Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:03 P.M..; The Rub of Del Monte

"Anyone else wanna kill me, today?!" Crowe's eyes lift from where Kidane's corpse lay, entrails seeping slowly from its opened belly.

None of the five who'd accompanied the big slaver onto the Rub of DelMonte's balcony offer a reply, or so much as dare to meet the quartermasters gaze, for that matter, instead, they simply stare in shock and horror at the sight of Kidane lying in a pool of his own blood and guts,

"Aye," Fin grumbles, flicking the blood from his blades before returning them to their places, "I thought ‘s much."

,The crowd filling the balcony's doorway, too, had fallen silent, and many a face shared the same horrified expressions as Kidane's men. From just beyond that stunned silent crowd, though, Fin heard a trio of familiar voices.

"Fin! Ya there?"

"Quartermaster!"

"Move aside, I say!"

Glancing past the frozen men, Crowe spots a jostling of the people and Emanuel breaks through looking somehow both frustrated and concerned. Behind him, Aleksi and Zec stumble onto the balcony.

"Sir?" Emanuel queries with raised eyebrows while immediately assessing that his quartermaster is in a predicament. All three of the Dog's crew have hands on sword hilts and both Emanuel and Aleksi Rautio have their other hand on pistols at their waists.

"So ya did hear me, eh," Fin smirks in response to the brawny little Mexican. "Yer a bit late ta th' party, lads," he adds, mopping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, as his gaze flits to Alexi and Zec, "but I'd appreciate ye seein' tha' these lubbers clean up their rubbish ‘fore they shove off," He gives Kidane's cooling corpse a kick to emphasize the word ‘rubbish' before he steps over it and strides for the door, "I'm in need o' an honest drink," he mumbles, clapping Emanuel on the shoulder as he passes by.

Adrenaline still coursing through him, the Sun Dog's quartermaster shoulders through the crowd still gathered in the doorway with scarcely a "get th' f*&# outta m'way" needing to be uttered and snatches a half full cup from one of the onlooker's hands as he goes. He drains the thing in a single tip and, as he reaches the top of the stairs, unceremoniously tosses the cup away. "Jus' tryin' ta find a job," Fin grumbles, mostly under his breath, as he stomps down the steps, "but tha' can' be done wi'out someone tryin' ta kill me, No, tha'd be too bloody simple, wouldn' it?" Reaching the bottom of the stairway, Crowe strides for the door leading to the street, his hard eyes sweeping the room before him, daring any to meet his gaze.

"Where c'n a bloke find a decent bottle o' rum in this shyte-hole town," he asks no one in particular, and certainly not under his breath,

((OOC: Okay, Fin's off in search of a "decent drink" and to do the job Anna sent him ashore to do, to begin with. He's not necessarily expecting an answer to that last question, of course, but if any suggestions are offered up, he's apt to point himself in the direction proposed.))

Wiley moved quickly, but cautiously, towards the docks. He watched as the guards gained some distance ahead of him. He didn't want anything to do with them. Pirates tend to prefer to avoid the law, after all. He just hoped that some other stupid crewman from the Dog wasn't the source of the problem. Pirates do tend to attract the law, after all.

He groaned a bit inwardly, with his imagination letting him envision all sorts of messes his comrades could get him in. But he continued to follow the guards at a distance - the commotion seemed to be down towards where he was supposed to meet First Mate Cole anyway.

As he got closer to the docks the crowds go thicker, with many people rushing back towards Wiley, which didn't make his progress any easier. Caution took the lead. About a block from the docks, Wiley ducked into a side street - as best as he could tell it should move him further down the beach and closer towards where the Dog's skiff was located if he needed to get back to the ship. Hopefully it would also allow him to come out on the docks/shore on the other side of the commotion. If the roads ran the way he hoped they did, he should be able to look back at the source of the commotion and back towards where he was to meet the First Mate. The two locations seemed close together. Wiley had never been a fan of coincidences and his imagination provided many possibilities, few of them good, as he picked up speed down the side street. He hadn't given up on caution, but at the moment it seemed to be losing the race to imagination.

Goncalvo stepped into the launch. "aye, I am ready to return to the ship". He was just about seated when he heard "killed a soldier". "What, who killed a soldier? Goncalvo knew this was no good news. "Hellfire did, and a city official as well." came the reply. Oh, this is bad news for us. Very hard to do business in a port if you make enemies of the local government. Then again what else should I expect from a boatload of pirates." Pull hard for the ship, I must give my news to the captain and see if she wants to ready sails in case we need to leave quickly."

"Sailmaster," Seamus Higgins is the sailor on the oars. A broad-shouldered, slim waisted man with a crooked smile and good looks, Seamus wears his red hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. His freckled skin makes him look older than he is and his Irish accent often causes people to have trouble understanding him. "Ready t' return t' da Dog, are ya?"

