The Marrigold

Sailing forth from Kingston, where it had resupplied and regained its mark as a privateers ship under the law of England, came the Marrigold. The brig easily crested the small waves and despite the slight wind was able to move at a fair pace. The upper deck was rather flat, with only a small box at the back showing the captains quarters and the wheel for the helmsman, if the captain himself did not fancy taking the wheel that was.

The ship had before leaving Plymouth for the West Indies had added to it a second gun deck, now giving it an impressive and deadly 23 cannon a side, making for a formidable broadside. The expensive treatment had also added a larger set of sails to make up for her new weight, and some of the veteran crew would agree that the ship felt much slower.

Stood on the prow of his ship, looking out on calm waters through a spy glass was the brown coat-clad Captain Frederick Jameson, who was both pleased at how calm the waters were, and how empty they were at the same time, and he was also highly displeased that he would be unable to easily make a living due to how much money he would have to give back to the governor back at Kingston. His trepidation at a poor pay rate quickly ended when he spied a short way away what looked to be a ship, though if it could be called one and not a giant piece of flotsam, dragging itself along.

With a brisk nod to himself he collapsed the spy glass and fitted it back into his belt, turning on his heel he called back out to his crew. "Let fly the main sail, stand by the topside cannon men! Step lively!" He walked down the deck calling out his orders, pausing only to look up at the Scottish flag he had flying from the mizzen mast. He had chosen to fly his home colours rather than those of the English as one to show he was a privateer, not a in a navy or a pirate and to also insult the English slightly at the idea of a Scottish ship sailing freely.

The captain leaned against the port side railings as the derelict came closer, the helmsman must have noticed it soon after the orders were given as he was heading almost directly for it. Frederick shouted over his shoulder "Slow her down lads, lets see who we have here before we run into her eh?" He then looked up to his first mate Freidis and gestured her over to him. "Keep an eye open, there's something about this here ship that I don't like the look of."

The Marrigold slid along side the clearly run down and dilapidated ship with her deck side cannon at the ready, with gunners and able seamen ready to turn the other ship into matches. Frederick looked the ship up and down. 'A damn shame what happened to this one' he thought to himself before speaking out loud. "Ahoy there! Be there anyone on board? What's you're purpose in these waters with such and old ship?"

Days at sea with little to no water had stripped his voice of most of it's usual humanity, his call sounding like nothing so much as a hoarse croak. Gravel ground in a flour mill made a better melody than this man's sandpaper voice.

"Ahoy, this is the good ship Red Comet, adrift for some days now on the open sea. I seek port for repairs or else a fine cove to lay this ship to rest in and seek a new one, as I fear the gold needed to repair my Father's ship may be more than the price of a new vessel to captain. Whom is it that has me and my ship at their mercy, sir?"

He had lashed himself to the tiller so that he would be able to remain standing even after malnutrition and dehydration had taken his strength, ever steering toward what he hoped would be a port. As the ship neared, he could be seen easily, his stark white and red attire sullied by soot and blood and sweat and salt, making him look more like a ghost than a man.

Captain Frederick leaned over the railing as he heard the voice reply to his challenge. He looked backwards at the members of his crew on the cannon and waved a hand to signal them to stand down before looking at the red and white clad figure tied to the tiller. 'A stranger sight I never saw before' he though to himself.

"I am Captain Frederick of the Marrigold." He called back. "We're not a pirate ship, so you don't have to fear. Unless you yourself are a pirate, in that case I am fully able and will send your ship to the bottom." He then considered for a short moment. "As your ship is in such a state of disrepair I offer you a place on on my ship, if you be able and can be trusted." He then nodded to two of his crew who moved off to get a gangplank and another two went off to get muskets, just in case of emergency.

"Sir, I ask you that if confronted with the question of 'be ye pirate' and the promise of death in the event of an answer to the affirmative, would any man say anything other than 'no'? Furthermore, you say that you have the ability to send my fine ship to Davy Jones, which I might note would be accomplishable with a stout kick in the condition she's in. I note that my colors have been removed by canon fire and no longer sway in the contemptibly small breeze of this place, but I assure you sir that they were not pirate colors while they flew. I seek to become a Privateer in the Americas, in point of fact."

With a trembling hand he reached back and drew his knife from it's place on his belt, slashing the ropes he'd used to secure himself and leaning heavily on the tiller as he gained his strength. Once he'd steeled himself, he began moving over to the railings of his ship where he might accept a gangplank, though he had none of his own to lower to any deck, nor the strength even to maneuver such a thing.

He stood, leaning heavily on the railing, awaiting the response of the other ship.

A young woman had watched the conversation, her face set in a slight frown of disappointment. When the reddish blob had been spotted on the horizon, she had been hopeful for a battle, but the crawling wreckage and the specter of a man upon it proved to be nothing of the sort. She was, however, mildly impressed by the male as he not only managed speech, but to drag himself to the railing. Heck, he was still alive, when the state of his ship said that he should be rotting like, presumably, the rest of the crew.

