Thread: A Pirate's Tale (Methos and TortoiseShell)

The ocean's waves slowly broke against the shore, the sun's crimson rays spreading along the rippled surface at the horizon to create a false sense of peace and grace on the coast of Jamaica. The white sands and exotic culture have erstwhile appealed to the ignorant, yet it did not take long for times to change. The words Port Royal appalled honest men and merchants, causing the phrase 'the Sodom of the New World' to be uttered quietly. Port Royal was not always so. Decades earlier, as the Spanish colonies settled in the beautiful land, it was a heaven on Earth for the white man. Plantations and land were frantically purchased, the Empire subsidizing the island with food and all necessities. All was well until tensions grew on the other side of the map, Elizabethan rule bringing destruction to the Armada with the help of infamous pirates. All of a sudden, the Port Royal's price dropped, Spain too busy with internal affairs to aid Jamaica. Drawn by the beauty and quasi complimentary land, the British merchants and aristocrats purchased all they could get their greedy stubby fingers upon. Yet again, peace was short lived for the people as Elizabeth's reign came to its term and from government encouraged sailors pirates turned into rogues - loathed by all. It did not take a century for the poverty infested Port Royal to become a sanctuary for those lives devoted to crime, chasing away the law abiding citizens, forcing them to reduce their visits to the plantations to a bare minimum. Few traces of the past, however, remained in the land of theft and petty crime. Deeper into the islands were located miles of gardens with old fashioned white wooden houses looking out upon the property. In one of the houses, an ill kept dwelling, a gas lamp was turned on as the sun set, bringing a hint of life to what appeared to be a long abandoned banana plantation. Inside, on the second floor was a large bedroom, bringing shelter to two people - a young woman and an aging man. The young woman sat facing a mirror, her back turned to the standing male. She slowly inspected her reflection, a slender finger brushing along the lightly tanned cheek, almost as though she was expecting to discover dirt on the fingertip upon its retrieval. A tan, it was quite preposterous for a young lady. Albert, do you see what they do to me? She questioned in a voice thick with indignation and a British accent. The lady shook her head slowly, picking up a rough hairbrush made of horse's tail. For seven year, seven, she exclaimed, turning around for emphasis. I have been putting my life at risk - and for what? She continued, the sultry delicate voice trembling with rage. I'll tell you, to be treated as a common whore, she set the brush aside, deciding that it would do little good to her considering the humid weather. How many generations prior to myself have been well respected nobles at the court? She shook her head, biting on a plump pink lip that contrasted quite nicely with the tan. I had to tan naked, on the roof of my own house. It's preposterous, she kept on her monologue, throwing out all the frustration built up in her over the past weeks. Desiree D'Aether was a twenty four years old woman, unfortunate enough to lose her father - the sole remaining relative, at the tender age of seventeen. It was a fall from grace, the young woman left with nothing but her name and a heavy pile of debts. All the wealth was lost to her father's opium and gambling tendencies, if not full blown addictions. Luckily enough, her family's connections brought her to the encounter of a fairly youthful man employed by the Crown. Secretly hoping to gain her heart and hand he pushed her through, introducing her to higher placed authorities. Whether it was the lust of a minister, the speculative mind of a general or simply sympathy and compassion, the woman became a spy. Undeterred by the unfortunate events, Desiree accepted all tasks. The main part involved infiltration or seduction, although seldom actual intercourse. Rich merchants suspected in conspiracies, consuls from neighbor countries, noblemen plotting to take over the throne - she has had it all. Except for a pirate. It was an illogical continuum, a downward spiral from the richest to the filthiest. Or at least so she pictured these men. Unlike most girls of her age - those untouched by the cruelty of the world, by a man's blood or the by the pain of a dagger ripping through their skin, she had a sober view of the world, seeing things for what they were. Women were oppressed, the poor bound to remain poor. Noble men all fell for the same trap as Narcissus, yet attempted to cast their views upon society in a refined, intelligent manner without realizing that nobody truly listened so long as important words were used, and money in play. Pirates, however, were the little that remained of her frivolous girlish mind. To her, they were similar to knights, only true to their ideals and freedom. She imagined them as rough and ambitious, yet able to steal a maiden's heart away in a sweep. The current mission, meanwhile, risked to shatter the illusion. Following a string of arguments in the hallway of the parliament, she was given all the instructions and an advance on the bounty as well as traveling costs. Donal O'Sullivan was the name of her