Goncalvo steps into the launch. "Aye, I am ready to return to the ship."

Higgins looks behind Goncalvo and sweeps the town's outskirts with his pale blue eyes. Satisfied that no one else is coming, the Irishman turns and, together with the Sailsmaster, pushes the craft into the increasing waves.

"Did ya ‘ear wha's ‘appened?" Seamus grunts while clamoring over the side of the boat and dropping into position.

"Hellfire kilt a guard an' a city official," Higgins grins handsomely.

The dignified Portuguese sailor is just about seated when he hears, "—kilt a guard—".

"What? Who killed a soldier?" Goncalvo knows this is not good news.

"Hellfire did, and a city official as well," Came the calm reply, though the sailsmaster can recognize a hint of amusement in the Irishman's tone.

Oh, this is bad news for us. Very hard to do business in a port if you make enemies of the local government. Then again what else should I expect from a boatload of pirates. Outloud, Goncalvo Goncallves d'Gafanha da Nazare speaks with urgency, "Pull hard for the ship. I must give my news to the captain and see if she wants to ready sails in case we need to leave quickly."
Seamus raises his eyebrows but his is to do as he is told and speculate in his own time, so, with a grunt, he sets to the oars. Fighting through the evening waves they are slower in reaching the Dog's starboard side than they were in leaving it. Upon approach a rope and wood ladder is dropped over the rail and Goncalvo ascends as quickly as he is able.

Few sailors are still aboard the Sun Dog and the main deck is nearly empty except for Anraoi Ó Fathaigh, a fierce Irishman and close friend to Seamus; Ardeshir Ghazali, called Bloodless by the crew, a Pakistani with black eyeliner and a black turban to match; a fellow Goncalvo had never seen before with a bandaged leg and dark countenance; and Salazar, the cabin boy. Bloodless and Anraoi seem to have pulled guard duty while the injured fellow appears to be asleep and Salazar is dutifully mopping the deck.

"Welcome back, Sailsmaster," Anraoi grins through his thick red beard while wild blue eyes drink in the well-dressed officer's worried face. "‘Tings no' go as ye hoped ashore?"

Bloodless carries a flat stare with him almost all of the time except when in battle. At that time, his visage becomes horrific and demonic. Now, he looks over the side and waves Seamus off while not offering anything further to the Irishman's inquiry. Salazar glances shyly up from his work but immediately returns to his task when his dusk blue orbs meet Goncalvo's.

(OOC: Whatever response you deem appropriate,)

"If yer ‘bout t' see the Cap'n," O'Fathaigh calls after the officer as Goncalvo strides towards Anne's quarters, "ya might be cautious, sir. Ol' Hellfire came back t' the Dog with blood on ‘er ‘ands an' Cap'n Cole weren't none too ‘appy ‘bout it. She's in a black mood."

(OOC: Assuming you'll continue,)

Standing straight-backed before the weather-worn door to the captain's quarters, Goncalvo Goncallves d'Gafanha da Nazare knocks. Silence follows for a few short breaths before the door is flung open and a glowering Anne Cole stands before him.

"Ah," she exhales, her hard yet beautiful features softening just a bit. "Back from shore so soon, Goncalvo?"

(OOC: Time is roughly 6:08 PM)

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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:03 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

"Sir?" Emanuel queries with raised eyebrows while immediately assessing that his quartermaster is in a predicament. All three of the Dog's crew have hands on sword hilts and both Emanuel and Aleksi Rautio have their other hand on pistols at their waists.

"So ya did hear me, eh?" Fin smirks in response to the brawny little Mexican. "Yer a bit late ta th' party, lads," he adds, mopping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm as his gaze flits to Alexi and Zec, "but I'd appreciate ye seein' tha' these lubbers clean up their rubbish ‘fore they shove off," He gives Kidane's cooling corpse a kick to emphasize the word ‘rubbish' before he steps over it and strides for the door. "I'm in need o' an honest drink," he mumbles, clapping Emanuel on the shoulder as he passes by.

Emanuel Tenorio gawks at the scene before him even as he's being given instructions and a slap to the shoulder. Sharpening up once Fin passes by, he returns to a steady countenance just as the stunned entourage of the dead slaver begin to shift.

"Now, don' go doin' nothin' estúpido," he growls whilst taking up a more threatening stance. The five men pause, unsure of their course now that Kidane is dead.

"Ne siivota sotkua, neljännes mestari," Alexi says in his native tongue which somehow makes his reply seem threatening. "We shall ensure it."

Adrenaline still coursing through him, the Sun Dog's quartermaster shoulders through the crowd still gathered in the doorway with scarcely a "get th' f*&# outta m'way" needing to be uttered and snatches a half full cup from one of the onlookers' hands as he goes by. He drains the thing in a single tip of the container and, as he reaches the top of the stairs—completely uncaring of the man whose drink he just stole's response, unceremoniously tosses the cup away.

