Oliver Maund's Story

Along a rocky green path overlooking the calm, evening waves a wagon lazily ran, pulled by ox and driven by a loosely robed arab man. The man looked out onto the horizon from beyond the rocks of his trail, the orange evening sun dancing on the glistening waves. Suddenly the wagon began to bump as the ox began to move onto the rocks. "Aye, no girl," The man said, grabbing the oxen's rein violently and steering it back on course. In the back of the wagon a man sitting on it's edge bumped around violently at the rocky maneuver. "Jesus Christ, show a little stability," Oliver, the man sitting at the back of the wagon, commented as he gripped the sides of the wagon. "It's the sea, he wants to go out there," The arab said as he struggled with the reins. The Ox soon moved from the rocky ledge back onto the dirt road. "Him and I both," Oliver muttered as he glanced out. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sack.

"Here," Oliver said, reaching forward and dropping the sack beside the arab. "Please, you don't have to pay me to transport you, Oliver," The man muttered. "We know each other better then that."

"This isn't for transporting me," Oliver began as he stood. "This is for the wagon..." From his hip he pulled out a pistol and silently took aim at the man. The arab turned to Oliver calmly. "So this is how it is," He asked with a raised eyebrow. "Get off, take your donkey with you," Oliver said, pointing his gun at the ox. The man detached the ox from the wagon gently and moved it away.

Oliver stepped to the front of the now beastless wagon and picked up the sack he had laid there. "You forgot this," Oliver called, throwing the sack to the man, who caught it easily. Oliver glanced down at the wagon he stood on and then at the man. "Goodbye, my old friend," He whispered, tears in his eyes. He aimed his gun downward at one of the wagon's wheels. He shot it and hit, causing the wagon to suddenly break free from it's grip and begin to roll onto the rocks at a steady rate. It slightly slowed as it reached the edge then dived when it tipped over. The man watched as the wagon, and Oliver crouching atop it, fell over the cliffside.

The man ran forward to the edge of the rocks, and into the sea below where he could see the wood of the wagon crash apart in the waves. Oliver Maund had passed.

***

Oliver walked proudly down the streets of Glendamn Bay. He loved the Spanish, or whatever they were here, and even more so he loved pirates. And this was, most obviously, to some degree, a pirate town, Oliver thought to himself as a couple of corset wearing women in awful makeup winked at him. All around him in the streets he was surrounded by seamen and wavelasses, those who took their freedom in their own hands and went to the sea. Of course they were surrounded by mild mannered farmers and citizens but being wrong was no fun if there wasn't a majority watching who thought they were right. A drunken, pock-marked man spat at him miserably as he past. Oliver gave a wink to the drunk before continuing on. He had always wanted that freedom, that richness of life. As a smuggler he experienced that to a degree, much more so than anyone else his age, he was sure, but he was still always reporting to someone, in a grand manor in some country's countryside. Pirates didn't do that, their chain of command was limit to their ship and that was it. That was right.

Oliver frowned slightly at the thought of his ox lording friend Sunny. Sunny was loyal like no one else but even he could be broken if some of Oliver's less friendly acquaintances came looking for him. It was easier for him to die. Of course he had faked his death before, and in much more elaborate ways than the little diving trick he had pulled. What this death had that the others didn't was that he would actually disappear from Europe, at least for a few years. He had his own fortune to make, and for that he needed to get away, to the West Indies, where the money was. And for that he needed transport and he knew just the place to get it.

The Cock and Bull, the sound of laughter and fighting heard even from outside. Oliver pushed it's doors open wide and entered the steamy criminal atmosphere. Of course, no one paid him any notice. And he was fine with that, he already had his eyes on what he was looking for.

"Howdy love," Oliver said as he approached the middle-aged barmaid. "You mind telling me where I can join a pirate ship?"

"The corner there," The barmaid replied, unfazed as she polished a glass. "Captain Walker, he's got a big ship. I'd take care though. He's turned a few away tonight."

