PotC: Tortuga

[Morrigann]

"What's 'er name. Come on no'spit it out a'ready!"
"Caitlyn, Caitlyn is her name...now let me go. Please."
"Ah. Aye, er, sorry bou'tat."

Crash, and a gun shot. Grasping in an instant body jerked forwards in reaction from slumber. Habit acting without a thought to do as such. Blade of a dagger raised in the air, taken from its hiding place underneath the feathered pillow. Gods, that dream again. Chest rose and fell with breath neath a cream colored chemise, its leather laces falling against her chest. Eyes searched the room, a dim shadow cast against the wall. Orbs of soft hazel shifted over to the flickering flame of the oil lamp burning. Removing the down comforter bare feet touched the ground as she shifted moving across the floor pulling up a pair of simple breeches, fastening a wide leather belt about slender waist. Upon left hip rested her father's gun, upon her right a custom cutlass her father had given her as a birthday gift.

It always seemed as if she, Morrigann Williams-Segrave, was cut from the very same cloth. Though she did not know of her father for five full years, she was her fathers daughter. Like her father, she was a Pirate. Wanted here and there, it had even been said she had a poster hanging upon a wall. Not, but 50 pounds. Well, she'd have to remedy that, now wouldn't she? Bare feet slipped into boots, as slender digits gripped upon the cloth of her linen jacket. It was scarlet in color and a bit long in the tail. Then, again, theives can't be choosers. In a sense they could. Picking which vessels might hold the finest trinkets. Many fine dresses had been earned that way. She hardly wore them. Only to escape the eyes of those looking for her. The list of her accusations was far to short to have her adventure be over any time soon.

Rounded shoulders shrugged up the jacket as she pushed open the door of her quarters and made way for the deck. Each step held a determined stagger to it. An air. A spirit. Perhaps a bit fearless, she was. One had to be when one was a Pirate. What kind of name would it make if a pirate was a scardy-cat? Not a good one, that was for damned sure. Eyes roamed the moon lit deck. Crew scrubbed near her stern, while others made sure the sails were in order. Then she saw the boot sticking up into the air from a pile of ropes. Marching herself over she peered into the coils, hand moved holding open towards the figure lying there. "Dawg, yer hand." gripping ahold of a unwashed hand she pulled the man up and released him hand still extended. "Now yer musket." The man looked towards her with a befuddled look. "Aws..buts Morrgie, twas only 'avin a drink o'so o'rum. 'Sides luv, were 'ere. 'ad to fire off me a shot fer gud luck."

Leaning forwards she sniffed his breath and drew back quickly. "Mister Wells I was 'opin ta find ye sober." an arm slung around her shoulder as he swaggered. "An, I was 'opin ter be passed out by naw. Hic." Though she tried to hide it, her lips drew a small smile. Before eyes caught the glow from burning lights upon the growing horizon. "All right men, make ready the boats. Weigh anchor!" pulling herself away from the drunken man she moved giving orders. This was her ship now, had been for some while, and would be until her death. Which, would have been six years ago. softly curled hair blew against the cool sea breeze.

Ah, Tortuga. There was no place like it on earth. At least not that she'd seen, in any case. She'd grown from last she'd seen it. It was a hide away, a save haven, as it were, for pirates. For all those found their home on the sea, and company with whores. Her father had done so. As a young girl she was raised around such, wickedness. No, not wickedness. More like a disagreement with parliament. Now it was left to fate. Even if their paths didn't cross here, perhaps one day they would. After all, Cait, was the only family she had left. That fat bellied pig of a cousin, Edmund, didn't count...

[Athos]

“but we are the ones that know him. We know how to catching him, and that is why the king has given us this duty.”

The words he’d said to Aramis still lingered in his head, regardless of the calmness of water lapping against the hull of the ship. He wasn’t a member of the crew in any formal sense, but when it was needed he would pitch in and help with the daily workload. They had left ‘Le port de Bordeaux’ over three months ago, and Athos was very outwardly changed. The darker hues of his flaxen hair were now bleached to a yellowed gold, while the highlights were nearly white. His skinned had tanned under the long hours in the sun, and his footing, although always quite nimble was honed to perfection upon the sanded boards of the deck.

His ears perked up at the Bosun’s pipe shrilly calling out that the crew should come topside and make ready to land in port. He smirked despite himself, thinking of the taverns and pubs that he would be frequenting. A nice means to numb away the pain of what he was really here to do; to find and retain a man he long considered a brother for execution. Despite his best efforts the thought of seeing Porthos again wasn’t something he lamented. If he indeed found the lad he would have to do something that he would regret.

Regret was something that Athos was far too familiar with. When he’d found the Fleur de Lis upon his beloved bride’s shoulder. How his heart lamented the loss of the only woman he truly loved… A gnarled hand on his shoulder stirred him from the memory of her soft pleading eyes, the tremble of her lips as she pleaded her innocence.
“Come on, let me buy ye a drink…” smirked the first mate.

[Morrigann]

As the ship was secured Morrigann made ready to go to shore. It was long over due. The red hues of her long coat against gold and black. The Piratess skewed male. She had to. The only way of successfully running a ship. Not that she quite minded. Being a Captain like her father. Sailing upon the open seas. It was all something she loved. And thoroughly enjoyed. Plundering. Taking down another ship or an enemy.