"Jus' tryin' ta find a job," Fin grumbles, mostly under his breath, as he stomps down the steps, "but tha' can' be done wi'out someone tryin' ta kill me, No, tha'd be too bloody simple, wouldn' it?" A wide-hipped blonde woman with a dingy white blouse and a low neckline struggles to move out of his way. Reaching the bottom of the stairway, Crowe strides for the door leading to the street, his hard eyes sweeping the room before him, daring any to meet his gaze.

"Where c'n a bloke find a decent bottle o' rum in this shyte-hole town," he asks no one in particular, and certainly not under his breath.

"I dare say you've found the place, sir," echoes the reply in a fine alto.

Gazing in the direction of the instruction, Fin watches as a man descends the last few steps. Taller than Fin, this individual's brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail and tied off with a black bow. Collar high with a blue tie, he wears a powder blue top coat despite the heat and a ruffled blouse beneath it. Ruffles even spread from his sleeves draping over his hands, one of which holds a black cane with a silver knob on the end in the shape of an owl's head. His britches are knee-length and of a similar blue to his coat, and his stockings are a light gray. Black, highly-polished shoes with brass buckles scrape the last of the stairs and settle upon the squeaky wooden floor. His thin brown eyebrows are raised politely and his aristocratic features set in a bored play.

"Perhaps you would deign to allow me the honor of purchasing you said beverage?"

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:03 PM.)

----------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:47 P.M.

Gliding gracefully to her booted feet, Maggie shoves the flintlock back into her brace.

"What ‘ave ya bloody done?" Shark Tooth barks irreverently whilst sliding to a halt in front of her.

"Don't you %$*&!^& forget herself, ya daft bastard," she fumes, leveling her murder weapon before his face. "The pompous ass put it on his %$^*&^% self."

"Capt'n Cole—" Wylie coughs around his swollen lips.

"Is not bloody here," Maggie growls. "An' we shouldn' waste no more %$# $*^$ $%&^##% time here neither. So, stop standing there like a ^%&^%#÷ fool an' move!"

If there's one thing that Shark Tooth is extremely good at it's following orders. So good is he, as a matter-of-fact, that he starts off in the direction of the nearby beach only to be stopped when Maggie calls out, "Not that way you *^*&!"

Sheathing her sword, the younger Cole sister secures her pistols with her hands as she runs for the nearby alley with Sharky hot on her heels. About them the life upon the dock reels back as most are content to stay out of this murderous woman's way rather than involving themselves. Shortly burning away the distance between them and the relative shelter of the side street, Maggie slows to a swift walk while casting a furtive glance over her left shoulder. Few are purposefully paying her any mind and those who are quickly redirect their gazes.

"We keep moving," she purrs. "We keep moving until we're sure that we're too &^%$$^( far from the scene to be associated."

"Aye, miss," Shark Tooth replies. His good eye is on the space ahead. "Calm an' cagey."

"Ya," she spares him a look, "calm an' %@!$^(( cagey."

-----------------------

As he draws closer to the docks the crowds get thicker, with many people rushing back towards Wiley, which doesn't make his progress any easier. Caution takes the lead. About a block from the docks, Wiley ducks into a side street—as best as he can tell it should move him further down the beach and closer towards where the Dog's skiff is located if he needs to get back to the ship. Hopefully, it will also allow him to come out on the docks, or shore, on the other side of the commotion. If the roads run the way he hopes they do, he should be able to look back at the source of the commotion and back towards where he is to meet the First Mate. The two locations seem close together by his best estimation.
Wiley has never been a fan of coincidences and his imagination provides many possibilities—few of them good—as he picked up speed down the side street. He hasn't given up on caution, but at the moment it seems to be losing the race to imagination.

Red catches his attention as he passes between buildings. Not the red of blood or the bright red of a dye, but the red of a fiery woman's hair flowing from beneath a broad brimmed, dark colored hat. Pausing, Cracker can't believe his luck. Down a short alley and across the busy street he has just left, and then through another short corridor, William is sure that he's just witnessed Maggie Cole pass by in the opposite direction followed closely by Shark Tooth Stryker!

(OOC: Time is roughly 1:50 PM)

June 3rd 1670, Tortuga Bay Settlement, roughly 12:05 p.m.; The Rub of DelMonte common room

"Jus' tryin' ta find a job," Fin grumbles, mostly under his breath, as he stomps down the steps, "but tha' can' be done wi'out someone tryin' ta kill me, No, tha'd be too bloody simple, wouldn' it?" A wide-hipped blonde woman with a dingy white blouse and a low neckline struggles to move out of his way. Reaching the bottom of the stairway, Crowe strides for the door leading to the street, his hard eyes sweeping the room before him, daring any to meet his gaze.