target, Captain of a prominent crew. Little else was given in terms of information, other than that he oftentimes appeared at the Port Royal. And so her adventure began, far from an enthralling tale she has imagined at first. Shipped to the isles where her father's old plantation was located, she was told to blend with the crowd, gain some color to her fair skin and pose as a prostitute. Three weeks she has lived in the port, her natural curiosity for the unknown fading into the background to be replaced by a growing hatred toward Jamaica. Hot weather, burning sun and drunk men resumed her existence. Every night she set out on her quest for O'Sullivan, seeking him in the taverns and brothels. To the world, she was Denise, a merchant's daughter fallen from grace, using prostitution as a means to amass dubloons to return to her home in Britain. None realized that not a single time did she bring a man up to a room. As the first week came to its end, she settled at the Sheriff's Daughter, coming to an agreement with the owner. Rather than working for him, she was to work freelance and pay him a set price. Her hopes of seeing the Captain, meanwhile, faded away. After all, it was possible that she would have to wait for as long as a month or two. Where is Glenda? Mon Dieu, do I have to do everything myself? She sighed, a pout gracing her delicate face. Sliding her hands up, she freed her waist length hair from a tight conservative bun, letting it fall about in dark brown waves, carefully framing her face. She carefully attached a pin with two pearls on each side of her head. Her gaze then dropped to the makeup on the table. Glancing at her butler's reflection, she grinned, uncovering a row of almost painfully white teeth. Why bother pretending to be a commoner, how hard is it to figure I am not one? She stated, the mere color of her bones suggesting her nobility. I have blue blood written on my forehead, she argued, although Albert merely remained silent, watching her with concern. She dismissed his presence and leaned forward, carefully applying mascara on the large pair of slightly almond shaped eyes. She hesitated for a moment before sweeping a light eyeshadow over her upper eyelids to make the emerald of her orbs stand out before turning her attention to the shape of her face. It was thin and frail, her cheekbones high, all the proportions close to perfection. Forget it, I am not using any more paint, she nodded to herself, standing up. If anything, her greatest gift was beauty. My lady, do you require assistance with your corset? The man finally spoke, receiving a quick nod. Yes, of course. It would appear these rogues like them, she sighed, pulling all the rings off of her thin fingers. Her dress was a disaster in her eyes, yet other women appeared to be jealous. The fabric was fairly simple - fine white cotton with flowing designs. The sleeveless dress hugged her thin waistline and pressed against her flat stomach, leaving a part of the slim legs uncovered up to approximately two inches above the knees. She wore a pair of fishnet stockings, ending right under the skirt's hem with a pair of silk ribbons on each side, a pair of white high heeled leather boots riding three quarters up her shins. The corset - a fairly simple one as well, was soon tightened, changing little to her form, although it did bring her impressive chest up, causing the mounds of flesh to swell above the fabric. She then pulled on a few loose silver bracelets around her wrists and studied herself in the mirror. With every mission, the girl felt like a part of her family's rich traditions was fading away along with her morality. Desiree...Many men would give away all they have for your hand. Why not abandon this folly and marry, the man spoke almost pleadingly in a fatherly tone. Albert. We have had this conversation many a time. Those men want a woman to hang on their elbow at the balls. The word posh is there to define them, she frowned, her eyes suddenly lighting up. I want a challenge, a man to steal my breath away, she fantasized, the light quickly fading away. Au revoir, I hope to see you tomorrow, she smiled warmly, before leaving the room and soon enough the plantation alltogether. Ordering a carriage, she was brought to the docks, a few yards from the Sheriff's Daughter. Thanking her driver - an employee of the plantation, she set the man free for the night and slowly walked down the street, responding to the men who whistled or wink at her with an inviting grin. Entering the place, she looked around, once again expecting nothing when she found herself facing a man that momentarily took her breath away. The stranger encompassed strength and refinement. Studying him slowly, her eyes similar to those of a cat on a nightly hunt, she felt her lips curl into a smirk. He fit the description, although there was place for doubt - after all, what were the odds of him being there that night? Moving slowly and gracefully, she made her way toward the male's table, pausing at the side facing him. Hello there, she cooed playfully, setting one of her knees on the chair, the fabric of the dress slowly sliding along her leg, uncovering a hint of skin. She leaned in slightly, resting her chest on her arms crossed on the table. May I steal a seat, Captain? She wondered, her expression seductive although light hearted.