An Officer amongst Outlaws

[Arienne Kelver]

No one seemed to notice another ship sail into the port of Tortuga. Most outside were too drunk to notice, and the others were in the tavern, most likely getting drunk, or drunker. The ship bore the colours of the British Navy, dangerous colours to fly when one is entering a world-famous pirate port. However, perhaps the Officers on board hadn’t considered this, or were counting on that fact that the pirate’s would be too drunk to notice, or perhaps even just blindly following orders. Either way, they were here. The ship, proudly bearing the name ‘Poseidon’, was much smaller than the fleet’s flagship, the ‘Endeavor’. Still, what it lacked in size it made up in speed, almost, anyway. It was a tough little ship, one that looked like life had not been treating it kindly.

The reason the ship was here, the reason that the crew was told, anyway, was to re-supply as quickly as possible and be on their way. The Captain had attempted to convince them that they couldn’t wait out the extra two/three weeks trip back to Port Royal, but Seaman Kelver was beginning to question this. She was suspicious; suspicious that this wasn’t the only reason, but that there was something being kept from them.

All the same, Arienne would be happy when they returned to Port Royal, where she, and three others of the ship’s crew could go back to their previous assignments of the ‘Endeavor’. It did seem strange that they were pulled off their duty just for a routine mission such as this. But it wasn’t her place to question her orders, even if she felt tempted at times.

It was quickly decided that the majority of the small crew would stay here, securing the ship, while the Captain, and two others officers would go around the re-supplying. The last order, however, surprised the young woman. Captain Tobias had decided that his men had had enough time on the sea, and needed a half on land, even if it was a pirate port. What would the harm be? They weren’t drunk, and wouldn’t be anytime soon, as the code of the British Navy prevented being drunk on duty. But one drink wouldn’t hurt, as the drink told them. Loosen some nerves. In groups of four, they’d be safe, especially since if the came under any hostile threat, they had permission to use lethal force. Some of the men were too eager to do just that, kill a pirate. The Officer hanging towards the back wasn’t. ‘He’ was more than happy to stay here, the loud, lantern lit port making an anxious feeling set in the pit of her stomach. Something just didn’t feel right, and she felt that the sooner they were done with their business here and left, the better. “You will go in shift, each shift of four, to report back here in…”The Captain checked his watch,” An hour and a half. No longer. Southgate, Ramsey, Fairchild, and Kelver will take first shift. The rest of you are on guard duty….” He went on to say something else, but Arienne wasn’t listening, all she could feel was settling dread. A lot of dread.

“What ‘ya waiting for, Kelver? You scared or something?” Fairchild jeered, shaking Arienne from her thoughts. Making sure she used the deepest voice possible, the Officer shook her head, before replying, “No sir.” Even with her best effort, the words came out shakily, even if it was only slight, the others were sure to pick up on it, and they’d never let her hear the end of it. There went whatever respect she had learnt over the past few months.

“Well, come on then.” Another prompted. Following the other four, glancing around her anxiously as they made their way towards the central building, and the most crowded one, the pub. ‘Great, enter the building full of drunken pirates. Great plan.’ She thought sarcastically, but made no protest, knowing that it’d just bring more questions. So, three of the four waded through the crowd towards a table at the back, leaving 'Mister' Kelver to order. "Ah, four rums." She ordered, remembering what the other officers had told her. Soon they came, four mugs full of some dark, suspicious-looking liquid. A few moments later the woman was sitting next to her college, all of which had grabbed the mugs she offered eagerly, downing the contents, while Arienne was holding her mug gingerly, starring down at the dark liquid. What she wouldn't give for fresh water.

This young woman had never been in a bar before, especially not one full of pirates. And this meant she had never drank alcahol before, not something she was going to admit to the others with her. "Something wrong with 'yer drink, Elliot?" Ramsey questioned in an almost jeering way, causing an almost immediate shake of the head.

