Underway

[Captain Anne]

<sub>Anne stood behind the wheel, taking her place at the helm. Her hands grasped the spokes of the wooden wheel with ease; the smooth, wind-worn wood slid beneath her weathered hands as naturally as if it were a part of her. Her frame itself was not large, and although weathered and tough; stubborn and proud as a mule; she possessed no great strength.

But the winds were light; and she knew the sea as well as she knew her own heart. Perhaps more so, and she steered the ship with ease. If there was one thing she had learned from her years on her beloved ship; it was that you could not muscle her into obeying you. You guided her the best you could, and Anne had sailed this ship for long enough to know all of it's little quirks.

In fact; she was just as fond of this old boat as she was likely to be of any human. She'd faced a lot on this deck, and the old, faded wood held many memories for her. Standing on the deck of this old ship, at the helm, or raising a sword to her enemies throats as the waves pitched and the sea lapped against the hulls was the only freedom she had ever known in her life.

A strong burst of wind whipped across the deck swirling the air and whipping her dark hair wildly about her face. Her bright green eyes lit up, flashing with an intense glow that changed her whole face. The effect was rather wild, and she laughed in delight; a short, sharp sound that was barely recognizable as an expression of joy. Altogether she looked rather insane, but no one who hadn't shared her past would understand how she relished the sense of freedom she had found here.</sub>

[Francois Redevance]

Sails and swears...

A salty breeze blew gently across the rough, wooden deck of the Deval's moon, twirling round the mast, and then playing with the short hair of a young, blond man who was leaning on the gunwales of the ship, looking down into the ocean water rushing past them as the sped away from dry land. They had just taken leave of the pirate harbor, but the work did not stop. there were deckhands of all types milling around on the lower deck, doing various types of jobs. Francois was suppose to be helping fold an extra sail that had gotten unraveled as they were sailing away, but he had, undetected, walked away from the boring job to have a look at the open horizon. His pale face rather stood out in all the tanned, weathered skin all around him, but Francois was just that type that just didn't get a tan, no matter how long he got cooked under the boiling sun. He looked up to the poop deck where Captain Anne was currently enjoying herself. Adopting a confused look, Francois looked away, shaking his head.

Francois stood straight abruptly as another old deckhand approached him with an annoyed expression on his lined face.
"Red, ye worthless mutt, why aren't ye o'er there, foldin' the extra sail with the other scum? Do't tell me you've upturne' yer nose on har' work again, or I'll have ye fed to th' sharks!" He growled, pointing a menacing finger into Francois' face. Glaring coldly back at the man, Francois roughly pushed his finger away and stuck his face into his.
"Be careful who you're calling a mutt, Davey, or you'll find that your finger seems to be missing. I was only taking a piss." His pronounced French accent was another abnormality in the world of pirates that Francois possessed. Not only did he look like a navyman, he sounded like one too. The men on the ship had gotten use to it, though they never trusted or liked him at all. The deckhand called Davey shoved Francois away from him and walked back to his job. Francois, on the other hand, was glaring holed into Davey's back until his form got lost in the crowd of moving deckhands. Sighing, he trooped back to the sail, which was now nearly folded.
"Stupid git.."

... All in a hard day's work.

[Captain Anne]

Heave ho, welcome aboard! Pipe the pipes, now fiddle-dee-day;

<sub>Anne stood at the helm; her head tossed back; eyes dancing wildly. Her legs were braced against the toss of the sea, and her calloussed palms held the wheel easily. She usually took the cptain's position at the helm when first leaving port, to make sure they made good directions, and were on the right track. However, she had no particular destination in mind, and the winds were light and steady. Seeing no further reason to remain at the wheel, she steadied in and stepped down from the helm, deciding to wander amongst her crewmates and see how things fared.

She strode along the deck, a confident stride with her head held high, her boots thumping faitly in contrast to the general din of the ship. She checked the knots and the sails, occasionally comanding them to be redone if she judged a job to poor to hold up for long. Many of her mates had been with her for a while, and knew what to expect from her. Others were new to her ship, and she kept a wary eye on them. She'd been captain of the Deval's Moon for many years now, and had learned that many men were not fond of the idea of being captained by a woman. She was used to the narrow train of though, though she fought it with all she had. Most who had been with her long enough learned to respect her. If they didn't; they left.

Her ears were caught by a brief quarrel among to deckhands; one seasoned sailer; the other new to her ship. She listened briefly before intervening, her lilting voice one that commanded authority.

