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This is a sort of "Behind the Scenes" bit about two of the main characters in the Possibly Pirates Universe. It is not open for people to join, so do not bother asking, as I'm afraid you will simply be ignored.

Takes place in spring, 1720, beginning in Dover, England.

Aaaaaand go!

The sun shone, but only in tiny streams that slipped through the clouds. It had rained all week, and the sea had turned into a bluer gray that it normally was as a result. The weather was nippy, with drips and drops constantly falling onto heads and clothing to remind the poor mortals who had to deal with the weather just what it meant to be wet. Richelle felt that it matched the moment perfectly.

She was twenty years old, or close enough to it for it to count, and she had very rarely felt so miserable. This was the day that life as she knew it was to change, and by no choice of her own. At that very moment, she stood just aside from the dock where the ship that was going to drag her away from home was settled. It was a fine enough ship, with room aplenty for passengers and crew, and was indeed the sort of vessel she had always dreamed of setting out on one day. Just not like this.

"Mum.." Richelle turned away as the sound of chains clinking announced the arrival of some prisoner, and looked to her mother, a beautiful (despite her age) woman with blond hair and striking green eyes. But the beautiful woman's eyes were lined with grief, she was the very definition of crestfallen. Richelle caught her mother's hands, her own green eyes widening a bit as she pleaded. "Mum, I swear...just give me one more chance, I'll never foul up again!"

The pain in her mother's eyes was nearly tangible as she shook her head, wrapping her arms around her youngest child and only daughter. "This is a chance, love, you just need to view it differently. Life will be better for you after a fresh start."

Richelle's eyes quickly grew moist as she clung at her mother. She felt the tree-like arms, strong and steady, of her father wrap easily around them both. "Argh, lassie...'tis as yer mum says. This is no punishment...'tis for yer own betterment, as they say.." He shared the strong Cockney accent that his daughter sported, though his voice was a good deal deeper and rougher. This was no easy thing, for any of them. But the time for farewells was growing short.

The slippish girl pulled away from her parents, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes with her sleeves.

"Now, now...stiff upper lip, lass...no crocodile tears here..." Her father used the back of his rough hand to brush away a few stray tears. He hefted the small cloth satchel that contained his daughter's worldly belongings and handed them to her. Her mother was sniffing into a kerchief and resting under his arm.

"Aye, dad, stiff upper lip," Richelle replied weakly, offering a wet smile before nodding to both of them. How ashamed they must be...

As she headed onto the ship, she slipped under the sight of the captain, who appeared to be discussing a matter of some importance with an officer of some sort. This was none of her business, and it seemed an ill omen to start off her first sea voyage by making an enemy of the captain.

Once on the deck, she paused and looked once more over her home port, fighting against the tears that were so desperate to rise up and managing a smile as she waved once more to her parents. Sure that looking to long would break her spirits, she turned and headed to the passenger's quarters.

The room was cramped.

That was the only word for it. It was little more than a closet, with room for a bunk and little else. This was perfectly fine with Richelle, as it meant she wouldn't have to share a room with one of the many snooty ladies she had already encountered. It had greatly concerned her when she had passed by a few of the other passengers of the ship, most of them with exceedingly poofy dresses and exceedingly poofier hair. "This isn't that sort of ship, is it?" "Oh, dearie me, I didn't know there were rats on this vessel!" "Heehee, look, they even provide shoe-shiners!" And various other jabs had been uttered. Richelle wasn't in quite the mood to exchange insults with spoiled bits of fluff that were on their way to meet their arranged lovers (which she might have pointed out if she had been), so she had merely continued on to her little closet in the nether regions of the ship. It was the first time she had a room to herself, which was a bit of an adventure as well.

Now, as she sat with her legs hugged to her chest, she listened to the sound of the ship making its way out from the port. The sailors called to one another orders for their stations, and several passengers stood on the deck and waved and called out to their loved ones that they were leaving behind. Deirdre and Mark Oaken had likely already left. They had no reason to stay, after all.

Soon, the lightly swish of the port-side waters was traded for the deep rhythmic roll of the ocean. There was a tiny window allotted to the closet-room, and Richelle lifted her head to glance out of it and see the remarkable blue upon blue that made up the sea. If it had been under different circumstances...oh, bugger, it was beautiful even now. And the rocking of the floor was pleasant, though she could imagine quite easily how it would make some people ill.