As if to back up her claim, she lifted the mug slowly to her lips, and took a small swig, swallowing quickly as the rum burned her throat. It was the most revolting substance she had ever tasted, but instead of saying this like she would've liked, the Seaman plastered a semi-smile on her face, attempting to pretend it was the loveliest thing in the universe. So while the others enjoyed their time on land, she was constantly counting down the time, longing to return to the ship in dock, and away from this vile drink called rum.

[/size]

[James Norrington]

(( We'll just assume this is sometime between Norry arriving in Tortuga, and leaving with the Pearl.

How's that for logic? -ish amazingly logical- xDDD ))

Death indeed had a curious way of rearranging one's views on life. The value of life, for example, was a thing Norrington had always held with reverence. He had realized that while he was loathe to kill without a strong reason, sometimes, it was necessary. For example, upon hanging a convicted murderer, you were not only dealing out retribution for their transgressions, but in essence, rescuing the innocents who would be selected for their next attacks. James's views, really, hadn't changed much, to be truthful.

He still believed in the value of life, but now, having experienced 'death', Norrington decided that he understood more importantly the value of self-preservation. If it came toe-to-toe, between him, and a person he truly cared about or respected, Norrington would still chose them over himself... it was just who he was, and the way he was brought up. But,when it came down to pirates, or anyone making an attempt on his life, or the lives of his friends, James never once hesitated, as hesitation meant death. Such was the case now.

Fencing was really nothing more than dancing with death. Swords, and those who wielded them, were its messengers. One misstep, one slight hesitation in making your move, and you were run through. Missteps were not something James Norrington made often, he was living proof of that fact. He was not one to brag in his own achievements ( well, often ), but deep down, he knew that he had to be near the top of the swordsmanship hierarchy. It wasn't often he came across someone who could rival him with a blade, and as the men before his blade fell like wheat to the harvester, Norrington was pretty sure he wasn't going to find someone like that today.

Steel rang upon steel with deafening clangs as James weaved and bobbed through the gang, who had tried to jump him only moments before. Four already lay on the ground, one with non-life threatening injuries to the limbs, and three knocked out cold with the butt of his sword. Weaving and bobbing past the others's searching blades, James Norrington felt perfectly at ease with everything around him. He worked mechanically, instinctively blocking and attacking when the way was clear. There always seemed to be a clear way, when one was as good as James was.

Almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. Brushing his hair from his face, and tying it back with a plain chord, Norrington bent down and gently wiped his sword on the stained brown jacket of a still moaning man. This one would be blind now, probably for life, hit in the eyes by the recoil of his own sword. Slightly saddened by the man's fate, Norrington pressed a small coin into his palm, then left promptly. Things like this happened in Tortuga all the time... but usually the robbers came out the victors, not the prey. They had underestimated him. James was still in full possession of his purse.

Sheathing his rather ornate, incredibly well made sword, James stalked down the dark streets of Tortuga, and entered a large pub not too far away. Checking himself for blood, and finding nothing that could be classified as evidence for his run-in with the blackguards he had readily dispatched, he entered, blending into the atmosphere of chaos. Slapping a coin onto the counter, Norrington ordered a large bowl of stew, a half-loaf of bread, and a bottle of rum to wash it down with. He usually would have prefered water with dinner, but he had learned from experience, that in a place like Tortuga... it was much safer to get alcohol.

Slipping into the chair of his customary table by the back wall, James observed the goings on of the pub, feeling quite familiar with the scenario. That is, until, a group of British Navy men arrived. Hurriedly, James peeled his Admiral’s coat off, fumbling with the buttons, which bound it to his torso. He wasn’t exactly keen on being recognized by the Navy at present… considering he had been given a memorial service in Port Royal and all that. So, setting his boots up on the empty chair next to him, James leaned back into the shadows, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as he gnawed on the crusty bread that was his dinner.

[Jack Sparrow]

<sup>Calloused fingers landed lightly on the smooth wood that made up the larger ring that encircled the rest - "the rest" here meaning the rest of that fascinating map that probably leads to anywhere anyone would ever want to go.