"Oh don't worry," Oliver commented as he spotted the corner table with a large muscular man at it. "He can't refuse me."

"Oh no?" The barmaid laughed. "Who are you then?"

"Ildegaro LeFarge," Oliver replied. "Pirate." He turned, ready to journey to the Captain in the far end of the pub, when suddenly he saw an old, one legged, no armed, crippled, anorexic man approach, and then, after what appeared to be no more than a moment of talking, accepted into Captain Walkers crew. "On second thought perhaps he's not the Captain I'm looking for..." Oliver muttered as he turned back to the barmaid. "A drink please," He said to the woman. "Don't worry the price, I'll find someone to pay for it..."

As the barmaid went off to fill his mug Oliver began to scan the room. Surely there had to be someone, with decent standards, who would accept him. If push came to shove he could always join Walker, though he'd want adequate fighters in case the Royal Navy got on them. At least until they reached the Caribbean. From the corner of his eye Oliver spotted a woman in a side booth. He watched her for a moment before realizing who she was. Malicious Val. He had never met her but he knew her face well enough, from stories told by the older smugglers in the north sea, those with saltier pasts then him. She was infamous, said to be raised from the depths of the sea itself to seek revenge, and unmistakable. If there was one sure-fire way of getting out of Europe, it was her. Of course, a woman raised from the depths of the sea itself to seek revenge would probably not take kindly to Oliver Maund hiding on her ship, eating her food, and generally being a stowaway nuisance until she reached new land. Oliver sighed. That was less sage then joining Walker's crew. Oliver paused his thoughts as something once again caught his eye. On her table, under her black hat, was a purple bandanna. A massive grin formed on Oliver's face. He was so happy he knew what that meant.

"Hello," Oliver said with an awkward wave as he sat down opposite of legendary Captain. "My name's Ildigardo LeFarge, I'd like to join your crew," Oliver said quietly as he glanced away from her. "You may know me better as Oliver the Bryce, the smuggler. I'd... like to accompany you, if at all possible."

"Why'd ya think ye be worthy for My crew?" The woman spoke at last.

Oliver leaned forward on the table. "I'm very, very good at what I do. I'm an expert helmsman, evader, joyrider, you name it. If the wheel of a ship is at my command it can do things you'd never imagine a ship could do. I'm also the best shot to come from New Albion and I can interpret tribal tongue well, I studied Indigenous-Linguistics at Oxford University," He lied. "I'm the man you want on your crew, ma'am. I promise you."

"Is that so," The woman said, her emotion unreadable. "And what position be you looking for?"

"Helmsman," Oliver replied. "I'm good at a number of things but I'm great at piloting."

After a moment of consideration she nodded. "Alrighty then. Congratulations Mate I'll see you bright an' early on the docks. I spec you know where my ship be." With that she nodded her head, tipped her hat back down.

"I won't disappoint," Oliver confirmed as he stood and looked out onto the pub. He made it. This was it. His last night in Europe. Oliver raised his mug to his mouth and downed his drink in one go. Might as well live it large. And with that he descended upon the pub, ready to find a girl, an unattended coin-purse, and eventually a soft bed until morning...

"So there I was, the blistering ice-rain crashing down upon me back, watching on as the waves crushed the lass down," Oliver spoke, the table he sat at watching him with interest. "I tied the line around me waist and was 'bout to dive when old Captain Bones grabbed me by the arm and yelled, 'what are ya doing? I said I was saving her and he yelled back there ain't nothing to be saved. And I looked into his frosty blue eyes and I realized then and there why he had hated me ever since I came aboard his ship exactly a month form that day. It wasn't how I spoke, how I walked, it was more than that. It was everything. I was all that was new with the world, all that was right, all the change of youth, and he was old, and set in stone. He was the past and he was deathly afraid of that past disappearing, as it does. And he looked at me sternly and said don't you go in those waves, boy. That be an order."