One hour out to sea, and Richelle grew weary of sitting on the bunk. If this was to be her last free month or so, then she might as well take some enjoyment out of it. Fumbling around in her satchel, she pulled out a primer. Though she detested the little books, they were most helpful when preparing for a life of solitude in the way of ladyship. And it was better than nothing. So she tucked the primer into her apron and slipped out of her quarters, moving up through the decks as silently as possible out of general concern for being noticed and having to talk to someone. She simply wasn't up for polite conversation at the moment. As she walked, she happened to pass by some rather fetching doors...higher class passenger dwellings, no doubt. But one of them had a soldier stationed outside of it...curious. Some rich up-and-up who didn't want his privacy disturbed, most likely.

Upon reaching the main deck, Richelle emit a soft sigh of appreciation. It was an amazing sight, truly. The sea was an indescribable blue, and when matched with the fluff of clouds and the shade of the sky...even with the incessant rain, it was most pleasant. Strolling about as discretely as possible, she found herself a nice quiet area that looked to be undisturbed by the general populace. Settling down so she could best view the ocean while pretending to read faithfully, she withdrew the primer and set to work.

The days passed slowly. There wasn't much to do aboard a ship as a lowest class passenger, and the thin primer that Richelle had taken her was not only dreadfully dull, but exceedingly simple to memorize. She had gotten to the point where she made a game of it to herself, trying to pick a random page and see if she could recite it without looking. She had gotten frightfully good at it.

But then, though there was little that could be done without treading in some annoyed sailor's path, the voyage was interesting in its own light. The weather had let up, and now the entire surrounding of the ship was crystalline blue, the likes of which man had never seen and would likely never see again. Or so Richelle assumed. As this was her first sailing adventure, she may not have been the most reliable source on the matter. Either way, the color and the movement of the ship and the feel of the salty spray in her face was invigorating like she had never known. It was a pity, a tragedy, that she would likely be spending the rest of her life indoors doing stitchery. Of course, not all of the passengers were quite so enthralled with the thrill of the sea.

The gaggle of ladies, with their eternally fashionable clothes, were seen constantly on the deck of the ship, waltzing about and fanning themselves and flirting with the much agreeable sailors, giggling to themselves and chatting about this and that and who and what. They were extraordinarily obnoxious, nearly enough to keep Richelle stowed away in her cramped quarters. And what they loved even more than showing themselves off and being reminded by coarse seafolk of their ethereal beauties...was to inform those beneath them of just how far below they were. This was common sport for the nobility, Richelle was well aware of this, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Matters were only compounded by the fact that these women were truly gems, faces well powdered and lips polished supremely, their clothing the utmost in fashion and their voices with all the sweet disdain in the world. They had moles where they were supposed to and curls dangling from their heads in just the right manner: there was not a flaw to be picked at in the bunch. So Richelle, with her comparatively ratty clothing and constantly mussed up hair, did her best to avoid the ladies whenever possible.

But on this particular day, it was not possible.

She had been minding her own jolly business, having been recently shooed away from the root of the crow's nest by an annoyed worker, and had settled herself next to an abandoned portion of railing to admire the passing ocean. Nearby, a scraggly woman was stitching up holes in socks while her two filthy little ones played with what looked to be lumps of spare cloth on the deck. Like a flock of preening crystal parrots, the ladies made their way to the area on their daily stroll. There came the sound of giggling, and they came to a stop next to the woman and her bairns.

"Oh my, have you ever seen anything so quaint?" One of the younger ones giggled behind her fan.

"Hmp...to think that we have to share our passage with such common, crass little things!" One of the elder ones sniffed behind hers.

"Tell me, dears, are those the rags you were born in, or do you change them every few years?" The lot of them giggled. The woman paid them no mind, nodding for her children to continue on with their game despite their highly confused little faces. Richelle pursed her lips. She straightened up, remained silent and still for a moment...and then, in a single deft movement, flicked her wrist and sent the primer flying noiselessly to be swallowed into the waves. She whipped around, facing the scene directly, and heard herself snap out, "Oh, why don't you bugger off?"

There was silence. The ladies had ceased giggling, and were staring at the brash raggamuffin in the most collectively affronted manner possible. The woman with her stitching had grown still, looking between both parties and then suddenly deciding that her children would be far better off playing below decks.

"What did you just say to me?!" One of the peacocks demanded, fluttering her fan indignantly.

"Not you, I was talking to the fat one."

The fan in front of the main talker's voice dropped, revealing a jaw that had dropped as well. There was a stunned silence for a moment, then the women took a collective step forward. Richelle stayed planted where she was.

