady would never leave Luc's neck again all the days of his life.

"Yes sir, I will look to the skies always. I promise," the boy said softly, still a little awed at the enormity of the gift. No, it was not so much the tooth itself - Port Royal was, after all, an ocean port, and Luc had seen many shark's teeth before. But he had never met any other person but his Tante 'Tonia who could weave a tale so expertly, and the boy knew well, the true value of a story.

And he honestly hadn't the least idea, what Jax meant by the "special drink" his Maman was supposed to have hidden away. Was she secretly a sorceress, hiding away some magic elixir of some sort or another? Well if she were, Luc was yet to see any such evidence - though from this moment on he'd be certain to watch her just a little closer. But since the boy had no good answer for Lady Moon's lover, he kept his smiling silence on the matter, only shrugging helplessly just a little.

Still, Luc hurried to do as Jax had bid him, taking up the tray with the wooden plates of pound cake set neatly on them. He bit the inside of his lip in concentration as he moved across the floor steadily with Jax, setting the tray on a nearby table before he brought the plates. Tante 'Tonia had seen their return from the kitchens, and only raised her finger to her lips, smiling still as she reminded him to keep his silence while the grown-ups spoke.

And so he served the small gathering his Maman's pound cake, moving quietly but swiftly among them, setting first a plate for the First Mate - ladies first after all, and Tante 'Tonia would understand. She was his aunt after all, not a lady. Luc smiled shyly up at her as he set her plate, though he remembered to look away swiftly, and not stare at the angelic woman.

It was not that he didn't see the scar on her face - he most certainly did, though it bothered him not in the least, nor detracted a wit from her loveliness in his eight-year old eyes. And now, in the wake of Jax's tall tale? Luc could almost imagine the scar was very much like Lady Moon's shark tooth, and it only made her seem lovelier still.

And how Luc wished it was a little earlier in the day, when he might have begged his Maman to make some of her vanilla whipped cream to make her cake sweeter still, but some things simply could not be helped.

One plate before his Tante 'Tonia, and then one for Jax while he returned to his own seat - and finally, one for Capitaine Lightfoot. Luc did not necessarily agree with Jax's assessment at all, that the captain's gift was simply what he would give to most anyone. The boy knew well his friends Willem and Jack had never held a gold piece in their lives - and now here he was, the promise of two in a day! No, he did not agree at all, but he kept his thoughts to himself. In truth, his Maman often told him he was very much like his aunt, speaking little and hearing far too much - and the thought made him smile. Perhaps he too was a little like Anansi the Spider himself.

And the boy genuinely liked the captain, for no reason he could have explained precisely. But there was something about the playful light in those eyes, shining with the color of a new-minted halfpenny, that promised laughter and mischief and... And adventure. Tante 'Tonia's stories, whether she knew it or no, had long since taken root in Luc's imagination, only whetting his appetite for the seas and the lands, the remote wilds and the grand, mysterious cities far beyond Port Royal. It would only be a matter of time...

Luc's manners were not so low that he would wait for his "payment" standing and staring at the captain impatiently. But as he turned to return to his seat, Antonia rose to her own feet, smiling fondly as she ran her one hand over the boy's head of dark, loose curls.

"Thank you Luc, but I believe it is long past time for you to be back abed." The boy's face fell, his disappointment palpable. But he knew of course that he was only ever on borrowed time this strange, magical night anyway, and he lifted the shark's tooth still setting in his palm to show her.

"From Monsieur Jax - and now I've a story to tell you too Tante 'Tonia. Did you know Lady Moon is his lover?"

Antonia's gaze turned toward the helmsman as he returned to his chair, a small, wondering chuckle for Jax and a curiously raised eyebrow. "Your bumbo, Monsieur Jax," she said with a nod toward the flagon set at his once-vacated seat, before returning her attention to Luc. "I will look forward to this story, mon petit chou-chou. But for now, you would do well to say your 'good nights' all around, and let the adults to their discussion."

Luc nodded, looking first to Nicolette with a small, polite bow of his head and a whispered "Bon soir, Mademoiselle." To Jax with a wider, far easier smile as he held up the shark's tooth. "I'll not forget, sir," he quipped quickly before turning to Thomas. And though every last little part of the boy quivered with the hope the captain would not forget the gold piece, he would not say a word.

"Good night, sir," he said with a small bow of his head as Antonia's hands lay lightly on his shoulders, biting back the laugh that wanted to bubble up in her chest as she looked to Thomas' face.

[tirgesfu]

Ah, Jax took hold of the offered beverage at his empty seat even before he sat down. All that time looking in the cupboards and here it was right at his chair. He smiled. To no one and began to take a sip while cake was served. The Captain and First Mate were doing what they should, plot and plan and plan and plot. He glanced from one to the other appreciating how well they each filled their roles. They tempt fate and the try to think their way out.

He could not help but hide in the tilt of his cup as the fair voice of the first mate sounded so tactical, practical tactical. He watched her eyes and knew she would think it through one hundred times before they even saw the foundering ship. As he watched, trying hard not to let any, even the lad, see that he could find those sparks of passion hidden in the deliberate plans the Lieutenant would make. She is a hard thinking machine. That fixed his hand and gave him a gift.

