Aboard the Jackdaw: Under Edward Kenway And The Black Flag

1: The Albatross

The girl slowly ascended the ship's shifting stairs with a blank expression clouding her delicate face. 

As her ascent to the deck continued, the sound of the crisp ocean waves drew nearer.

But, just as always, there would be no time to absorb the beauty of the ocean, for the number of tasks that needed to be done was almost too much to bear.
Surely, there would be no easier tasks on the deck of the vessel than there were beneath it. Yet, after the long hours spent panting in the heat of the musty kitchen air, the ocean breeze would feel refreshing.
If the kitchen master would have kept the girl any longer, she would face the quartermaster's whip.

As she caught the first wind of the salty ocean, she inhaled the fresh air deeply. The warm Caribbean sun hit her tanned skin and soothed her clammy skin. However, the feeling of warmth was fleeting. By her very next breath, her mood sunk back down beneath the crushing weight of slavery.

Casting her head to the westward-leaning sun, she quickly panicked at the late hour. She knew her master too well; by the sun's telling, it was well past two in the afternoon; the time he always demanded his afternoon drink.

With her head tilted downward, she carefully maneuvered past the bustling sailors to her master's lavish quarters; her master being none other than the captain himself.

As Anna walked towards the captain's cabin, she dared to cast her gaze above the door to the high deck with the helm above. With the stokes of the wheel in his grips, the captain stood stoically keeping the ship a'course. His sharp, icy-green eyes scanned the sea line on the horizon, his back as stiff as aboard. Her master was not only the captain of this British vessel but also one of the most staunch and particular captains in the entire British navy. This in turn made for a miserable, sour crew of blooming hatred from the captain, and possible danger for Anna, his personal slave.

His captain's coat flashed its noble red behind him in the pulling wind, and the man's stiff, white wig attempted to dance along with it. How Anna was disgusted by his every move and that stare of his. He lived for the pride that emanated from his position.

The girl blankly went into her master's dark cabin and poured some of the gin into a flask.

With a careful look at the door behind her, she stole a few sips of the liquor to her own lips. With a grimace from the bittersweet taste, she walked back outside with the flask of gin.

As she walked, she gripped the light flask in her sweaty palm - the flask that always made her wonder how to poison someone. She went up the stairs towards her master at the wheel on the poop deck.

When he saw his young slave approaching, with her long blonde hair flowing in the wind. She kept her head tilted downward as a sign of respect. When he saw the flask in her hand, he smirked with satisfaction.

The slave's quiet, boring voice announced,
"Your afternoon gin, sir."

"Anna, you're late."
Captain Fonte coldly stated as he took the flask and began to unscrew the bottle.

"I was just released from making lunch."
Believe me, believe me, believe me.

She chanted in her head. It was indeed the truth. The cook had spilled a bucket of broth and half of the meal had to be re-prepared.

After the captain said nothing, Anna silently sighed in relief. She leaned her palms on the railing overlooking the deck of the ship. It was a perfect day for sailing. The wind whipped the British flag from high above in the crow's nest, and unruly wisps of Anna's hair whipped unchecked across her delicate features. The sky was clear of clouds, and the wind was tugging on the sails.