"What did you do?" An English girl, and a seemingly honest one, who sat beside him asked. Oliver glanced at her with a smirk. "I said if that's an order Captain, I relieve meself of duty. And then I dived in the waters, those freezing baths, and swam out to her. And she clung onto to me and spat desperately through the water, 'don't you leave me, LeFarge. Don't you dare leave me. And I whispered back I wouldn't, my words chattered as the ice water chilled straight through my skin. I said it even as I saw old man Bones cut the line, I said it even as I saw that Devil's Trident sail away and leave us in the darkness..."

Oliver paused to take a drink, leaving the table in silence until he continued. "We floated for three days and three nights until me and her washed up upon the snow beach of a massing iceberg. If you'd of seen us floating you'd of thought us corpses we were so dead. I only remember... I could not feel anymore, my body was beyond sense. The only thing that worked on me were me eyes, where I saw the brightness of that northern sky, and me nose, for I remember sniffing that sting of coldness all throughout those days. I was not a man like I am now then, I was beyond that. I was on the brink of death, I was... but a soul."

Oliver glanced down at his reflection in the mug that lay before him. "Massive, scaled Sea-Walri came to us then and by their razor teeth they picked us and brought us to their cave. Around the fire the ice animals gathered, the hounds and the water-foxes, the snow-gulls and the penguins, all praying to the lord these two souls would pull through. I was safe with them, and at that fire at last my eyes closed for sweet sleep was a' coming. The next thing I know I awaken again, on my old hammock back on the Devil's Trident. Percy comes to me and says it's good to see me awake once again. I asked what happened and he said that the crew, so mournful of my loss, mutinied against Bones. Percy was their Captain now and he came back to find me. And eventually he did."

"You one lucky son o' a bitch," A heavily bearded man at the end of the table said with a laugh.

"The story's not over yet, my friend," Oliver whispered. "For Annabelle did not make it. I asked to see her, they showed me a box, the union jack atop it. They dumped her over board with the Parson saying his words... and somehow I knew she'd be alright up there. We docked at Bristol later that month and split the treasure between us all. There was still one thing I had to take care of, though-ever. To Birmingham I went, to a shack on a hill, run down and hor'ble. I knocked and a woman opened it a crack, asking what I a' wanted. I said I had to tell her about Annabelle Lee. The woman opened it and asked what I knew about her, what I knew 'bout her daughter. I looked at her mother and said that she had gone to sea, and had died at sea. And then that woman she looked at me... Like no woman had ever looked at me before, with such sadness that I had never seen. And she asked me one thing. Was Anabelle a good sailor? And I said aye, she was the finest sailor I had ever seen. I then handed her a chest and told her it was Anabelle's final gift. And with that I walked away... In that bag I had with me the gold I had gotten from the treasure, more money than I'd ever had before, or since... And that, my friends, is my seaman's tale."

Oliver glanced around eager to see who had believe his utterly bullshit story...

Sitting at the bar Marie listened to some bull shit story a man was telling. She just laughed and turned back to her drink, when a man came over to her and whispered in her ear " How much for a couple of hours?" her eyes widened and she turned to him. " For you?" the man was short, fat and ugly, and when he smiled she saw that he was missing some teeth. She smiles " a few bruises and maybe a finger or two."

He looked at her puzzled "What?" he asked just before getting hit in the head by her mug of rum. Dropping the remains of the mug Marie pulled out two knives, walking towards him with a slightly insane look in her eyes. " I really don't like being called a whore," by now he had backed in to one of the posts holding up the ceiling.

Leaning in her knife at his neck she says " now apologise, give me your money and never come back here and I'll let you live. Other wise.." she digs her knife in drawing a little blood. " you won't be so lucky." the mans hands shaking he gives her his money and runs out of the bar. Smiling she says returning to her spot at the bar says " Sorry bout, that." To the bar keep and buys another drink. Looking around the bar she tries to find a man that she fancyed. Her gaze settling on the man who was telling the story she takes a drink and heads over to him. " bloody brilliant tale you got there." she says smiling. " Mad Marie," She says offering her hand.

