Temptations

ɎChapter♠NineɎ

 With a sad smile, Rosalina moved around the chairs, her dress flowing around her like feathers in the air. If only that night hadn't happened. Maybe she could have lived a normal life. Married a young, rich noble. Attended balls and ceremonies. She sighed in nostalgia before accepting her reality once more as the sun fell passed the ocean's horizon and the darkness replaced the light.

She changed out of her dress and into the barmaid's apron, pulling on her black heeled boots and tying her hair up in a ponytail, her loose bangs falling over her eyes carelessly.

She didn't need to work at the tavern, but she liked it. She liked the ambiance, the way everyone drank and laughed and sung. How at some point of the night, every night, a bar fight would start and the whole city of Pirate's Cove would be fighting each other, for absolutely no reason, until most people were knocked out or ran off.

Rosalina would laugh at the stumbling oafs, fighting while trying to stay on two feet. She'd maneuver around each couple of brawlers, to move away from a stool or a table, just in time to have them crash into the suddenly empty spot. They learned early in the business that whenever a bar fight broke out, the furniture and liquor was always the firsts to go, and there was never anyone to claim the damage, therefore no repairs.

So she'd learned to watch the brawlers' movements, learn which direction they were heading so she could hide and move away from the stools, tables and liquor bottles in their vicinity. After all the "weapons" were gone, she'd sit on the tavern counter, her legs crossed over one another as she laughed and giggled on the spot. Just like tonight.

In the far corner was Jack, holding off another scoundrel with one hand, keeping an eye out for her. Jack didn't like her working at the tavern, she knew. It bothered and worried him, that someone might try something with her. He'd already complained multiple times about it, but the tavern was the only thing she refused to give up for her identity.

No one knew her last name. When George asked, she'd simply told him it was lost with the wind, and to simply call her Rosalina. Seeming to understand what she meant, he accepted her terms and hired her on the spot. The Cove was home to both cruel, and soft-hearted gruffs. She quickly learned to spot the difference.

No-eyed Nicolas, who was near the stage, was one of the cruel gruffs. He always played dirty and only showed up once the bar fights started. With a long cut above his left eye, it was easy to understand where the nickname came from. Plus he had a habit of cutting out his victim's eyes before throwing them overboard. Legends say he has a room full of bottled eyes, but Rosalina knew that wasn't true.

She'd been in his cabins before, simply to see if the brawler was a threat or not, and found a log of different dates. The poor man was obsessed with finding a new eye, so he'd cut out the ones he liked and tried them on, only to throw them away once he noticed how useless they were, and to begin his search for a new sample. She'd thrown up on the way home.

But even with his bad eye, Nicolas knew how to fight, and how to fight well. Even with his left side covered he still dodged an oncoming bottle to the head, resulting in his opponent getting knocked out instead. As disturbing as the man was, at 29 he wasn't bad looking. With brown hair to his shoulder, and a tall, lean build, he was as man as any. His one green eye scanned over the other brawling patrons - a feral look glinting in the light, a tiger on the prowl- before connecting with hers. A slow grin spread on his face and he tipped his head to her, just as another man came at him with a chair.

Rosalina cursed. Seemed they found the chairs then.

"Mind your words!" George scolded. "Got the mouth of a sailor, ya do." Rosalina rolled her eyes. "Get the chairs back." She pushed herself off the counter with a huff.

She didn't want to go after the chairs once more. It was always a pain. She'd hide them, and they'd find them. And she'd have to hide them again. And again. And again. So when the chair crashed against the wall, splintering into pieces, she turned to George. "So, any words from Roger?" She asked, with an innocent smile.

Seeming to forget his original order, he turned to face her with a grim expression on his face. "Roger was taken in by the Guard." Rosalina faked her shock. "The new tenant, I heard, is nothing but a youngster. New to trades and the economy. I fear this tavern is beginning to see its last days." George said sorrowfully.

"Give the scallywag a chance. He might surprise you, mate."

"Or send me to an early grave." He muttered in distaste.

Rosalina barked out a laugh. "It'd be anything but early, old man. 56 has got to be a new Pirate's Cove's record!"

And it was, Rosalina knew for a fact. Usually, men didn't make it past 45, either too weak to protect themselves or from disease. But even though George could carry a keg of rum on his own, even though he was stronger than a horse, even though he was bigger than Jack, she still did her best to protect him. Whenever she'd overhear any plans of attacking George, she had her men make sure the attackers never saw George again.

The Tavern was the only place Gaspar protected, and everyone knew it, but no one knew why. So no one dared try to attack it, and those who did were tied to the posts on the streets, a bullet hole in between the eyes like cattle. A warning of what happened to those who touched the bar.

Some said, Gaspar was an old friend of George's but George had always denied those claims. Others said Gaspar was the tenant but Roger had put that rumor to rest quickly. The most believable was that Gaspar attended the bar, hidden so no one would recognize him or try to kill him. Since no one really knew who Gaspar was or what he looked like, the legend remained a mystery.

The last rumor, in its own way, was true. Gaspar did attend the bar, but he wasn't hiding. Simple refusing to tell the whole truth to uncaring patrons. If they didn't ask, she wouldn't tell. And no one ever asked.