Take Off Your Dress, Pick Up A Sword

a spot of arithmetic

Joanna knew as much as the average person did about ships; that is to say, not very much. The Interceptor seemed like a fine specimen to her, though, as she examined it from all angles.

A tidy hatch led from the top deck to the one beneath, where the crew evidently slept. Hammocks, swaying gently with the rolling of the ship, stretched between any available beams. Some of the hammocks were accompanied by squat, battered sea chests, which Joanna perused with interest.

They were mostly barren, their owners stranded in Port Royal, but after enough snooping Joanna secured herself a pair of trousers, too dark to show stains, and (blessedly) a needle with thread. The needle was horrifically bent but, Joanna resolved, beggars can't be choosers. Finally, she thieved a small comb, missing most of its teeth. But it did the job, and soon Joanna's hair floated in its uneven waves above her shoulders.

Her shoes, not designed for watery treks across the seafloor, were completely ruined. Luckily enough, a pair of boots hid in a dark corner. When Joanna experimentally stuck her foot into one of them, she was surprised to find it a size too small. Better than no shoes, though, so she traded her feminine heels for leather boots.

She emerged victorious from belowdecks, arms full of salty-smelling fabric. She immediately dropped them in shock. "Hey!" She hollered, charging to the quarterdeck, where Jack had Will dangling off the side of the ship. She was bereft of her sword, but she had her mouth, so she fired that in earnest. "Haven't you had enough of trying to kill us?"

"This 's entirely self-defense, I assure you," Jack said unconvincingly. He eyed her appraisingly, then said, "You might as well pay attention, now that you're here."

Joanna stood aghast as Jack turned to Will, who scrambled to keep his precarious hold on the yardarm. "Now listen here. The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do. For instance, you can accept that your father was a good man and a pirate --" Joanna's jaw dropped, "-- or you can't. But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that someday."

"That's true?" Joanna cut in, incredulous.

"Gospel," Jack replied with a quicksilver smile, before continuing his harangue. "Now me, for instance. I can let you drown --" Will visibly paled, "-- but I can't bring this ship into Tortuga all by me onesie, savvy? So..."

Jack spun the helm and the yard consequently soared back to the Interceptor, depositing Will onto the deck without fanfare. Joanna thought to rush forward and guard Will against Jack's unpredictable wiles, but something in the air stopped her. Whatever this was, it was between the two of them.

Jack stood over Will, holding Will's own sword to his chin. "Can you sail under the command of a pirate?" Jack inquired. He tossed the cutlass and gracefully caught it by the blade, offering the hilt to Will. "Or can you not?"

Will took the sword, dispelling the tension. Joanna felt free to breathe again. "Tortuga?" She asked.

Jack grinned at her and stepped back to the helm, righting their course. "Tortuga," he affirmed. "Find a solution to the ankle conundrum, did we?" He asked, motioning to the clothes Joanna had abandoned on the deck in her haste.

"Indeed," Joanna replied as she extended a hand to Will and heaved him to his feet. She gazed over the deck, squinting at the trousers. "I'll have to alter them, but that's no trouble."

"What?" Will's stare followed her own. "Oh. Joanna, are those --"

"Stolen men's clothes? Yes," Joanna smirked and trotted down the stairs. "I don't fancy flashing my ankles around any longer, especially in Tortuga."