"Bloody brilliant tale you got there," A feminine voice spoke from beside him. "Mad Marie." Oliver turned to the woman slightly bewildered. He glanced over her for a moment before a large grin spread across his face. She wasn't diseased, wrinkled, or crippled, though she wasn't a villager, either. No, she was clearly from a different life, a pirate life, perhaps? If only he would be so lucky, Oliver thought to himself.

"Ildigardo LeFarge," Oliver replied, kissing her hand and kicking a chair beside him back. "Take a seat," He said, pointing his head slightly toward the chair he had pushed out, and continuing to do so to ensure that she really understood just how well timed that line was. "I must say, miss, it's awfully strange to see a woman like you in a place like this," He lied. "The women here are a bit more brutish and a bit less fitly than you, and I should know. Every time I plunder the seas I come back here to this goddamn island, and maybe I always will... I suppose it's just part of my legacy," He lied, again.

Marie laughed sitting down, " I'm sure it won't be." it was a wonder how easily the lies rolled off this mans tounge. " And I suppose it isn't too odd for a woman like myself to be here. Seeing as I'm on the same business you are," she smiles overly sweetly " get on a crew, have a grand adventure, drink some rum. And maybe, if we're really lucky find pleasure in another's arms." as she finishes she subtly puts her hand on his arm. She thinks back to the cabin boy on her mothers ship and how she had loved him. Shaking away those thoughts she takes another sip of her rum.


After a moment of thought she asks him, leaning forward in what seemed to be an eager way but was acctually the best way to show off one of her.. Best assets. " would you tell another story? Something less sad?" She smiles again showing her wonderfully white teeth.

Oliver's eyes widened slightly as he looked upon her. His eyes shot down her body for a moment before going back to her face. Her skin was soft, her proportions were better than he usually did, and her dental hygiene impeccable. And that last one was rare as hell. This day really was turning itself around. The woman before him, this Mad Marie, could get anyone in that bar, and yet she chose him. Oliver looked past her slightly, where, in a dirty mirror that hung between two windows on the opposite end of the room he could see his own reflection. His grin grew larger as he stared at himself. This was why. He was amazing at anything he did. And he would make one hell of a pirate.

"A story, you say?" He asked, snapping out of his narcissistic fantasies and turning back to her. "A happy one? Well, that library exceeds for me. I am, after all, the foremost inventor of Sea-Comedy," Oliver said to her, as if she was supposed to know what that was. "I have one tale back from the Hudson Bay, a snowy area, like the north of England only better more," He spoke as he gently put his hand on her back. "I was a young lad then, the strongest in my village. I had muscles like an ox and a head as hard as a Roman Gladiators helm. And the only thing that I cherished then was my pointed, wooden sword..."

Oliver paused as he moved his head slightly closer to hers. "I'd use it to adventure, to chop down my enemies, being at the time overgrown foliage and the sort. Until one day, when I was down by the pier, from the ocean a stirring was. I ran forward to investigate when a tentacle flung out and took grasp of the blade from my very hand!" Oliver cried. He breathed in to continue his tale, which was mainly about his sword getting taken by various animals, including a black bear, a Hell-Squid, a devilish man he suspected to be a leprechaun and a tiger, when he stopped, spotting something out of the corner of his eye. Opposite him, in the window he saw a form, a jaw unmistakable. Mancini, the Italians. Oliver swallowed down hard. If they found him here, the night of his escape, things could go downhill, quickly.

"Hey," Oliver said quickly, grasping Marie's hands. "Maybe you'd like to continue this tale away from here? Do you have a room I could... Stay in perhaps? Quickly? It's only for the night, I've got to helm a ship in the morning."

He raised his neck high again to try and look out the window before facing Marie once more. "Trust me. It's imperative I have refuge for the night."