A good deal, Jack thought, at first glance.

He himself had given the deal countless glances, looks, intense stares for long periods of time, even. He had come to the conclusion that the deal was not, in comparison to normal deals, good, but in comparison to deals struck with squid-faced people who really aren't people at all, quite fair, really, if you were going by the live-or-die scale. For instance, normal deals don't threaten any lives at all (for a moment, Jack wondered vaguely whether he had ever struck a normal deal in his life), whereas deals with squid-faced not-people usually want your life, or someone else's life, or multiple lives at once.

Or maybe the reason the deal Jack Sparrow was faced with now fell in between the two different breeds of deals he had heard of before was because the deal concerning the Fountain of Youth, the map, his ship, his dinghy, Barbossa, and his compass was not a deal at all.

Not a real deal, at the very least. The real deal but not technically a you-give-me-this-I'll-give-you-that deal. Hm. Yes. That could be it. Something immaterial that one must deal with and yet, is not a deal.

Who knows? Jack mused offhandedly. English is a strange language.

He definitely didn't. Know, that is. He was possibly drunk, but he didn't know that either, and he was barely paying attention to his conversation with himself and doubted the conclusion would be any different from the previous conclusions he had come up with. It boiled down to something like this: Barbossa had the Black Pearl, Jack had a dinghy that could not catch said Black Pearl, but he also had a very useful map with very cryptic directions that led to the Fountain of Youth and a very useful compass that either pointed to his ship or the Fountain of Youth. Jack planned first to get a fast ship, then dutifully follow his compass's needle to wherever it pointed, and in doing so find the Fountain and the Pearl, not necessarily in that order.

An excellent plan.

The only issue was how to make it unfold. How to solve the map's cryptic instructions, and how to figure out when they needed to be followed. How to find out where the compass was pointing to (and it might have been more than one place, too, which in that case would be really annoying). How to take the Pearl.

Then again, Jack's plans always had holes. Those times, though, he had known he would find a way to fill them. This time, he wasn't so sure, and Jack Sparrow did not like to be unsure. It seemed to be a repeating pattern in his life that whenever he was unsure, something happened that he had been hoping wasn't going to.

Which was never a good thing for anybody.

"At least we're not cuttlefish," Jack stated mildly, deciding to be optimistic by ignoring the less pleasant segments of a situation, which was the equivalent of shutting your eyes and pretending it's all a bad dream. It seemed like a perfectly normal thing to say at the time, but a few moments later, it struck him as odd. He frowned, concentrating, slightly surprised. Was it odd or was it not?

Yes, it was.

Glad that he was sure of something, even if it involved cuttlefish, Jack realized that there was a bottle of rum on his table. A good surprise. He picked up the bottle and took a swig.

Perhaps he would procrastinate a little longer in Tortuga, where there was a reliable source of rum. It was easier.

As he set the bottle back down, he caught a flash of something familiar in the corner of his eye. Naturally, for Jack, everything in Tortuga was familiar, but this, he had seen somewhere else - never in Tortuga. Glancing up again, he narrowed his eyes and watched for a moment.

Uniforms.

Jack leaned back, carefully rolling the map up into a scroll and tucking it inside is coat. He moved his head sideways so he was watching them suspiciously out of one eye.

The Navy in Tortuga. Huh. Strange.</sup>

[Abram Tannar]

James Norrington wasn't the only man who had cause to worry when four navymen bobbed in through the door of the Faithful Bride. Unlike Norrington, however, Abram Tannar did not see them at first; he was seated at the bar, his back to the entrance, features drawn in sullen lines as he mulled profits over a half-drank pint of rum.