But then the Tonia was looking at him and asking about bumbo. No she didn’t really ask, she just gave him that once over question in her eyes. Or he thought she did. What was a bumbo again? Damn french. When in doubt take another drink, so Jax did.

Bed time, for the pound cake cutter and Jax gave the lad a big grin as he so politely said his good nights. He winked as Luc held up the shark’s tooth. Oh he would forget at some point of course. Boys don’t remember forever. Thanks heavens they don’t he chuckled as Tante Tonia led the lad to bed. Tuck him in Tonia.

Jax finished his drink too fast of course but this whole night was stretching out way too long and he wasn’t even half drunk, not even close. He put his hand inside his coat to feel the book that still was tucked beneath. He had a date all right, a way to end this strange night. His Lady Moon above him as he rocked in the arms of his new love the Dusk Skate and held a rare find, a book, close enough to read. He would be ready to sail. And although this crew, these planners and plotters don't know it yet, he would guide this ship right to the next treasure, of that he was sure. How did he know? Just look at her face, that first lieutenant, she would either plan them to success or die trying. And the Captain? Well, hells, he did manage to somehow sail with some damn pretty legs and still manage to keep his balls.

Still, Jax thought maybe he should go back to his first approach and stay clear of temptation. Sea witches both. He played with his now empty glass and tried to listen. But he didn’t offer much. Less talk more action. Less cake more brew.

He just turned to the Captain and smiled as he nodded. He already said he was in.

[AmongHeroes]

Thomas’ brow furrowed in bemusement, his eyes moving from between the scrap of paper and the First Mate’s scarred but angelic face. His surprise was genuine, and only amplified through the lens of Nicolette’s advice of secrecy from earlier. Parchment, and the charcoal upon it, was a traitorous instrument, and he did not trust it even in the hands of those he held in the highest esteem.

Leaning forward, Thomas softened his expression, and looked at the First Mate. It is late, and we are all off our best lines, he thought as he rested a hand gently over hers, staying her fingers from pressing the charcoal against the paper. He hoped that the tenderness of his touch would calm her, and would convey that his initial surprise held no malice.

“I can’t tell you who commanded the fleet,” Thomas said, “but I know she sailed with thirty-eight other ships, all bound for Havana, and Cádiz after. The galleons were laden with the usual cargo of gold, silver, gems, spices, sugar, and tobacco. Though my sources are not certain, the lost ship is said to be the Madre Santisima, commanded by a man named Gonzalo Martin. I myself have never heard of the man, but I assume that if he was in command of a ship carrying such treasure that he is not a complete dullard.”

It was then that Luc came to the table, laden with the cut pieces of cake. The sight brought a smile to his face. The simple joy of being among new and exciting company shone on the boy’s face like the sun off the waves of the Atlantic. It was a face filled with innocent hope and the trusted promise of better things to come. Thomas wondered if he had looked that way to Lightfoot as a young lad, and truthfully he hoped he had.

Thomas withdrew his hand from the First Mate’s and began taking large bites of the moist cake, all the while watching Luc with a glint in his copper eyes. By the time the boy stood before him with his aunt’s hands upon his shoulders, resigned to his fate of bedtime at last, Thomas had downed the cake, and was washing it down with the last of his wine. With a final swallow and a sideways grin, Thomas pulled the old gold coin from his pocket. He took Luc’s hand in his own, placing the gold into his small palm before curling the boy’s fingers around the coin.

“Goodnight, little master. Perhaps I shall see you on the morrow.”

He stood then, his smile moving up to Antonia, and his eyes looking to her with words of their own. Another night, and not soon enough.

Thomas adjusted the pistols and dagger on his back, and gathered up his plate and mug. “It is late, and there is much to do tomorrow. I will find my way to bed as well.” He gave the helmsman, the First Mate, and Antonia each a nod of farewell in turn before turning to place the stoneware into a large basin behind the bar.

Before leaving the Parakeet, Thomas moved back the table almost as an afterthought.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “if you wouldn’t mind meeting me on the Skate in the morning at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it.” He looked up, addressing them all now. “I bid you all a good night.”

With that, Thomas turned on his heels, giving Antonia an affectionate squeeze of her hand as he walked past her, and out into the night. The morning promised much, and her kiss was scant hours away.

[Igraine]

Antonia's gaze lingered after Thomas for just a moment, the knowing upward tilt of her lips answering the unspoken words in his copper gaze, the gentle squeeze of her fingers in return sealing that promise. Luc though, noticed not in the least his Tante 'Tonia's momentary dalliance, so utterly enthralled was the boy with his precious new treasures. His "Merci" to the privateer captain had been a barely breathless whisper, but it had been there, and he truly hoped he might yet see Capitaine Lightfoot - and the lovely Mademoiselle Beauchamp, and Monsieur Jax - the following day.

The young woman smiled indulgently as she sat on the edge of Luc's bed while he arranged his two new treasures just so on the simple wooden bedside table, the gold piece and the shark's tooth sparkling and glinting in their own scintillating manner in the light of the single flickering candle flame. Antonia stayed by his side until he fell back to sleep, running her fingers tenderly through the soft ebony curls, humming a few of the old, soothing lullabies her mother had once sung to her until, mere minutes later, the boy's heavy-lidded eyes finally - reluctantly - simply had to surrender the effort to remain open even a moment longer this night.