"And exactly who do you think you are? Clearly you have yet to learn your place in the world. I'll have you know that my father is the honorable Colonel Fitzgerald! I could have you locked away for speaking to me in such a manner! Hmp, not that I would expect a creature of your..." The perfectly lined eyes flicked appraisingly over Richelle's form, "Status to understand such things." The fan flicked back up into place, but one could still practically see the delicate nose raise into the air. Richelle snorted.

"Aye, so yer pater's some big up-an-up, an' that makes it perfectly decent for you to make sport of those whose mum an' dad can't buy away their ill manners? Here's a thought, eh, why don't ye take a look at the wide world beyond your high-an-mighty snotty nose an' try to see some'at other than monetary values an' fashionable jargon? Not that I'd expect someone of your," And Richelle's green eyes flicked mockingly up and down the woman's form, "Status to unnerstand such things!"

The lovely blue eyes of the lady flared with irritation, and the fan waved a bit faster for a moment. Then she smiled, turning to her companions and speaking sweetly. "Is it no quaint, how accepting they have become on even these fine vessels these days? I recall when there was an actual dress code for ladies, something about dressing appropriate to their gender. Why, now it seems that just any old thing can be transported across Britain's waters! Nobility, women, cargo, urchins.." Her eyes caught hold of Richelle once more, "..at least now they're charging the rats for the ride as well!"

This resulted in yet more twittery giggles. Richelle kept her hands at her hips, her eyes slowly narrowing. There were many things she might have said, but there was an officer standing not ten feet away, and any further bickering would have likely resulted in some punitive action for her part. And as she was already in the midst of a punishment, it seemed unwise to further it. So she watched as the small crowd of giggling women made their way along the deck, feeling quite certain that this would not be the last encounter with the bunch of feather headed...

She heaved an aggravated sigh and leaned against the railing, drumming her fingers on the wood on watching the waves rise and fall.

Richelle blinked as she was approached by the ensign, and her stomach twisted into nervous knots. Had she gone too far with the Ladies, despite her efforts to reign herself in? Was she going to have her wrist slapped and clapped in irons? Her well developed flight response nearly kicked in, but really, where could she go? But what he said caused her jaw to drop in a most unladylike fashion. "The who of what is inviting me where??" She heard herself issue this stunned question, but was extremely grateful that the ensign didn't dignify it with a response. She knew what a Lord was. And she knew of Cairn Wood. And surely, she knew who she was. But what business did these three facts have being in the same sentence together? Preposterous!

And such an invitation...how high up must this Lord of Cairn Wood be, to be able to get the ensign to speak so about the high-and-mighties? At least high enough to get her tossed overboard if she refused his invitation.

Leaning back against the rail, she blinked once more as the ensign scurried off to deliver the news to the Captain. But she was distracted from watching him, and even hearing the sharp reply, by the sight of a man. Men were no mystery, they were all over the place. She had even seen some with dirty blond hair. And a few with green eyes. At at least one with a combination of the two. But this particular one, whose very being practical dripped the word 'pirate,' held a certain aura about him...as though he were a walking grin. Which seemed exceedingly odd, what with the fact that he was clearly a prisoner, surrounded by guards in the middle of the ocean. But his eyes, even from this distance, sparkled.

Tearing her eyes away from the eye-catching pirate, Richelle pushed her bangs out of her face and looked back out to the sea, sighing rather deeply. What a strange day. The Lord of Cairn Wood? It had to be a joke. Well, it seemed she would just have to wait and find out. What a chuckle her parents would get out of this!




The rest of the day had passed without any more surprises. Richelle now sat in her room, frustrated to the very ends of the earth as she tried to make herself look appropriate for a meal with the Captain. She had nothing passable as far as clothing, and her natural beauty was far from brilliant enough to make her commoner's dress insignificant. She normally wouldn't have minded as much. But this Lord (whom she had affectionately begun to refer to as 'Jolly Old Swine,' for surely he had invited her for a laugh after watching her get trounced by the flouncing floozies) had seen fit to call her out to supper with him and various other stuffed peacocks. How could she show up looking like a penniless strumpet?

Finally, she gave up attempting to spruce up the rags she had. She put on her cleanest dress, combed out her hair and set it back in a single braid draping down to her waist. Her face and hands were washed, and she looked as decent as ever she was going to with what she had to work with. Taking a final glance in the small mirror, she sighed and headed out. At least she knew which forks to use when.