A nod from the captain was the signal to get a gangplank, which Freidis was nearly able to move on her own, and with the help of another she laid it down to bridge the gap between the ships. A straight heavy blade hung at her side, and a round wooden shield on her back, it was surprising to see how light the woman was on her feet. At least for those who hadn't gotten used to her by now. In a show of this, Freidis stepped over to the other ship in only a few sure steps with no evident fear of falling into the water.

Once on the deck of the Red Comet, she looked back to Captain Jameson with a look of inquiry, and motioned lightly as if picking up a sack of grain, indicating that Casval was in fact, a sack of gain. She didn't seem to care what the half-dead man thought of this, however, as she didn't ask or even look at him at more than an object.

Captain Frederick ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered his own reply. "In my experience pirates often seek out death when it is pointed straight at them." He then looked back up to where the ships flag should be. "I can see full well there be no colours above her now, though if I may ask what colours did you fly? And how in the hell did you loose them?" He then stood back as the gangplank as put down and Freidis stepped across to the crippled ship.

The sight of the viking woman stood next to the terribly sickly looking man would have been comical if Frederick had been a softer man. Catching the look from Freidis he nodded slightly back, so as to tell her that if need be she could simply pick up the man and drag him aboard the Marrigold. "If you seek to be a privateer than you are in luck sir, this is indeed a privateers ship and as always I am in need of crew, in fact I still am missing some men worthy of being the ships officers, though the role of first mate is reserved by Miss Stenvard there." He nodded to her as he said her name. "I'll let her properly introduce herself, however back to the matter at hand. Though you can join my crew here we are currently on course for Havana and do not intend to make port until then. You are more than welcome to leave ship there, though the cost of food and travel will be more than a shiny penny." He then leaned forwards, the added height of his boots helped him to come level with the pale mans face. "Of course, you can always swim over to Kingston, if you can make the half mile of open see that is."

"Kingston? Ah, so that's where I've ended up. As to the state of my ship in general and the state of my colors in particular--"

He swatted lightly at the Norse woman as she attempted to grab him, gesturing to the knife on his belt and indicating he'd sheath it in her if she attempted to carry him. He stood straight, if wobbly, and walked a few steps as such to prove that he could, even as he continued speaking.

"This is a privately owned ship out of France, and to discourage pirates we flew our own colors, a crimson flag with the family crest in gold. Apparently a british vessel mistook us for brigands and opened fire on us from great distance, using mast chain shot to attempt to hobble us. The took out my foremast and made a wreck of my aft, as you can see, but we hit a trough just as they hit a crest, and perhaps that cannon was also poorly moored, because for whatever reason it took off only the tip of the mainmast, taking my colors into the drink with it. Hobbled as we were, and with their clipper bearing on us at great speed, we attempted to surrender, but had no white canvas to raise to inform them we meant no harm. As such, they broadsided us, and the came about to do so again before leaving us to sink. We dumped everything in the hold save for our gold and crew, and then drifted along with our single sail for a time, coming across a small island one of the men recognized as being along a smuggling run. I gave any man who wished to permission to take my longboats and head to the island, but remained with my ship. That was... oh, it must have been a week ago?"

He gestured with his thumb towards the tall blonde woman, whom was nearly of a height with him it seemed.

"Now, while she may be your first mate, and she may not be hard to look at, I would prefer to walk of my own power aboard your ship if that's alright."

Without waiting for response, he'd start shakily across the gangplank, trying to look regal as he strode and failing only by a slight margin.

"I believe that the seven hundred francs in my hold should pay for my needs aboard your ship, Captain, as well as your rescue. If you'll throw in the laundering of my clothes, I'll give you a taste of the Spanish gold I've acquired."

Freidis didn't seem to put up with being swatted, and of course swatted back in what almost seemed a playful manner, though it was more testing than anything. She was in fact eye-to-eye with the frenchman when he stood his full height, though where he seemed stern and regal, she seemed to think the whole thing was a big joke, and smirked as if it were so. She allowed Casval to walk under his own power, but she stuck close to him, as if she expected him to fall at any given point. Sure enough, he made it across, leaving Freidis with free hands for the moment.

"I can see, you smart man, White Mask, but you can not bribe men who can take. You are one man alone." She paused to hop back to the Marrigold just as nimbly as she had stepped from it, her teeth shown in a wide grin,"But if clothes need clean, then I will do this favor for you." She glances around at the crew with a hearty laugh,"You see, these are not men who know how to wash."

If anyone took offense to the joke, that was too bad for them. It would take more than a few upset men to do anything about it, and besides, the captain seemed to like her. On the other hand, she was offering to take up grunt work, and Freidis was positive that no one really felt like washing some guy's clothes. The norsewoman clapped Casval on the back cheerfully, seeming to forget that the man was barely standing,"You never say your name. You call me Freidis, 'Miss' is for men who have to learn swimming the hard way, and men who be too polite." She glanced over at the captain with a note of amusement,"That is, if the captain says you can stay."

Her glance held a touch of that look that a young girl might give her father when bringing home a stray animal. After all, Casval certainly had the look of a half-starved dog.