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Light leeched from the sky, faint oranges giving way to soft yellows and deep fuchsias before slipping down the dark drain of the night. Water sprayed against oak as two ships floated next to each other, lulling in the moonlit waves, salty foam brewing beneath the vessels as a scream rose in the air and a man stormed up from the lower deck, a bundle of linen and limbs scrambling in his arms.
"Captain!" The man shouted, slamming the figure to the ground. "It seems as if you were wrong in claiming you had only silks and spice set to be sold at the nearest port." He ground his heel into the figure's back, teeth flashing at its feeble cry. "Do you have other stowaways aboard? Or should I have my men inspect the rest of your cargo?"
There was a scoff as the young captain stepped forward, straightening a feathered hat atop her head. "If you find that you must, Monsieur, be my guest. But do mind the state of your human rug, it appears to be fraying at the edges."
Snarling, the man grabbed the figure by the hood, dragging them to the center of the deck as he drew his sword. "I could end him right here, right now, Madam, and what good would he be to you then?"
The captain chuckled, biting a nail. "Who said I needed his aid, Monsieur?" She stepped up to the pair and ripped the figure's hood off. "You know nothing of him. He could be nothing more than a peasant with a debt to repay, and what stroke of brilliance would you utter then?" Hunching her shoulders and clearing her throat, she growled, "Dead or alive—you're coming with me!"
Metal clashed, screeched and groaned as the man thrust his sword towards the captain, only to be halted centimeters from her throat by her first mate's ready blade. A single drop of blood coursed down her unblemished skin, pooling in the dip of her collarbone and drawing a vicious smile from her lips.
"I do have a flare for the dramatic, I admit," she laughed, brushing his sword aside with a flick of the wrist, "but what is your excuse? Never had a good life with maman* and papa?"
Rearing back, the man yanked a length of braided leather from the band of his pants. "You'd do well to hold your tongue, to be mindful of who is in control, Madam." The leather quipped the heel of the castaway with a crack, recoiling as the man sneered, "I'll beat the knowledge out of the sewer rat, then."
As his arm rose above his head to strike, the click clack of the captain's tongue echoed over the deck. She looked to her first mate with a heart of stone and iron in her eyes as she raised a pistol from the sole of her boot, aiming square between the man's brow.