Although less conspicuous than the former Admiral's coat and more poorly kept, the faded blue of Abram's coat and the faint picks of gold thread might snag the smuggler very unwanted attention. It may well have been a year since the Navy declared him a traitor and a pirate, but it only took one of them to jump to the right conclusion to ensure that he would be swinging from his neck at the nearest noose. In a place like Tortuga, Abram had begun to let his guard down––sure, there was a hefty bounty on his head, but most Tortugans were too drunk to notice or care.

Tilting his head back and taking a swift draught from his mug, he caught the crisp dress and poise of the young 'man' who had vaulted onto the barstool beside him. Halfway into his swig, he realized that his companion and the men with him were navymen. Out of disbelief, he choked on his drink and slammed the pint onto the counter with more force than he intended. Sputtering and cussing under his breath, he felt his gut coil furiously. For someone whose best interest was to go unnoticed, he had unintentionally drawn attention to himself.

(bah. crappy.)

[indianna]

For most it would seem, Norrington, Abram, etc. that the feeling of worry was etched in as the unofficial feeling hanging in the air. However, something else mixed in with the nerves, creating a spicy and uneasy tension that you could cut with a knife. This other feeling that added such a splendid spice was hatred. And the full force of it came from a clean cloak sitting on a barstool, along with a falcon on the figure's shoulder.

Indy knew that something was amiss when she felt a tightening in the normally loose and drunken atmosphere. Someone was not as drunk as was acceptable on Tortuga, and more than someone, a whole group of someones. This was strange indeed. Seeing the crisp uniforms of the British soldiers in the reflection of her empty mug (she didn't have anything in it to begin with, dumping the disgusting drink onto the ground as soon as it had been recieved) made her grip on the metal handle tighten, and her tanned knuckles lost a little color.

She clenched her teeth as the soldiers drew nearer, seperating in this den of eniquity. Each one of them had a very different aura that she followed closely, like flies on a windowpane. When they swarm together, there's no telling them apart, but when they divide you can examine each individually. She did not examine with her eyes at all, but merely felt their prescence around her, a prescence she had grown to despise.

Looking for an excuse to stay at her barstool, she ordered another mug of rum, which she feigned drinking a few moments later. What were these British soldiers doing on Tortuga? How the hell far must she travel to gain refuge from their prying eyes and hands. They destroyed everything in their path in order to gain conquest.

Stopped in her thoughts as Unole left her shoulder, she looked around to see where he had gone. He had fluttered onto the table, surveying with interest the characters seated beside Indy. One seemed to be of dishonest nature, but the sudden percussion of his mug on the table was what spurred Unole's sudden reaction. The second, on the other side of the mug's owner, was also dishonest, concealing her identity but not the edgy feeling that seemed to resonate form her body.

[skyler]

It was cold. It was raining. And the last place Skyler Parsons wanted to be was on Tortuga. She could have dealt with a few more weeks at sea, even if that meant making camp on a godforsaken rock. This place was worse than a godforsaken rock. It was a godforsaken rock filled with drunken scalawags and misfits. Skyler was an adventurous lass, but not this adventurous. There's adventure, and then there's anarchy. This was definitely anarchy.

"Why. Why here? Why, of all places in the entire damned sea, did we have to land on Tortuga?" Skyler asked herself, making sure to leave Denali on the ship before taking her first, tentative steps off the drawboard. "It couldn't have been the Island of the Butterflies. No, it had to be the Island of the Drunken pirates. Navymen hate pirates, so why'd they come here? They're gonna get us all killed."

She didn't really know why she was complaining. A little, nasty voice in her head said: Well if you're so upset about it, why don't you stay on the bloody ship?" She dismissed it, irritated at her own good judgement. Couldn't a girl just complain to herself a little without having to be reasoned with?

"Blimey!" she crowed as an intoxicated man ran directly into her, nearly knocking her over.

"Sorry poppet!" he hissed, beaming with teeth like a chocolate chip cookie. She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to come closer.