The night continued on. The noise dimmed down apart from the occasional outburst. Groups of people huddled together having a good chat, whether boasting about their trips or attempting to score it didn't matter. The mood was just right, it was cosy and joyful. The evening had gone well and Val was impressed. She filled up all the positions she needed and of course had a few lackeys sign up too. By then she must of been on her six mug of ale but she had to keep reminding herself to take it slow. She's on business. The characters that had had the nerve to walk up to her and sign up were a mixed bunch. All seemed like they had a full set of marbles and some extra balls either that or they were good enough to bullshit their way through. She was impressed by most of them but they had yet to earn her respect yet. Setting her legs back on ground as they had started to cramp up from being in the same position for so long, she reached over and scanned the paper:
Drake Springer
Winkie Bouchard
Marie Simon
Johnny Fletcher
Mama Agatha
Marco Mcdonald
Ildigardo LeFarge
Azalea Gordon
James Taylor
Although she suspected that from all the bullshit that had come out of his mouth this evening that she had overheard Ildigardo LeFarge was probably not his real name. She didn't care, she understands that what happened in the past stays in the past and a need for a new life. She was only concerned that his tongue doesn't do any more wagging than need be. By the looks of it though the Marie girl seemed to have taken an interest into him already. No harm in having a little fun especially on a long journey. Mama had disappeared for the most part but seemed to reamerge to feed the Marco fella's ferret. Winkie had vanished as had Johnny in his drunken stupor. The young doctor Azzy had melded into the crowed and the James Taylor who looked a bit of a pompous know it all, but should at least come with some interesting conversations, he had escaped to his room. There were a bout a two dozen other names on the list but they were only hired as more bodies to keep the ship in mint condition and to man the cannons. From her education back with her old Captain she could tell the type of person from their handwriting. From Johnny's rough scrawl to Jame's professional loops these were two men that got to down to business. Draining the last of her ale she stood up and made her regal march past the bar which she tipped her hat to the tender and flung him a few coins which he caught expertly. The others didn't notice her slip through the crowd but she eyed them off as she passed. She thought to herself as she made her way down the docks. This should make a very interesting adventure.

"So who are you running from?" Marie asked after a kiss on the dark night streets. "The British?" She asked. "Ooh, maybe the Spaniards."

Oliver chuckled slightly as she pulled him closer. "It's alright you can tell me, I'm not going to rat you out. What good is a pirate who is a rat anyway?"

Oliver paused slightly at the words, his smile disappearing for a moment. What good was a pirate who was a rat? And that was, to an extent, what he was. He sure as hell wasn't going to find a pirate named rodent, or weasel, or rat on that Captain Val's ship. Oliver shook the thoughts from his head before focusing back on Marie in the darkness. "Let's put it this way... When you sink half the British Fleet with a flintlock and some rum they won't won't go after you," He lied. "Also... I may of accidentally stolen various things I was meant to smuggle and now Italian, English, Scottish, German, French, Spanish, and Polish crimelords are after me but that whole situations sort of a side note."

He glanced into the darkness of the alley once more. Who was that man who ran passed? He hadn't gotten a good look since he was being kissed by perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever gotten lucky with. And, as per usual, his fear made him not enjoy it. "Let's go... I don't want to stick around for what haunts me. Tomorrow will be good. I'll be off... You mentioned you signed onto a ship as well?" He asked, remembering Captain Walker and his awful recruitment stand. "Maybe we'll see each other on the high seas after tonight... I certainly hope we do..."

"Oh no, please, you're beautiful. I'd much enjoy replicating that," Oliver replied, a killer line. "I mean, not to get too poncy about things, and especially 'bout things you hear every night of the week, but you really are a fine lass."

As Marie stopped walking outside what Oliver could only assume was her place of residence he took her hands in his. "I know this is all sudden and all but it's me last night on dry land," He whispered. "I've lost... So much. Things I've loved, things I needed... O' poor Annabelle, I think..." He looked away for a moment, before turning back to her eyes. "I don't want to lose this moment," He finished at last, leaning in and and giving her a long kiss, accolading himself nonstop in his mind...