I cain 'andle this one, mate. She spoke to the man Davey, who was a good worker, and had been with the Moon for many seasons. 'Oy thar. Lad. Frenchie. Ye do yer work same as ev'ry other, and ye'll find no trouble. Bein' crew of me ship ain't a pleasure voyage, boy. Ye'll do yer fair share o' the work or ye'll be left off at th' nearest port, aye? Her voice was not cruel; infact; it ranged on the friendlier side of her inflictions. However, there was something in her Irish brogue that forbade argument; an underlying threat that defience would be not be dealt with kindly.</sub>

Heave ho, welcome aboard! Avast! We're underway!

[Francois Redevance]

The true meaning...

Francois was just about to get back to work when the captain herself approached him. If it were any other person, he would have had a smart retort to fling back, but he respected Captain Anne, as she was the only captain that accepted him into her crew when he was at the rock bottom of his life. She had given him the opportunity to gain back his status, from being a worthless nobody, to a notorious someone. He knew that, and Francois therefor had genuine respect for his captain.
"Aye, captain, my pardon." He replied with a slight glare, but then adopted an indifferent expression, and gave a small salute.

Francois turned back to his work, helping fold the sail for two other new deckhands, thinking of how rather strange it was to be captained by a woman. Of course, he had heard of Captain Anne before, but how had she come to the level at where she was now? As the sail was finally folded and two other men came to carry it away, he made a split decision, and turned back to Anne.
"Madam, if you don't mind, I've never 'eard of a woman captain before you." He shifted uncomfortably, but curiosity pushed him on. "'Ow did you manage to get there? To a Captain, I mean."

[ooc: sorry, little muse. D= ]

...respect and reflect.

[Captain Anne]

<sub>Anne stood on the deck, absently untying a halyard and adjusting the jib. The winds were light but steady today, and she gave the smaller sail a bit of a loft; to catch the gusty breeze and direct it into the main sail. She had no particular destination in mind today; and wasn't worried much about making huge progress; but she was always happier when she knew the ship was going well.

Her hair blew about her face as a gust twirled around the deck, and filled the sails with a loud pop as the canvas snapped outwards. Ah, she loved the sound, and moved to stand at the rail, and leaned over, turning her face up to the wind. Her dingy white linen shirt billowing in the light wind, and her green eyes danced happily.

Her attention was drawn as the red-haired man came forward. The same French-sounding lad she'd spoken to minutes earlier. She listened to his question, surveying him through intense green eyes, dark; makeup-ed lashes lowered warily. She paused a moment after he had finished to consider, then inclined her head lsightly, answering in her ringing, lilting voice.

I s'pose tha's a fair enough question. I h'was born in Ireland, me ma h'was from Ireland, me da...no one really knows. Probably he had dark hair, as me mum had red. Ireland be a poor co'ntry, so me mum worked 'er whole life t' earn enough gold t' book passage to England. We got on th' boat, and were jest out o' port 'when we were attacked by Barbary Pirates. We h'were a passege ship; not a fightin' one. Many of the young one's whar taken for slaves, sold by th' pirates. Meself included. I h'was slaved for years on; an slavin' be no easy life, rest assured, lad. I did escape, later; h'when me master was so drunk he could'na raise him own weapon. You'll know I never drink; nor any'un else on me ship. Tha's why. I stole a small ship; 'long with some o' me mates. It did'na matter t' us, men or women. We'd all been slaves, there was nothin' lower than that.

Our first thought h'was t' go t' England; th' navy h'was so powerful; they could stop th' pirates stealin' slaves! But nay; they profited from th' slave trade; an' they laghed in me face h'when I asked 'em. They would'na listen t' one so low as a slave; one so low as a woman. Thar was nothin' fer us in Britain; so some o' us became pirates. I do now fight th' navy; and their whole way o' life. This here be freedom, lad. And I'm not losing it again.

She stopped at the end of her story, green eyes blazing feircely. It was hard to tell which she hated more; slavery; or the way women were treated in Britain. She'd had to fight her way up to where she was know; and was accustomed to the surprise many showed at a female pirate. A female captain. Turning her attention back to the man, she spoke again.