Apparently the evil female glare had worked its magic, for he left to drink and spill more rum on himself. As she followed the soldiers into some sort of bar, she was nearly blasted backward by the stench of alcohol. It was probably soaked into the wood of every single piece of "furniture" in the place. She didn't quite know what to do with herself now, as all of the soldiers had dispersed, disappearing into the rowdy crowd. Something told her that she'd be treating many many stomachaches the next day.

"Oh this is pointless. I'll just sit and wait." she sighed, collapsing on a barstool exhaustedly.

"Care for a drink, miss?" the ruddy barman asked her.

"Do you have water?"

He burst out laughing and walked away, not even bothering to reply. Skyler scoffed under her breath.

"Filthy pirates."

Edit by Wicked:

After staring wistfully at the bar counter for a few minutes, a jacket caught her eye. Less the jacket, than the person in it really. But the jacket led her to the face. The face that she remembered as being wanted. Not as wanted as Jack Sparrow, per say, but very wanted indeed.

"You!" she burst out suddenly. "You... your name escapes me but I know who you are!"

She was surprised at her own daring, and looked around to see if anyone had heard her, half hoping they had. How could this criminal be in a room filled with navymen and not be seen. Ridiculous!

"Don't move. If I have to apprehend you myself, I will." she said, halfheartedly. Really, she just wanted an excuse to get out of this damn bar. Even if it meant going on a wild goose chase to prove that she wasn't just a nurse in a silly little dress.

Eventually this altercation would have to bring a skilled soldier, not just a nurse with a few swordsmanship tricks up her sleeve.

(DO NOT DOUBLE POST!)

[indianna]

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Indy mused, looking up from her empty mug. She eyed the trouble brewing with a spark in her eyes. "A little fight breaking out I suppose."

She had been in this room too long. It was starting to do funny things to her head. Not really, she was just overtired and not too into being the cool and composed young lady she usually was. For once she was actually interested in this little outbreak. What would it lead to? If anything, she would most definitely follow, out of sheer curiosity.

[Jack Sparrow]

<sup>Still watching the uniforms as they dispersed around the bar (though mostly in tight little groups for fear of being attacked by a drunk person who didn't like the Navy - perhaps a good idea, actually, he credited), Jack lifted the bottle of rum to his mouth again.

Except there was no more rum.

What? Jack peered into the bottle. Nothing. Dry as rock. How could the rum be gone already? He could only have been here for, well...

"Time passes when you're having fun," he muttered to the table, placing both hands on the table and propelling himself out of his chair. Jack swaggered to the counter, navigating tipsily around people, Navy soldiers and the regular crowd both. He seated himself on top of a stool, facing sideways from the counter, and brought his empty bottle down on it with a dull thump, saying "A refill, if you'd be so kind."

The barman nodded and swiped the bottle off the counter. Jack put his hands together in thanks, then rested an elbow on the counter. As he unconcernedly examined the filthy nails on his right hand, he heard a woman's voice not far off. Of course, there were many women in the bar, but it was not the fact that it was a woman's voice more then what she was saying.

Don't move. If I have to apprehend you myself, I will.

He smirked. It wasn't very convincing. He was willing to bet that the man she was talking to would even bat an eyelid. There were very few men in Tortuga that had any respect for woman in general. Jack.. Jack pretended not to respect women, though he actually viewed them as strange and unpredictable creatures, not to be trusted to be honest or dishonestly. Around them, a man should tread lightly, or feel the wrath that was a female's anger.

Not that Jack necessarily heeded his own advice.

"Not too confident, eh, love?"</sup>

[Arienne Kelver]

((Brilliant logic, Sox…))

The youngest of the British soldiers was quite oblivious to the on goings around her. Although the occasional glance over one’s shoulder was called for in a place such as this, any more than that would have drawn unwanted attention to her. The attention of the thieves and murders around that adopted the name ‘pirate’ and the attention of the three other officers, all dressed in uniforms such as these, soldiers that called her ‘Elliot’ without so much as a second thought.