The Parakeet was empty now but for family and lodgers and, wrapped in a simple black cloak about her shoulders, Antonia slipped from the kitchen door, her own night's work not yet complete though by this hour, she truly wished for little more than a pillow for her head. But no... No, not quite yet. There was still one more visit yet to make this night.

Antonia smiled to herself from beneath the shadows of the hood as she maneuvered the stinking alleys and byways of Port Royal with ease, unmolested and unnoticed as she moved toward the finely tended neighborhoods of the cities well-to-do. The magnificent homes rose up all about her like elegant, stately giants, the high walls and the manicured estates growing larger and more impressive the further from the city's center the wraith-like Antonia moved.

She stopped beneath an enormous silk cotton tree and, even in near total darkness, her gaze turned to a grand manor she knew very, very well. Scaling this wall was, truly, child's play to the rogue. She dropped to the other side without a sound, moving swiftly past the darkened windows to the French doors leading into the kitchens. Antonia laughed then, a soft, low chuckle as she eyed the new iron lock, her fingers toying with the mechanism for a moment or two before pulling two thin throwing knives from her belt.

The pin mechanism was tripped within seconds, the young woman slipping inside the kitchens, her steps silent on the slate floors as she moved unerringly in the dark to the parlor. Antonia pulled the hood of the cloak back, one eyebrow lifted with a wicked little grin as she heard a man's reedy voice, heavy with age and mirth, issuing from the depths of a high backed upholstered chair.

"Do you not think that perhaps, by this point in our association, you might yet learn to use the front door?"

"But then how would you ever know it was me?" she quipped easily, moving swiftly toward a nearby candelabra atop an ornate walnut stand. The only light in the room came from the smoldering embers of a fire that still glowed brightly in the grand marble fireplace. Antonia took up a poker in her free hand, and stirred the glowing ash back to a brief life. A piece of dried kindling was all she needed, to light the candles and turn to better face her host.

Age-spotted hands rested over the blankets that covered his thin body, white casts over his eyes testifying the reason for a lack of any lights to greet Antonia's arrival, as blind as the elderly man was in that chair. His hair - though still impressively thick - was entirely white, brushing softly over his forehead and to his thin shoulders. But when he smiled in the direction of her voice, there was not a thing at all frail or old to be found in that sweet Summer smile.

"Now why are you down here and not in your bed, my dear Nathaniel?" Antonia asked gently, crossing the room once more. She set the candelabra down once more before kneeling beside his chair, her chin resting on her forearm as she peered up into his face, the fingers of her other hand gently caressing the man's arm.

"You are late Antonia, and I worried you might yet have found a trouble even you could not extricate yourself from." The man's thin hand lifted from his lap, slowly reaching toward the rogue's head, resting only when he could touch the soft, curly hair of her head tenderly.

"There is no such thing, Nathaniel," she said softly, the warm Creole voice all reassurance as she looked up into the blind man's face. "But I am here now - and you should be to bed."

"Only if you promise to read to me first," said Sir Nathaniel Greene, former Royal Navy Admiral, Knight Bachelor, fabulously wealthy and intrepid merchant - with all the impish glee of a much-loved and terribly spoiled child.

Antonia laughed, standing to her feet as she reached for the nearby cane leaning against the opposite chair arm. "As you will Nathaniel, but you will be abed before I read a single word, my dear friend." She placed the silvered handle in his hand, pulling the blankets from his legs and tossing them over one shoulder before she offered him her own arm as well. "You know very well you ought not be sleeping like this - "

"And you know very well you ought not break into a man's home in the middle of the night, and yet here you are," he interrupted with a laugh, rising slowly between the support of his cane and Antonia's arm.

"Touché" the rogue replied with a grin, before the man spoke once more.

"The young, most erstwhile Commander Murphy left his card earlier as well," Nathaniel said as they moved to his chambers, the candelabra returned to Antonia's free hand. "I took the liberty of having a card returned for my dearest niece Antoinette. I imagine he should be joining us for breakfast."

Antonia's smile widened further still as she leaned to kiss her friend's soft, thin cheek. "Are you sure you were not born to intrigue, Nathaniel?" she teased.

"No, my precious thief," the elderly man laughed as he felt her lips to his cheek. "I am afraid it is a life I found thrust upon me all unawares one night some years ago. Perhaps you know the tale?"

[Lillian Thorne]

Jax and Nicki

Jax watched them leave, the boy and his Tanta, the Captain and his weapons, those Jax could see and those he could not. He slowly turned to the practical tactical first mate and smiled. “Seems the night’s over. I made out just fine.” He raised his bandaged hand and then opened his jacket showing her how safe and warm the book he borrowed from her truly was. “A little cake,” Jax put his fork on his now empty plate and pushed back his chair, “A little drink and company.”

“But I read the charts and noticed the night sky. There is one more secret pleasure for tonight.” He stood up and moved to the back of his chair. He tilted his head to the right and squinted his eyes judging the cold sea witch doctor. He could just leave and he was sure she would find her way back to her cosy cabin just fine. She didn’t need his company and certainly not his flippant happy face. This mate might want to hide. She might be ready to retreat like she did so often. He couldn’t fault her for that. But when was the last time she just made a friend?