H'why d'ye ask, lad? Does it anger ye t' me captained by a woman? Her bright green eyes were as chalenging as her voice, and she had to force herself to calm down, having worked herself up my the return of long banked horrors. She took a deep breath, and forced a friendlier tone into her voice, so when it came at last, atleast the words were jovial; if a bit strained. An' now I ask ye; h'why do ye speak like a Frenchman? And why d'ye dress like a Brit?



ooc: not a problem, lol. Sorry for the run-ons, I couldn't shorten it up really and have it still make sense.</sub>

[Francois Redevance]

Francois listened to his captain's tale, for the first time truly appreciating that she had taken him onto her ship, for he, too, knew what it was like to be trapped. Maybe he didn't have as harsh a life as Anne did, but he could still compare his confinement to that blasted navy school. He never saw the point of continuing with it; they kicked him out halfway anyway, bastards that they are. He listened as Captain Anne finished her tale, and turned the tables back on him. Francois picked his words carefully; he did not want to insult the woman, but he also wanted to tell her what he thought about it.

"Madam, it does not anger me to be captained by a woman; merely intrigues. 'Owever, I was taught that women should not be given the privileges that are opened to men, should not be taken seriously, and if only in bed. I do disagree with these ideas, though. I 'ave seen 'ow brilliant, enduring and cunning women can be." After he had said what was on his mind came the question that he was dreading; a question he was expecting someone would bring to light sooner or later, though did not look forward to it any more. Scowling slightly, Francois studied the sharp face of Captain Anne, weighing the value of her question. Granted, he knew that he would have to explain the answer, as Anne revealed much of her life to a man she barely knew, but respected enough to trust. With a small sigh, he leaned on the rail, looking down into the waved rushing past, and began.

"When I was only a small lad, I lived with my mother, who was a francophone. She spoke naught but French to us, so that 'as stayed with me, and will to the day that I die. I know that pirates to not take kindly to anyone that reminds them on England or any of their alliances, but I do not change to fit the demand of those that would not do the same in return." He paused to collect his thoughts for a second, to control the angry memories that came rushing back at the thought of his family, and most especially, his brother.
"The reason I dress like a Brit is simple; I attended the 'Arldson Academy of Navy Forces." He looked up with a hard, steely look in his eyes to see how his captain would react. "Yes, I admit that I was a navyman in training, but no longer. I 'ave left that part of my life behind in tattered ruins. They wouldn't take me back if I wanted to, now; I'm a wanted pirate, non?" He looked away again and glared into the horizon. Explaining it hadn't been as hard as he though; what would they do with the information was the question.

[ooc: psst! Francois has bright golden hair, not red. =P]

[Captain Anne]

<sub>Anne leaned against the rail, her legs crossed comfortably at the ankles; one scuffed boot atop the other. Her hair was lifted and tossed about in the light breeze. Her linen shirt; once white; now showing stains and grime of the years past; flapped loosely about her. How difficult it was to find comfortable men''s clothing in a size that fit her! It seemed that every blasted Brit or pirate she killed was twice her size!

She studied the man with intense green eyes, narrowing the thick black lashes in her scrutiny. Her right hand twirled a small knife between her fingers absently; but she never moved her eyes from the man before her the entire while he spoke. Under and over the silver knife flashed; a daring trick she'd learned wile in the slave pens. The toothless hag who'd taught her only had four fingers on his left hand; if that was anything to go by.

Alas, lad; most o' th' world views women like that. 'Tis a pity we can'ae open thar deadlights for 'em! Her chalenging tone suggested that that is indeed exactly what she was intending to do.

When at last the golden haired pirate finished his tale, she regarded him through considering eyes, tiltling her head to one side as she thought. In truth; his tale was not far off of what she'd guessed. Pirates like this one weren't born of rogues. However, she saw the fury in his stance as he turned away, and the hatred in his eyes. She knew that just as her tale seemed unimportant to any other, yet was her sole reason for living; his was the same to him. And so it was, that when she spoke; her Irish voice lilted softer than usual, and the emerald eyes shone softer.

Aye, mate. I cain'ae say truly I did'na think it so. But we all 'ave something in our past we run from; that what we h'would kill t' farget. But lad; we fight, too, and our past makes us strongar. I be glad ye're on our side. It was a lot of kind words for Anne, but she thought they needed to be said. She turned as well to the sea for a moment, breathing in the salty air.

She turned back sharply to the man beside her, green eyes blazing with challenge. Do'nae sulk, lad! Show me 'oe th' all-powerful Navy fights; or will ye let a useless pirate wench best ye? Her chin was lifted, and she gazed at him evenly, and though her flashing eyes held laughter and jest; the ring of metal as she unsheathed her sword was anything but a joke.


[ooc:] sorry 'bout that. I assumed if you called him Red, he must have red hair. My mistake!</sub>