Forcing down the last few sips of rum, Arienne set down the mug, glad to be for the moment, out of the gaze of her fellow navy men, all too occupied by some topic of conversation that seemed to have them enthralled. That is, she was unnoticed until one of her fellow colleagues, a rather stout man named Robert Fairchild, decided that it was time for another round of rum. Another round couldn’t hurt; well that was their logic anyway. The logic of three men that had not seem a drop of anything that could pass for alcohol in donkey’s years.

“Well, Mister Kelver, kindly get us another round, if you will.” One of them spoke up, the others agreeing heartedly, as ‘Mister’ Kelver could not very well refuse. As the least experience officer, and the younger one among them, ‘he’ was below them in both rank and status, and in most minds, this meant that the officer should do their bidding, something that Arienne would not go against, for fear of bring their wrath down upon her. Wizened officers, such as Southgate and Ramsey, carried a lot more wait, and weren’t hesitant to make this fact known. So without the hesitation she would have gladly like to show, the uniform-clad seaman rose from her seat, and slowly made her way her way through the drunken crowd and towards the source of their drunkenness, the bar. Trying not to let her nervousness know, the woman pretending to be a man ordered another round of rum, standing impatiently in one of the only available standing spaces, the rest taken up by people, mostly men, and pirates, gorging themselves on alcoholic beverages of all sorts, the post popular being rum. The order of drinks did not arrive soon-enough for Arienne’s liking, as she carefully balanced the four mugs, ordering one for herself, as any navy man would do, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she found the drink foul and putrid.

It seemed, however, that the mugs were rather too full, as they were awkwardly balanced, the dark liquid splashing and sloshing over the sides, as she carefully attempted to make her way back towards the table her three colleagues had occupied. Not careful enough, it seemed. For as she took great measures to watch her feet, as not to trip, she did not watch for other people, therefore making a grave mistake.
Before she knew what had hit her, the woman, and the mugs of rum, went hit the deck. It seemed that she had bumped into someone, causing her to fall backwards, hitting the floor with a loud ‘thump’, while the drinks had gone in a totally opposite direction, raining down on the man she had run into, someone that she did not recognize as she glanced up at him, attempting to scramble to her feet. However, she should have. The whole British Navy should have, as this was one of the world’s most wanted pirates, a Jack Sparrow, a Captain, mind you. Not knowing what she had exactly gotten herself into with her clumsiness, the girl attempted to apologize and keep up the manly façade, all the while wishing with all her heart that she hadn’t just made the mistake of her life, or one that would end it.
[/size]

[skyler]

Jumping at the new voice behind them, Skyler turned around and took a step back. Her eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and she inadvertently knocked over Indy's mug of rum. Pretty much forgetting to apologize, she stammered out a reply, while thinking to herself: Why, of all people, did I have to think "Bleh bleh Jack Sparrow." about, when I should've known the person in question would magically pop out of nowhere?"

"Ah. Um- Jack Sparrow." Skyler managed.

Luckily, just as she started her sentence, some British soldier person went collapsing into a tray of rum, which spilled all over the captain. This should have been a good enough distraction. Completely forcing her courage into her throat, she seized a mug of rum off the counter and took a large gulp. Her throat seized up and her stomach writhed with digust, but she was filled with that adrenaline she had been looking for.

Without missing a beat after swallowing the rum, Skyler drew the cutlass concealed beneath the skirt of her dress. It took her a fifth of a second to figure out who's throat it was going under, but eventually she picked Abram. Although she had experience in swordfighting, she did not want to cross plades with Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Steady as she goes." Skyler thought to herself.

Now that she had gotten comfortable in this wasteland of Tortuga, her real personality was coming out. The adventurous, daring and slightly reckless young adult she really was leapt through her veins, pushing out the nervous mouse that she had been when she had originally stepped on this island.

Her mouth curved into a wicked smirk and she licked the remaining rum from the edges of her bottom lip. Pressing the point of the sword uncomfortably into Abram's Adam's apple she repeated herself.