"Well now, I'm a young lad, you're a fit lady," Oliver said as he grabbed her by the waste. "Good as any way to spend the last hours with terra beneath our feet." And with that he shoved open the door to the building and carried her inside, making sure to slam it shut behind him...

***

Oliver opened an eye lazily at the sound of a rooster's song. The sun's light shun onto his face brightly and he blindly fell off the side of the bed and onto the ground. Grabbing a hold of his banged head he carefully stood, and then slammed it again on the wooden planks of the ceiling. "Come on!" Oliver whispered harshly to himself as he rubbed the second hit with his other hand. He wasn't sure when he was supposed to get to Captain Val's ship but he had a feeling that there was a possibility that he maybe could be late. Oliver quickly sorted his clothing from the floor and half dressed himself before heading to the stairway. "Right, ta ta for now!" He called to Marie's form still laying in the bed. Without waiting for a response he quickly ran down the stairs, looking forward to his new life already...

The sun was just peaking over the horizon and Val was already standing there in front of her ship, the plank extended to get aboard. She was dressed in her usual blouse and tight pants, black tricorn hat with a large black feather held in place by a silver skull. To keep her wild mane of sandy blonde hair out of her eyes she had her trusty purple bandanna. Not only was it a sign that she was in business but it was one of her lucky charms which she would never sail without.
MEOW
She looked down and spotted her sleek Siamese cat Pompey - named after the great Roman General - strolling down the plank trying to get her attention. He then proceeded to wrap himself around her legs and purr loudly.
"How's my darlin' doing this fine morning?" she purred back and reached down to pick him up. Ever since she was named Captain of the Deadly Dame the first thing she did was got herself a cat. She had travelled far and during these times did everything she could to ensure a safe journey while she didn't have a cat. Her dear Pompey was bloody expensive. He was part of the litter who's mother was the royal cat of some king from Asia Minor. She stroked him gently relishing the softness of his fur. The cockerels had only just begun to squawk and it hadn't even been ten minutes before Mr LeFarge came strolling, quite hurriedly, down the dock. She ducked her head to stop him seeing her amused smile. When she looked back up her face was wiped from emotion.
"Morning Master LeFarge," she called out emphasising his name to point out that she suspected his true character, "glad to see you heed my words."
As he reached her she saw him swallow hard before his cocky grin returned.
"Ma'am I have no intention of missing this boat!"
"Tha be good to hear." She nodded and waved him forward. Pompey watched as he made his way up, giving a little cough as if he could hardly believe this guy either. Scratching between his ears she whispered,
"Right that's one on a couple dozen more to go."

Marie walks about the ship, it was a real beaut. Everything was in good order and clean, Marie smiles, this ship was going to practically run itself. After checking every place she could besides the helm, that's exactly where she goes. Once there she says in her most authoritative voice she could muster " Master LeFarge, how does the helm look? Everything meeting your standards?" she let's a small smirk grace her lips. It was her way of saying well now we have to deal with each other.

Ignore this I made a mistake.

Oliver stood, his body slumped forward on the top of the overly large, oak wheel of the ship, his eyes barely open. He was so tired, he'd barely slept a wink last night, and the night's before that he hadn't slept at all. Oliver raised his head slightly and squinted down at the crew. Many people had begun to enter but he couldn't make out their faces, his vision was still blurry. Which may not be good for his steering. With a yawn Oliver shrugged to himself. He'd eyeball it.

Oliver pushed himself off the wheel for a moment to reach down into his large, traveling bag. He had a number of modifications he'd make to the wheel, and most of them were in his bag, but now was not the time, he thought as he pulled out a long, straw boaters hat and placed it downward on his face to conceal his closed or closing eyes. Much better, he thought as he resumed his lazy stance on the wheel.