The port was still busy as she’d been. Grown with most coming here to hid from the law. Or the coin upon their heads. Tresses of dark hair cascaded down against her back an shoulders pushing into the full pub. It was full of noise and laughter. Drunken stupors and whores. It was also a place to talk business. Or ease sorrows. Boot came up against a man who’d passed out in a chair. Pushing him over she gripped the wooden stool. Pulling it up to a table a long with part of her crew. The crew were like her family. Having been raised around that life she trusted them and split shares evenly.

The laughter roused from their table as drinks were brought. And tales of their most recent adventure and plunder were retold. Morrigann smiled into the deep mug. Eyes scanning the full area. Stopping as a blond entered. He looked as if a heavy burden was placed upon his back. In good need of a strong drink. She continued to watch him move through the throng.
“Morgi. Ye even listenin’?”
“Hm?”
“Wahs our next pillage?”
“Still working on it.”
“Or workin’ on getting a mate to yer quarters.”
“ How dare ye talk t’yer captain like that. And I’m not quite inebriated enough to hav’tis discussion wit ye. Another round!”

[Athos]

Bucket boots thudded against the floorboards of the tavern, and the sea hardened Musketeer couldn’t help but smirk. Blonde-white hair was pushed back out of his eyes, only to fall back where it pleased. Hands thumped a pitter patter beat on the countertop as he attempted to get the bartender’s attention. The sizeable chap turned about, a broad smile on his face.
“Well what can I get for you lad?”
“Just a bottle of red wine and a plate of the house special, if that isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all, you fid yerself a seat an I’ll rustle up what you ask for.”

Athos nodded and walked into the back corner, sitting without putting his back to the door. He was weary from travel, and his footing was far from perfect; the adjustments of life at sea making his knees a little wobbly, and his equilibrium hazy at best. After his food arrived he ate quickly, savoring the home cooking. Rations on the ship had turned eating into more of a chore than a joy. He’d look up occasionally and listen in on the conversations that were being had, but for the most part it didn’t concern him.

His eyes caught a woman with dark hair laughing it up with a few mates at a table by the fire and he let his glance linger. Her skin was pale, but her hands looked strong, her body very nimble; as if she too had just come in from the sea. Given Tortuga’s natives, he guessed she wasn’t one f them. Somehow he knew better. Eagerly he listened, uncorking the bottle to pour more wine into his mouth. His hand wiped across blonde stubble. And as a wench passed he caught her by the wrist.
“Send a round over to that table,” he nodded toward Morrigann and company.

[D'Artagnan]

The young Musketeer felt unsettled. If not uneasy. Their task wasn’t going to be a simple one. If anything it was more complicated. Porthos was as a brother. D’Artagnan knew this. As did Athos and Aramis. Perhaps even more than he. Before he came into the group it had been the trio. Their live had been to serve king and country. Athos still believed that. Aramis served God. Porthos served himself. And where did that leave him. Somewhere in the middle.

The sail had been long and wore him down. Among the stress and worry. Not that he didn’t love the adventure. He did. And enjoyed being able to see the world outside of France. It was what they had to do. Bring back Porthos for his crimes against the crown. He’d turned his back on the Musketeers and it was now his closest friends after him. By the time they reached Tortuga, D’Artagnan welcomed dry land. Stable land. Feeling a bit green from the rocking ocean. Young man trailed behind the others. Taking in deep breaths of air and the sights. It was more wild than the market places of France.

Sandy curled blonde hair fell against his forehead and ears. Hat had been left behind and clothing was a normal wear. Aramis’ idea. The blue and silver would draw too much attention. At his side his fathers sword still hung. Boots thudded against the ground as he finally entered the packed area. Seating himself near Athos he smiled to a young barmaid then to the blonde besides him. Remembering back to when they’d first gone into a pub. Aramis claiming the way to a woman’s heart was words, poetry. Porthos’ idea was a passionate kiss. Athos had tucked away in a dark corner to drink by himself.

Brows arched upwards. A mixed look befalling the young lads face. Perhaps in part of Athos mood. Maybe it was the air here. He seemed lively despite what they had to face. Perhaps more to the point that he seemed to have gained the attention of a dark haired woman. Leaning D’Artagnan looked past Athos to the lively table by the fire. Moving back to his meal the young Musketeer listened as a round was sent to their table. He wanted to say something about the woman, and Athos attempt at flirting. But if he was gaining a better mood by it, let him. So instead he questioned about their stay.
“How long are we to be here?”

[Athos]

His drink did not go forgotten long, regardless of the lovely woman and her boisterous gang of cutthroats. Athos smirked to himself as he swallowed a hefty mouthful of burgundy wine. It wasn’t the finest vineyard he’d ever tasted, but that was to be expected after the fineries in France he’d been privy to sample. His calculating eyes waited to see the woman’s reaction to the drink he’d sent over. In all respects she was an exotic beauty; Vastly different than his late wife and her flaxen hair. D’Artagan’s arrival drew his eyes away.

Although he didn’t out and say it, the boy was right. This wasn’t the time to become distracted with the softer sex. They had a job to do and no amount of stalling with distractions like Morrigann would help their cause.
“How long are we to be here?”
“Captain says he needs to restock the ship, shouldn’t be more than a day at best. I say we get our collective asses in gear and make some inquiries about our mark.”
He didn’t say Portho’s name aloud. Maybe part of he didn’t want to associate a name with his fallen brethren. Maybe he was just trying to harden himself to what they were going to have to do.