He opened his eyes and leaned back. “I have something spectacular to see. I am willing to share. And I promise it has nothing to do with any part of me.” Jax chuckled. “In fact I will try hard to stay silent the entire time. I know you would like it if you allow yourself to come. I’ll even give a hint. There was something inside your cabin that reminded me.”

He swept his arms in a grand gesture toward her and then the door. “What do you say practical risk taker?” He couldn’t help but tease her with his eyes, “A better end to a confusing night?”

~~~

What went wrong? What went wrong? What went wrong? Over and over the question danced in her head as she stared unseeing at the blank page in her fist, her charcoal clutched so tightly her knuckles were white. It was only fatigue from when the nearly throttled the bottle of rum that kept her from snapping her charcoal in half. People were moving, people were speaking and departing and she was frozen in place. She didn’t say goodbye, didn’t even see them leave. Their words were distant echoes in her ears. Their time was moving at a normal pace and she was stuck, asking herself over and over

What went wrong?

Because something had, something had slipped from her grasp. Buffeted about by mistakes and mis-readings of people, well lubricated by rum she found she had nothing left with which to process the words of the Captain or the reproach in his eyes. She’d made another mistake, she could feel it but she couldn’t name it and that undid her. So she sat, unblinking and tried to catch up, but couldn’t. She was compounding her mistake by her reaction, revealing her great weaknesses so openly but she couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t break this pattern of search and reproach.

But then something moved into her line of vision and something in that movement and the voice that came with it caught at her. Was it time that freed her or the innate chaos borne by the one who spoke to her? Jax, she would not say the name aloud, it felt like some sort of promise to let it slide off her honeyed tongue, but in her head it had a weight, a gravity that she liked. She found her eyes then, and pulled them away from the well-used paper normally covered with equal amounts of code and sketches but blank now, soaking up disapproval. She looked to Jax and found herself slowly coming back into her body, back into reason. How was that possible? That he, the embodiment of chaos could bring her back to order? Was it like the new Vaccines for small pox, like does away with like? She supposed it didn’t matter. He had freed her, at least for a little and she found herself nodding agreement to seeing what he would show her.

She sensed the care he was taking in his words, his cautious treading around the cracking being that she was. It alarmed her that he saw the cracks, that she’d slipped up so badly that a virtual stranger had seen her in such a state, but there was nothing for it. Plus she was afraid that once he left she would shatter and she was not yet in her cabin, not yet in her bed. She would take something tonight, something to make herself sleep so deep that dreams would not come. But not until Jax had shown her what he would.

“Yes,” her honeyed tongue said, the small word somehow holding so much more than three simple letters. “Yes I will come.”

She rose on swaying legs and waited for the earth to cease its rocking, leaving behind her ruined coat.

“Will you take my arm?” she asked, “I think I have had far more Rum than I am accustomed to.”

~~~

“Will I?” Jax laughed and offered his arm. “Only if you promise not tell what a gentleman I truly am. Can’t have that.” He stood taller and offer his arm very proper like. His grin soften so as not to tease her too much. In a slow leisurely fashion he guided her to the door.

Jax didn’t know the parts of the island other’s might. He never roamed the rich streets, or slung around the lowlife brothels. His exploration were more in the backcountry, the lands between the ports and plantations. The fresh water pools that ran from the fashionable estates over the wild grasses of tropical lush forests to the edge of the sea had attacked Jax. Water and night skies held a deep interest for the sea artist.

As they moved through the street she most likely knew better than he, Jax longed for her to speak. He had promised he wouldn’t but he wasn’t sure she even notice. So he just walked with her along side down through the echos of partying crews letting go of their coins and sensibilities. Until at the edge of the port town the road narrowed and went off into a field of sugar cane.

The fields swayed in the breeze and added a soft tingle to the sound of a small stream right off the beaten path. The stars sparkled and Jax found that quite soothing. That and her steps and arms in his. Yet he wanted to know more about the doctor. He forced himself not to ask.

Jax cleared his throat. “You know I found this place because I follow water and night skies. But I always come back because of another dream I once had. You see,” He gave her a sideways glance, “I wanted to be an artist. A painter. I did.” He laughed and shook his head, “Now if you repeat that I will deny it all and tell tales of your drunken mistake.” He stopped laughed and got silent again as he guided her from the main path and onto the foot trail that wove through the cane and rose just a little. Should he have told her? Why did he?

He stopped right where the tall canes thinned and winked to her. “I present to you,” He swept the cane open to a pool of clear water that twinkled under the stars. It was small, only as wide as the Dusk Skate and not quite as long. But the clear water was filled with bright pink almost red flowers, lilies, that were open wide to the the light of the stars. “I saw your book, the one on your bed. I don’t know what these flowers are really. Their name. But..” He chuckled and moved from the path so she could explore. “My eyes don’t care the name. I call them Night Blooms.”