Moving quickly up the stairs, she quickly went over in her mind all of the rules for dealing with nobility. When to curtsy and how, the politest way to stay quiet...perhaps she could get through the meal with the Jolly Old Swine without embarrassing herself, if she just stayed silent.

Once she made it to the area where the meal was to take place, she cleared her throat and curtsied to the guard outside the door. "I beg your pardon, but is this where the Captain is taking his meal?" Wonderfully spoken, her accent stifled to a degree that would have made her aunt proud.

The guard was less impressed than Richelle was. "Aye, 'tis. And the passengers eat below decks. Off ye go."

Richelle's eyes narrowed slightly, but she managed to keep her tone polite. "Forgive me, but I don't think you understand. I was invited to join him, by the Lord of Cairn Wood."

The guard arched one brow, his mouth curving in a way that suggested a laugh. Richelle bit the inside of her cheek, fighting off a growl. A good joke indeed.

Richelle at first felt quite certain that she was going to die...simply shrivel up and die with the embarrassment. Once she was in her seat next to the handsome pirate, she slowly shrank into it as the commotion started. But after just a brief moment of insecurity, she straightened once more, green eyes flashing indignantly as her right to be sitting there was called into question. She very nearly forgot her earlier decision to stay silent, but was saved by the Captain hollering down the nobles at the table. As they all settled down, albeit mutinously, she sat up straight and resolute, every once in a while looking directly at the gossiping ninnies across the table as though to remind them that she was there. And not going anywhere.

When the handsome pirate, whose eyes were quite stunning up close, doffed his hat and introduced himself, she couldn't help but return the smile. With a gracious nod, Richelle chuckled softly and returned the greeting with, "'Ello, I'm the ragamuffin. Pleasure ta make yer acquaintance, Mister Manacled."

When he spoke to the lady that had insulted him - them - Richelle nearly choked on the water she had been sipping. She bit down on the rim of the goblet to hide her amusement, though she couldn't help but marvel at the gall of the prisoner. But then, what did he have to lose?

Once the butter knife was returned to its proper location, Richelle accepted the biscuit from the prisoner and began oh-so-daintily working on her food. It was quite delicious, far fancier than anything she had eaten in the last...decade, or so. And since the ladies across the table had deemed fit to continue on gossiping...

"I say, 'tis quite the lovely ship, this...a pity about some of the rabble on board her, eh?" She asked lightly of the man next to her. "I can't even imagine how they must have earned their classier boarding...though surely there be some mightily pleased officials back in port."

Richelle, despite years of training to maintain a composed and ladylike expression no matter what, gawked. The handsome, manacled man next to her had somehow shred the tense peace in the dining room, and now there were potatoes flying through the air and soggy biscuits being shoved into gentlemen's ears. It was really quite remarkable how quickly the tightly strung noblesse dissolved into a desperate struggle to slam food into one another's faces. So remarkable that Richelle didn't even notice that she was missing a prime chance to show a bit of violence towards the detestable ladies she had squabbled with earlier.

As the green eyed prisoner slid under the table, Richelle followed him with her gaze, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile. He invited her to follow him, and she shrugged as she retrieved her plate and goblet. Ducking under the flight path of a cooked goose, Richelle slipped under the table cloth and settled herself cross legged across from the gentlemanly pirate.

"Why, thank you, Master Manacled. I do say, miraculous who they'll let aboard fine vessels these days, is it not?" She chuckled as she began picking at her plate, not bothering to reach back up for the utensils. If she had, it would have been too tempting to tuck the silver devices into her apron pocket. And she had promised her parents that she would attempt a reform.

While the fight raged on beyond the confines of the tent-like tablecloth around them, Richelle allowed herself a few discreet closer looks at her unusual companion. She had heard many tales of pirates, of course. Blood thirsty baby eaters with coarse beards and rotted teeth, her mother had always said. But this one had emerald eyes and pearly choppers, and an infectious smile. While Richelle had yet to meet a pirate that fit her mother's description (not that her sampling had ever been large, but still), this one seemed only to add to the disbelief of her mother's words.

"I say, old chap," Richelle spoke in a chipper manner, as though the pair were enjoying a casual meal without the shrieks and grunts of nobles battling one another, "Would you by any chance like those irons removed from your person? It seems they hardly aid your eating ability, they can't be comfortable."

She was no fool, pirates were dangerous. This one was a prisoner, there had to be a reason for it. But there was no reason to make the poor man suffer when she could easily pluck a salad fork from the table above and give him a few moments comfort.