"Master LeFarge, how does the helm look? Everything meeting your standards?" A feminine voice spoke. To Oliver it sounded like to was from a distance away and so he just kept on laying on the wheel. After a moment of processing the words he realised that they were indeed meant for him, as he was a helmsman now, and his name was LeFarge here. Oliver pushed himself off the wheel and stood to attention. "It's looking wild, my lady," He said as he rubbed his eyes clear. Standing before him was Marie, the lass from the night before.

Oliver gave a large grin. "Look at this, would ya? You really are a high aimer, eh?" He rested his elbow on the wheel and began to lean to the side. "So what are you doing here? Are you a deckhand? Cook? Barmaid? This thing is small but I've seen smaller with a bar on it and all, you know?"

Oliver looked at her with a shrug. "I don't know, what else is there? Maid? Some sort of pirate-administrative assistant?"

Oliver's smile disappeared. "Wait... You're my commanding officer?" He asked in disbelief. "But that's... you're the girl I slept with from the bar, a first mate is... respectable? I don't," He was cut off by the Captain giving her orders.

"Right," Oliver muttered, still slightly confused as he stretched up straight and cracked his spine. He reached out and grabbed hold of the wheel, wanting to appear as useful as everyone else who was running about, ready for a journey in self-discovery...

"That's what I said!" Oliver called to the strange man who disbelieved Marie's position. In truth he couldn't believe it himself. Oliver made some sort of face at the idea before moving toward his bag. From inside it he pulled out various object, a redwood folding chair, which he quickly positioned on the helm, and a massive umbrella, that he tied to the chair's side. He eyeballed it's position and adjusted it perfectly, so he could sail while reclined and still raise and have enough room to move it about. From the far side of the deck he grabbed a barrel and placed it beside the wheel. Atop it he put his compass. "Right," He muttered, standing proudly at his work. "Just one thing missing."

Oliver hurriedly made his way down onto the deck and then into the hull entrance. "Excuse me!" He called through the commotion of the minor crew. "Listen, I'm the Dame's helmsman and I've found meself in a spot of bother. Does anyone have a quilt for my chair?" He called out. "It's important."

Marco never even moved when he heard the girl's voice, but he could instantly tell that she was his commanding officer. Nobody ever dared to ask him for supplies or what his liking was unless they could do something about it. What he say when he gave her a glance was almost shocking: It was that slutty wench that was going at it with the bullshitting helmsman! Marco groaned inwardly. This would make his job a hell of a lot tougher, cause with her being his commanding officer, he would have to be nice and call her by the name that he thought a little more appropriate.

"My liking? Yes, I guess so." He turned his attention back to the cannons as he went from one to the other. He hadn't even checked the other side yet, and these ones were looking fantastic. "As for supplies, nay. I got me toolkit, all the black powder for a year, and a few weapons to dismantle if I need parts. I think I'll be good for now, miss." He would have to watch out for her, whom he new was calling in his mind the First Mate wench until he learned otherwise that she was either batshit crazy or actually a decent person. What would make it worse is if he started drinking with her around, and that might lead to problems if she kept up the history that Marco knew of her. He sighed inwardly, knowing that for once, he would actually have to pay attention and follow rules. For now.

"Thank ye for the concern though." With that, he turned his full attention back to his cannons. Until he could hear that bullshitter - he really should find out their names... - yelling about needing a quilt, and it being important. He nearly started laughing right then and there about how ridiculous the man was sounding. How can any pirate, nay any honest man, say that without sounding like a complete ass? Does he really think that getting a quilt for himself will help him steer or something?

"You the Master Gunner? I'm Johnny Flintlock Fletcher, the Quartermaster," A voice said. Oliver turned to see a man approach, who he cleverly deduced to be Johnny Flintlock Fletcher, the Quartermaster.

"Ah, glad you're here, we've been having a bit of a crisis," Oliver began, ready to inform the man of his quilt situation.

"I've got 12 powder monkeys for your direct command," Fletcher said, walking directly passed Oliver. "Men!" he called for them signaling to gather in the room. "Get them ready for target practice later this day once we reach open water. Any problems with them, just come get me." He said as he turned away from the Master Gunner.