He stepped aside to let her get closer to the pond if she wanted. He glanced to the flowers and all their brilliant display but then turned and watched her, the one who bandaged his hand, has books, practical tactical, cold and distant, yet speak with a song that could melt sugar. What would she think of nighttime beauty?

~~~

She appreciated his silence, she relished it. She had worried that into the silence would fall dark thoughts, more brooding, more worrying, but somehow that didn’t happen. At first the city roared dimly around them and they had to watch where they were going, as drunken people jostled them and dangerous people eyed them. They were just one more pair of inebriates wandering the city as it tried to settle in for the night.

When was the last time she had allowed herself to be just that? Not since before her fall, not since… She cut off that darkness and returned to the silence that was the sleeping streets of the outskirts of the city as they moved towards the edges where nature was sneaking in. She wondered if she should be alarmed at being taken out of the city, but she was too busy relishing the relative silence of her mind while on the arm of this unsettling, chaotic man who somehow, inexplicably had set her at ease when she was ready to shatter.

The silence was restful and highlighted to her how much noise she had in her head, between plans and worries, memories, duties and idle thoughts, it was a miracle the even knew what silence was. Soon the silence of a sleepy town changed as they moved into the wild, on a narrow path that cut through a cane field. The wind danced, giving the plants voice as they shifted and joined in. Creatures moved through the night. They lived and died all around them. Nightbird-song, the cut off cry of some unfortunate rodent who would not take another breath, amphibians having a love affair with the moon gave voice to their devotion, competed with by the vigorous playing of insects all around them.

I read about this, she thought, but I never let myself live it.

When Jax spoke as they left the field she was more rested and more open than she had been in living memory, despite the long day and the battering her soul had taken. She regarded him with sweetly open eyes, the moonlight kind to her scar. She found herself smiling when he confessed to wanting to be an artist, an honest to god smile that changed her completely and showed the soft, dreamy girl she had once been.

“I draw too.” She said and then fell into silence as a scent filled the night. It washed over her like a dream and stole away any further words. Sweet and light, like a promise it filled her lungs and soothed her. Her fingers tightened on his arm in response and she followed him into the clearing around the pond. He offered it to her like a gift and she took it with proper gravity and respect as her eyes swept over its hidden loveliness.

Oh she knew the name of the flowers, the Latin syllables coming forth to her mind easily, plucked from amid hundreds of names. But it was a hollow thing that name. Simply something gleaned from a book and not understood, not lived. She didn’t live, she existed, she endured, she plotted but she didn’t live.

He did.

“Night Blooms” she said and that was their name, as simple as that.

“I think I would like to sit for a while,” she said as she settled down on the mossy ground at the base of a wide tree. He settled beside her without a word and she realized she was still smiling.

“Night Blooms.” She said again and felt that the scent of them must have some sort of gravity to it because it had pulled her down and now it tugged at her eyelids. She let it. What did she have at the ship? Books full of names that she had no right too, people she must bully to keep her place and a captain who looked at her with reproach. She could be strong and stiff in the morning, but now, she wanted to drown in the scent of Night Blooms and let Monsieur Jax be a presence beside her, pulling all the errant chaos away from her and into him.

“Merci,” she muttered sleepily as her head came to rest on his shoulder and everything but the scent of Night Blooms faded away.

[AmongHeroes]

A soft but persistent knock on his cabin door brought Captain Thomas Lightfoot to wakefulness. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the spears of dusty light that shone through the gaps in his drawn curtains. With an ease and swiftness that defied the throbbing in his head, Thomas pulled himself erect off of his cot, and walked upon bare feet to the door. As he passed the chair where he had hung his bandolier, Thomas withdrew a pistol, and locked back the flint.

“Who is it?” Thomas said, his voice dark and raspy from the dryness in his throat.

There was an almost imperceptible chuckle from the other side of the door, and a voice that spoke in soft Japanese. Though Thomas spoke little of the language of the Far East, he recognized the voice instantly. With a smile upon his face, Thomas carefully disarmed his pistol and opened the door.

There on the other side of the entrance was a short, wrinkled, and kindly looking Japanese man. The man’s dim eyes looked up to Thomas through a seemingly endless array of folded skin, with a smile drawing up the corners of his mouth like the bustled fabric of elaborate draperies. The man was dressed in traditional Japanese garb that was clean but obviously very old. His hair was gray-white, cut and shaved into a well-oiled top knot. Hanging over his thin shoulders was a large piece of cloth that was tied across his chest, and held what looked like a tall wooden box against his back.

The man’s smile broadened, and he bent at the waist to bow slightly to Thomas.

Immediately Thomas returned the man’s gesture, though he made certain that his bow took him much lower than his precursor’s.

“Goro-san,” Thomas said, “I’ll admit that I forgot you were coming this morning.”

The tiny man chuckled, and replied in heavily accented, but clear English. “I thought as much. Your father was no different.”

Goro shuffled past Thomas, his wooden shoes clicking softly upon the Skate’s decking.

“Though you shared no blood with him,” Goro said as he began to untie the knot in the fabric sling, “you are truly Lightfoot’s son. I know he would be drunk with pride if he could see you today.”