"I will apprehend you myself." she breathed threateningly. "And this time I mean it."

[Jack Sparrow]

<sup>Jack's eyebrows contracted, slightly offended at the lass's response.

"Actually - " he began, about to launch a lecture on the word "captain" and how it should be used, and that in fact she had neglected to use it at an appropriate time, and how very lucky she was that he was a pirate as opposed to being with the Navy, because Navy officials can get worked up over the tiniest thing, and neglection to address a captain as such is definitely not a tiny thing and she would probably get ten lashes - if he were a Navy captain.

Jack did not get a chance to teach Skyler Parsons an important life lesson, because it started raining rum.

Rain wasn't the right word. It was a downpour, literally a waterfall of rum. Jack started in surprise as it hit him, his eyes finding the person who had caused this glorious event. The person was wearing a uniform. He watched "him" for a moment before taking off his hat and examining it carefully. No damage done. He brought the rim to his mouth and slowly ran his tongue along it. Not bad. He glanced back to the Navy person, who was apologizing.

Apologizing? Rum could set amazing things in motion, as was just demonstrated, but it would never cease to amaze Jack. A Navy soldier apologizing to Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean. If only they did that all the time.

Well, perhaps not, Jack reflected, staring as the soldier babbled on. Being thoroughly disturbed once is enough.

"No problem, mate," he assured the soldier, jamming the hat back on his head. "And take it from the expert, rum is infinitely better than squid saliva."</sup>

[Abram Tannar]

Sent forward with a whomp! by his neighbour to the left, Abram's hacking fit ceased within moments of starting. Flashing the man a grin, he was grateful to find that the four navymen to his right hadn't paid him any mind at all. Lifting his finger to catch the barkeep's eye and fishing a pence from his pocket, he gladly ordered himself a refill on his rum.

The drink was just being passed to him when his short spurt of relief was interrupted. There occurred a very accusing, and very loud, "You!" just behind him. Lacing his work-blackened fingers around his mug, he leaned back with a sigh, his eyes rolling desparingly up at the ceiling when the voice behind him made a wavery threat. It wasn't just a voice, it was a woman.

Like Jack, Abram harboured an inherent distrust for women and would not allow them onboard the Mutineer for a variety of reasons––the majority of which were personal. Yet unlike Jack, Abram had also grown up in a world where threats made by women were petty and limited: which was why the feminine voice behind him struck a very skeptical chord inside of him. The sailor knew that on Tortuga, there were a few mistress pirates, but he hardly expected to be singled out by any of them because he stayed out of their way.

So, effecting a momentarily perplexed look, then rolling his shoulders comfortably, he decided to ignore the woman at his back. She didn't sound serious anyway, and perhaps if he didn't seem shaken by her accusation, she would believe herself mistaken and bug off.

That is, until there was a loud crash and a good slosh from behind, that caused him to turn his head. Perhaps he was right not to jump at her threat, it may have been intended for someone else––and that's how it seemed when he first spied a woman whip out a cutlass in front of an eccentric-looking pirate soaked in rum.

Only, that cutlass turned toward him with a menacing glint. Abram winced as the tip of it pricked the skin at his throat, but aside from that small sign of discomfort, his features were cast in a level glower at his antagonizer. At her words, he lifted a slightly disbelieving brow, leaned back against the bar counter and gave her cutlass a forceful smack with his mug. With that out of the way, he clambered onto the barcounter and took a defensive stance. Of the two weapons he had on hand, he opted to reach within the breast of his tattered coat and withdraw his flintlock from his baldric.