"Right, now that that's taken care of me quilt shortage should be brought into issue," Oliver spoke as the Quartermaster walked directly passed him again and to Marie.

"First Mate Marie, I'd like to speak with you outside." He said, the two quickly exiting the scene. Oliver looked at them in disbelief before turning to the Master Gunner. "Argh. Mate," He said while pushing past the gunmen that had assembled, trying his best not to sound like a colonial smuggler and a lot more like a pirate. "My name be'eth Ildegardo LeFarge," He said, extending his hand to the man. "I realize you're obviously most busy with your... Gun powder, and your aiming techniques and what not, but I've found myself in a spot of bother. An issue has arisen, one that may very well prevent us from ever exiting this dock. A quilt issue."

Mama was no where in sight of the other crew, tucked away back in her galley, door to the kitchens merely cracked as she scrubbed. Pots were to be cleaned, pans too, counter tops and stove too. In fact not much was seen of her at all, she was moving from kitchen to below, gathering supplies. There was much to be done by Mama, and those not acquainted with kitchen duties might think that the lame monster might have it pretty easy down there. She was inspecting the stove for sturdiness, and once pleased she would wander into the galley to count plates, running her fingers down the wooden stack of square flatware, taking note of just how much food would need to be prepped.

Mama would soon be making her way right through the conversation between Marie, Marco, Johnny and Oliver, ignoring the lot of them as she limped her way above deck. It would allow them to get a good look at her though, with her bandaged chest and low slung shorts. and the mess of tattoos on her hips and at her upper arm. Hell, they might even notice the missing finger. Either way she wasn't there to stand and gab with them. Over her shoulder a thin pole was slung, ending in a quite sooty bristled brush. Mama's carelessness with it could easily give any one of them a knock to the mug and a face full of soot. However she was above deck before anyone could protest, and she was limping her way over to the charley noble. Oh the charley noble.

She'd stare at that pipe quietly before cupping a hand over her mouth and murmuring down the sooty expanse "Wish there were a pipe like this 'un leadin' allaway down." It was likely that no one aboard this ship had ever befriended the cook. They were always some sort of disabled sailor with a real attitude problem, and Mama was fitting the stereotype quite well. But back in the days where she had been lovely, when that pale golden flesh had been unmarred and both eyes were seafoam and shining, she had called down rowdy jokes through the charley noble, often teasing the cook, "Woe is me!" the stove would bellow "I think that fat ole sea cow is gonna cook that foul slop atop me once more!" "OOOH make 'er stop! It burns me metal hide!" And then she would listen to the chorus of joking curses raining on her raven head from below in the kitchen, "Go get a fliddlah crab jammed allaway up that crusty hooch o yers Aggie! Aye an Master Gale' l' gladyly prod the thing along!"

Mama would just stare at that silent pipe for a moment before rubbing at her bad eye and finally reaching a hand inside to scratch at the inners of mr. charley. She'd inspect the creosote beneath her fingernail silently before licking at it and scratching at the front of her mane. Soot. Long since used and long since cleaned. Not scrubbed down before...Before what? Come to think of it, she knew what happened to her own crew, but what had happened to Vals? Where did that infamous sea captain put a whole ships list? Why the hell was she sailing all with new faces? Most captains would fear a mutiny with the lack of loyalty...Either way, Mama did as she always did, she kept silent about all those questions, choosing instead to brush out the charley noble. A chimney fire on the high seas in a wooden boat was death for everyone.

"Ow," Oliver complained as Mama's broom smacked into his cheek. "Hey lady- Oh, Good Lord, Jesus Christ in Heaven," He whispered in mortal shock as he turned to face her passing form. Shacking off the chilling feeling he got from the woman he turned back to the Gunmaster, who had set up his lackeys to do things.

"Right, anyway, back to my problem," He said to the man. "I have a bit of a quilt issue, in that I need one, and there isn't one to be found. Without this quilt the whole ship could go bottom's up, trust me. I've seen it before."