Thomas nodded and closed the door. Goro had taken the box from the sling now, and had set it upon the floor. It was a fine box, crafted of rich lacquered wood and protected with delicate brass filigree at the corners. With reverent and disciplined movements, Goro kneeled in front of the box, and began pulling out the thin drawers.

“Goro-san,” Thomas said, still using the moniker of respect for the ancient friend of his adopted father, “your words do my heart good. To be compared to such a man is no light compliment.”

This elicited another chuckle from Goro, and the man affixed Thomas with his inky gaze. “I never said anything about that being a compliment.” Goro beckoned Thomas over with a wave of a hand knobby with arthritis. “Let me take a look at the piece, and we can continue. I know you have much to do.”

Thomas sighed pleasantly at the old man, and shuffled his way over to where her knelt. He had slept without a shirt, and Thomas only had to slither his way onto his stomach for Goro to inspect his back. The decking was warm and a little sticky with pitch, but Thomas didn’t mind. In mere moments the sensation upon his chest and stomach would be forgotten anyway, as his senses would be overwhelmed with the pain stabbing into the skin of his back.

Goro ran his rough fingertips over the upper portion of Thomas’ back, all the while looking down his nose and occasionally adding a contemplative, “Hmm,” as he examined the skin.

“You have healed nicely since my last visit,” Goro said, now pressing lightly with his fingers. “I would say we can finish the piece in two more sessions.”

Thomas let out an exaggerated groan. “You just like stabbing me, don’t you Goro-san?”

The little man smiled. “It is long overdue revenge for all the gray hair your father gave me.”

“Fair enough,” Thomas laughed, “fair enough. Let’s get it over with then.”

Goro pulled out several vials of colored ink, a small bamboo board with shallow slats to divide it, and a long wooden shaft with an end sharpened like that of a quill.

“Tell me,” Goro said as he set his space like a painter preparing to begin his masterpiece, “has anyone seen my work yet?”

Thomas shrugged, “I am not certain. If the crew have seen it, none have mentioned it to me.”

“Ah, and what of the yūjo? Certainly some woman of pleasure has looked upon you?”

“Well,” Thomas laughed, “to be honest I have not kept the company of a woman, yūjo or otherwise, for some time.”

Goro looked down to him with genuine surprise. “Such self-repression is not healthy, Ritorufīto,” he said, referring to Thomas by his given Japanese name of ‘Little Foot.’ “Are you ill?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “No, Goro-san, it is nothing like that.” A smile crept onto Thomas’ face, and his eyes looked up to the old man from where he lay. “Let’s just say I have been leaning towards the path of the rogue as of late.”

Goro did not follow, and so he waved Thomas’ words away with a gnarled hand. “Quiet now, we have been wasting enough of the morning chatting like women. It is time to begin.”

Without further preamble, Goro rested a hand upon Thomas’ back, and slid the wooden shaft over his knuckles with a forceful jab. The sharpened end easily pierced the skin, leaving behind a speck of aquamarine ink.

Thomas winced, his body unprepared for the old man to begin so abruptly.

The rest of the morning past silently, with the only sound inside the cabin coming from the breathing of the two men, and the dull wet jab of the wooden dowel into Thomas’ flesh.

As he lay there, his head resting upon his hands, Thomas imagined the wooden needle lancing into him, each thrust of pain completing just a little more of the image forming upon his back. Months ago Goro had finished the outline for the piece; a large sea monster, ensconced in thrashing waves, with its tentacles wrapping artfully around the existing scars from Thomas’ real life encounter with the kraken. The image itself, along with the means in which it was applied, was done in the traditional Irezumi style. It was an art-form he had first seen displayed upon the elder Lightfoot, and Goro had stabbed every last bit of ink into the grizzled pirate himself.

For the longest time Thomas had only admired the elegant designs, never wanting to partake in the permanent decorating of his own body. In recent years however, he had changed his mind on the matter. Goro, a long-time friend and confidant of his father’s, was getting no younger, and a tattoo done by the old man’s skilled hands seemed like a most fitting tribute to the pirate that had given Thomas everything.

Several hours passed in this silent and contemplative manner, both men silently focusing upon the demands of their minds. When he was at last satisfied, Goro cleaned off Thomas’ back, and applied a salve to the tender, but now colorful, skin. With quiet efficiency, the old man cleaned and repacked his kit, and stowed the box once again in its sling upon his back. The two men bade each other a warm farewell, and Goro wound his way off of the Dusk Skate as quietly as he had come.

Since Thomas lacked a mirror, he simply pulled a linen shirt over his shoulders, taking great care to not rub the tender skin of his back. With bare feet he made his way out into the hot, now noon-day sun, and wound his way below to the galley area of the ship. He took a loaf of hard-bread, and a small cask or water in his arms and retraced his steps to his cabin, leaving the door open as he did.

Sitting back gingerly into a rough chair, Thomas ate his food, his feet crossed and resting upon a second chair, waiting for the arrival of the First Mate, or anyone else that required his attentions.

[Igraine]

The mid-morning sun was only beginning to assert its supremacy over the Jamaican day, though the more solid and honest denizens of Port Royal had long been awake and about their business at the first breath of sunrise.

Well, perhaps it would be better said the majority stirring were among the solid and honest of citizens.

A coy little twist of her lips was all the answer the woman had for the commander of men ahorse beside her small, hooded carriage, a tantalizing reply barely shrouded by the pale ivory veil of fine French lace. Her grey eyes never left his face, though her words were directed to the elderly man beside her on the carriage chaise. "What say you, mon chèr Oncle? Shall we join Robert tonight, at Fort Charles?"