"And for what cause do I need apprehending, missy?" he questioned her with raised brows, thumb unlocking the pistol with an audible click.
[/color][/font]

[Arienne Kelver]

The fact that this pirate had taken so kindly to being soaked with rum surprised the young officer greatly. More than happy to leave while she was ahead, and still had her head, the woman turned to leave, to run back to blanket of safety that her fellow soldiers provided. However, then seemed that a situation had arisen, one that demanded the immediate brandishing of her own cutlass. Another woman, as weird as it seemed to see a woman in this place, one not appear to provide questionable services, nor have employment here, had drawn her sword against a man standing only a few paces away, a man now holding a loaded and primed pistol. If this had been under any other circumstances, she would have paid no heed to this, pretending like it had not happened, or headed straight for the door, but now she felt like she was too far in to back out. The woman, she realized, was wearing a uniform that was quite similar to her own, but was probably that of a nurse, and women were not allowed to be soldiers. Women that were not posing as their brothers, she corrected herself.

She feared that she had been mistaken as a comrade of this other, and did not want to suffer a bullet from the pistol pointed in the other woman’s direction.


Although the rum-soaked pirate seemed amicable enough, a strange word when used in context with a pirate, the one whose hand firmly gripped the pistol did not. And now, here, as he was threatening one that looked like one of her kind, Arienne could not help but draw her own weapon, either in the defense of herself, or the other. If this were not reason enough, this man, the one doing the threatening, seemed familiar, in the sense that she had probably seen his face on a wanted poster. The word smuggler came to mind when she looked at his face, probably the result of some tidbit of information stored in the back of her mind.


Glancing over her should for a microsecond; her eyes desperately sought the table at which her colleagues sat, too observed in their conversation to yet noticed the lack of rum, or the situation that was brewing. They would be no help if anything more were to happen, she knew. Not unless someone was to walk over there, and inform them personally of the goings on. A small smile crept onto her lips at this thought, quickly to be banished again. “Is there a problem here?” She asked, forcing the words out in the calmest voice she could muster at that time. The answer she was hoping, praying for, was a simple ‘no’, but she knew that it was bound to be the opposite, before she even heard them speak it from their lips, and even before the two considered or heard the question. ‘Yes’.
[/size]

[skyler]

Skyler had a pistol. However, on a more negative note, she had a pistol that she scarcely had any idea to use, and she much preferred the company of her sword. However, if it came down to pistol against cutlass, with Skyler having a good idea of who would win (it would not be her), she would just have to see what worked.


"I'd think that someone as saucy as yourself wouldn't need the question answered for him. You're charged of pillaging, plundering, piracy, and smuggling, all crimes against the crown of King James of England." she replied, without skipping a beat. Her sword was still up with her fingers forming an iron grip around it, but she always kept one eye on that cocked pistol.


What would she do if he did decide to shoot? She obviously couldn't swordfight him. You never brought a sword to a gunfight. Basic logic, really. But then there was this new British soldier behind her who had spilled the rum on Captain Jack, inquiring of the situation.


"Oh no, of course not." she replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing her voice. "At least there won't be if you give me three more seconds."


Did she doubt herself, or did she not? She felt strangely bold. This rum, it was like a magic potion. A vile tasting magic potion that reeked of soot and poo ((OoC: Anyone seen Salad Fingers? XD )), but a magic potion nonetheless. Well, as far as metaphorical magic potions go, but now she was just ranting in her head, trying to blame therum for her newfound recklessness.... er, courage.

[indianna]

If Indy planned on speaking up, now was her time. Practically slamming the empty mug down on the table, she spoke in a voice much, much louder than what she would usually adress a stranger- or in this case, several strangers- in.


"Bloody hell, if someone's going to get shot or stabbed or bathed in rum, can we do it before the entire British Fleet knows about it?" she snapped. Blushing slightly, she recanted this opinion in her mind, but not aloud. "It would most definitely be a party if all the British soldiers in here decided to join our powwow, while two wanted men are standing amongst us. Yes, there would be much merrymaking, and then we'd all be arrested for loitering while drunk, gay or cowardly."


Even Unole, startled by her sudden violant outburst, leapt back a few paces, and then returned to her shoulder, quivering slightly. She calmed him and then continued.


"Perhaps it would be most wise to take your little altercation outside, hm?"