The thick Parisian accent rolled off her tongue like undulating waves of silk, as smooth and inviting to the touch as the flawless, sun-kissed skin of her shoulders above the pale green satin of her dress bodice. Soft waves of ebony hair were plaited from her face, coiled neatly at the nape of her neck. Large curls hung in thick tendrils well past those same shoulders, bouncing gently with every pass of the chaise carriage wheels over the cobblestone roads of the bustling center of Port Royal.

"Hmm?" Sir Greene turned toward the voice of his great niece Antoinette, his attention pulled from the much-loved sounds and scents of a great port city by the only person who could still lovingly command his attentions. "Oh, this evening Antoinette? I'm afraid that might be an affair for a far younger crowd, my dearest. Your old uncle's legs simply would not be up for the exercise - though I look forward to your playing before tea time."

"You are no age at all, Oncle Nathaniel!" the young woman countered swiftly, shaking her head as she took her uncle's fingers in one evergreen silk-gloved hand, the palfrey's reins held loosely in the other.

"Then you must be nearly as blind as I, my dearest," Nathaniel teased right back, squeezing her hand affectionately in return. "No, no - if you wish to dance tonight? Commander Murray, I trust you will keep my niece safely ensconced on your arm, until she is delivered again to mine?"

The Commander's gaze traveled from the barely veiled, exotic face of the woman beside him, to Sir Greene - and then back once more with a soft smile. "Yes Sir, I certainly would - if the lady would agree, of course?"

Mademoiselle Antoinette Mireille Greene released her great uncle's hand, gloved fingers rising to her face to pull the veil of lace back over her forehead, silver-grey eyes studying the man's face for several long moments before she said a single word.

'How very like they are, in so many ways,' she could not help but think to herself as she regarded this stalwart military man sitting so straight in the saddle atop his bay stallion, his intelligent, thoughtful dark eyes regarding her with a small, sweetly hopeful question of a smile on his lips.

The natural child of Sir Greene's wayward nephew and a woman he'd fallen madly for in the East Indies, Antoinette was born in Paris, where the lewd French were notoriously tolerant of such dalliances. As a grown woman, the charming Antoinette was as foot loose and travel-besotted as her father had ever been, indulged by her wealthy English relations as she explored the mysteries of this shining New World. And how she did love her Great Uncle Nathaniel, with all his stories and memories, the rich treasures of a grand life lived fully and well.

'Honorable, each in his own way; brave to a fault; unfailingly loyal to their men, their duties - and yet, so very different. If Antoinette disappeared this very moment, a truer face beneath, there would be no chance to do a thing differently with this man. No, only the brig, perhaps the firing squad? No... No, with the company I keep now, it would doubtlessly be the crow's cage.'

Antoinette's smile widened as she nodded her head. "Merci, Robert," she replied before letting the ethereal veil fall back over her face. "I should like this very much. And all your men too, your... Your... Oh what is this word? Oh yes, your officers too, yes? This will be such fun! I have long wished to meet your friends, Robert."

[tirgesfu]

Jax watched her smile. The blooms of all those flowers floating in the moonlight faded against her sudden relaxed smile. And as if that wasn’t enough she leaned against and close her eyes. There was a softness in her face and the way her hair touched his neck, that made him hold his breath a few seconds. He pulled his arm around her and watched her fall asleep.

Then he cursed himself, the moon, and the smell of all those mocking flowers. What was he doing? How could he let this happen? He never thought she would just fall asleep in his arms. He never thought he would tumble into that smile so completely. Cold water tits! He let his eyes roll to the moon. How could his lady moon let this happen?

Men and women can not be friends. Jax knew this. Every guy would take that closeness and find his way under that skirt. Or, ok, pants, in this case pants. He was trying to be nice and look what happens. She falls asleep and he has to sit there touching her, smelling her, thinking about her. She sleeps. He suffers.

Didn’t he tell himself to stay away from the sea witches? Yet as soon as he sat beside her in that Inn something smacked his silly head with ideas of being friendly, nice, kind. What was he thinking! He wanted her to see the flowers. He really did. He was looking forward to seeing her face. He really was. Jax just had no idea her smile would stir him and twist everything all around. He didn’t know the feel of her beside him, all soft and relaxed, would stiffen him up so painfully hard he was sure he would never sleep. He knew he would remember the simple feel of her even back in his hammock on the ship. He would be there with a book in his hands and he would think of her.

Damn! How did he let this happen?

Well he could just jump up and run. He could leave her here. She was a big independent bad ass sea witch after all. Practical tactical. She would shrug him off and find her way home just fine. No doubt about that.

But Jax realized he didn’t want to leave her. No, he wanted to hold her and suffer, dumb ass that he was turning into. Yes, this was his lesson. He would pretend he slept. Pretend there was nothing to this night beside this confusing, pant wearing commander whom he should not even be with. Simple, dimple, nothing doing, just a night sitting by the Night Blooms. Sure, sure, how did he let this happen?

And when the sun finally did chase the night away Jax didn’t stir at all. He listened to the birds and watched the night blooms close their scented petals. He didn't lean over and kiss the top of her hair. He didn’t stare at her rough fingers or the stretch of her legs. Well, he did, but not as much as he wanted. No, no, Jax fought his urges for one of the first times of his life. And damn it, he didn't like it at all!

As she stirred he found himself hoping she would smile again. Please smile again. But then maybe she shouldn’t. Either way when her eyes fluttered open he tilted his head and smiled to her.

“I have to piss.” He lifted his arm, sure she would find him disgusting all over again. That might make it easier. But, damn, Jax knew it wouldn’t. Instead of just pushing her off he gently unwrapped his arm.

As he stood and walked into the sugar cane, he called back to her, as if now that he wasn’t beside her, now that he couldn’t see her, now he could be the fool she expected, “You were great!" He shouted back as he leaned into this stream. "Not that you remember.But then again, neither do I.”

[Lillian Thorne]

She did smile upon waking or rather the soft smile that had been on her lips when she fell asleep and had inexplicably never left them, grew as the sun warmed the sky to the east. When the kiss of its light was too much on her eyelids they fluttered and she woke. She opened her eyes to a smile that was as unsettling as it was welcome. White teeth in a broad smile all contained in a sun-kissed face she found strangely interesting. It was a face she wanted to study with eyes and fingers, tracing laugh lines and scars alike. Her fingers twitched to do so but she held them back. This was new, what had passed. He had gotten her to relax, something she never allowed herself. He had made her smile, she had enjoyed his company. He had disarmed her. She wasn’t certain what it was or why it was but it left her feeling warm and less unsettled. Her eyes, slow to wake said as much in a slow, languid blink. That is until he opened his mouth to do other than simply smile.

The words that came made her smile falter but not vanish. She was a sailor, a pirate. If she were a wilting flower she would not be where she was. As it was she routinely witnessed men pissing off the sides of the ship, pausing in their duty to take care of bodily needs. It wasn’t her favorite part of the job by any means but she endured and accepted that aspect of things. They weren’t pissing on the deck at least.

What had her confused was the fading dreams overlaying the reality of waking up. She couldn’t recall her dream fully, the only ones she could ever recall were ones she wished with all her might that she could forget. Those ones came in painful detail. This one was something else. She knew little but that it had been pleasant, warm and fun and it had featured such a smile as she’d woken up too. She woke open and hopeful, treacherous, hazardous emotions. So to hear those words upon waking threw her. Without a word in reply she watched him walk away with that same faltered smile on her face as she tried to catch up to the moment.

Uncertain, she stood, brushing back hair that had fallen over her forehead. She stretched her lush body and then with eyes skimming over the now closed buds of the Night Blooms she began to un-pin her hair to hide the damage a night outside had done to her coiffeur. She froze when she heard his latest offering of words from deep within the sugarcane. The softness she’d gained from a night of sweet dreams and a sense of strange safety in the arms of someone who might have become a friend vanished in an instant. She stood like a stature, hands deep in her blonde locks as she took in his words and measured them against her own reality.

Fool.

Idiot

Whore.

The lingering smile died an instant death, her face smoothing over into her customary cold mask. Like the frost that creeps over a field in late autumn so coldness crept over her. Not even the warm Caribbean sun could melt that crust of ice. She cast one look back at the Night Blooms, no, she cast one last look at the Nymphaea Antares before turning and walking briskly up the path without another word.

She was a fool.

[tirgesfu]

Jax watched his stream finally dribble out, shook and looked up. He saw her back as she stomped away. “I was teasing,” He called but not with the force he should have. His shoulders sank down to his feet. She had given him the smile he dreamed about all night. He had that. For a second. For a few minutes. She could parade away in complete disastifaction of him and yet he still had that. He knew he made her smile.

Of course he made her plod away in anger. She had that for him too. Jax stood and watched her military stiff cold walk through the swaying cane. He almost regretted his jest. He should have known she would not take it lightly. Or maybe he did know. Maybe he needed her rejection to set his mixed up dumb ass head back on right. What was he thinking?

Still, as he watched her, even her tight assed, stuck up tromp, he found regret. He closed his eyes and saw her smile. He felt her lean because he had stay awake all night making sure he would remember it. He looked to the Night Blooms, closed now just like her, and realized they would always be something different now. Would they ever open for him the same way?

Oh well, time to ride the tide and let be. Slowly Jax left the pond , the flowers, and the sound of the wind blown cane. He kept the memory of Nicolette Beauchamp. He repeated her name silently in his head and saw her smile.

He followed way behind her, not even beginning to match her quick purposeful gait. It wasn’t until he was out on the main path, all the way to the edge of town that he brought out the book, her book, and began to flip open the cover.

He looked at the first few pages and knew he would like this very much. Tried, distracted, still feeling the warmth of her smile and the sting of her back, Jax was not paying attention to anything around him. Why should he? He had a book and a memory. That would have to hold him for awhile. And it could. Hopefully they would be off on the seas soon enough that his time would be taken by his love the ship.

Jax didn’t hear the horse or even the wheels. He might have been walking alongside the road and wandered right into the center. He didn’t know. He wasn’t watching. Was he so absorbed in the words or the image of that smile? No, it must just be lack of sleep. Not until he felt the bump of something hard that knocked him off his feet did he look up. He raised the book high as he fell making sure none of the mud of the road touched the book. Shit! What if he damaged the book? With it high above his head Jax fell ass to the dirt. He sat in the middle of the road.