"Where c'n a bloke find a decent bottle o' rum in this shyte-hole town," he asks no one in particular, and certainly not under his breath.

"I dare say you've found the place, sir," echoes the reply in a fine alto.

Gazing in the direction of the instruction, Fin watches as a man descends the last few steps. Taller than Fin, this individual's brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail and tied off with a black bow. Collar high with a blue tie, he wears a powder blue top coat despite the heat and a ruffled blouse beneath it. Ruffles even spread from his sleeves draping over his hands, one of which holds a black cane with a silver knob on the end in the shape of an owl's head. His britches are knee-length and of a similar blue to his coat, and his stockings are a light gray. Black, highly-polished shoes with brass buckles scrape the last of the stairs and settle upon the squeaky wooden floor. His thin brown eyebrows are raised politely and his aristocratic features set in a bored play.

"Perhaps you would deign to allow me the honor of purchasing you said beverage?"

Honor, again, is it?

Fin's brows raise, too, as he turns and slowly assesses the dandy of a man. Where the fop's expression was one of polite boredom, though, Crowe's spoke more to skepticism laced, perhaps, with a bit of curiosity. This wasn't the sort of man with whom Fin would typically be found drinking, robbing, perhaps, or stalking in search of a prize. Even more curious in the pirate's mind was that the coxcomb fellow had invited him,

The quartermaster hooked his thumbs over the top of his belt as his scrutinizing gaze made its way back from the other man's highly polished shoes, past the powder blue poofery of his frilly garb, and settled, once more, on the aristocratic set of the man's visage. For the flicker of an instant, Fin considered telling the man to go f*&% himself. Instead, though, one corner of his mouth pulled up into the beginnings of something more affable than the grim sneer he'd been wearing and he offered the other man a curt nod. "Aye," he rumbled, a faint shrug of his shoulders accompanying the word, "Why th' hell not? Ye look 's if ye c'n afford it,."

He took a couple of steps in the fop's direction, adding; "If it's anythin' more'n th' drinks ye've got in mind, though, I'll pass. I've had more'n my fill o' folk f*&^in' wit' me, t'day."

((OOC: All right, if the frilly robin's egg doesn't run off, let's have a drink with the man and see where it goes, Fin will let the man lead the way to a table or the bar at his discretion.))

"Alas, Captain my Captain, I am so soon returned. For a few moments I thought I might have to stay too long in too fine an inn but at the last moment my gentlemanly charm seemed to let me down and a most attractive young woman chose to turn her back on me. But I was able to gather some interesting information on tides, currents and wind patterns. Things you must find terribly boring but to one such as me it is a treasure." Goncalvo took a moment and then continued, "I have heard there was some excitement in town of a sort that may not further our acceptance in this port. Should I make ready a plan for an expeditious departure?" As he waited for an answer he could not help but wonder if the lass on the dock or the Captain herself would be the most entertaining companion.

Red catches his attention as he passes between buildings. Not the red of blood or the bright red of a dye, but the red of a fiery woman's hair flowing from beneath a broad brimmed, dark colored hat. Pausing, Cracker can't believe his luck. Down a short alley and across the busy street he has just left, and then through another short corridor, William is sure that he's just witnessed Maggie Cole pass by in the opposite direction followed closely by Shark Tooth Stryker!

(Assuming "opposite direction" means they are going the opposite way Cracker is - back the way he had come from. If this is wrong then this needs adjustment - he is trying to catch them.)

Cracker caught a glimpse of what he was sure was a Cole and a Shark headed in the opposite direction. Spinning quickly on his heel he dashed back the way he had come. Running down the alley and chasing the others didn't seem likely to work, especially with the crowd on the other end of the alley. But since the road he was on was lightly travelled he could move quickly. If he retraced his steps quickly and then cut towards them he would likely run into the pair.

(If he does meet them he would approach them and address the First Mate. Or course, if circumstances surrounding them are a bit crazy, he might have to figure that out first.)

Standing straight-backed before the weather-worn door to the captain's quarters, Goncalvo Goncallves d'Gafanha da Nazare knocks. Silence follows for a few short breaths before the door is flung open and a glowering Anne Cole stands before him.

"Ah," she exhales, her hard yet beautiful features softening just a bit. "Back from shore so soon, Goncalvo?"

"Alas, Captain my Captain, I am so soon returned. For a few moments I thought I might have to stay too long in too fine an inn but at the last moment my gentlemanly charm seemed to let me down and a most attractive young woman chose to turn her back on me. But I was able to gather some interesting information on tides, currents and wind patterns. Things you must find terribly boring but to one such as me it is a treasure." Goncalvo takes a moment and then continues, "I have heard there was some excitement in town of a sort that may not further our acceptance in this port. Should I make ready a plan for an expeditious departure?" As he waits for an answer he can not help but wonder if the lass on the dock or the Captain herself would be the most entertaining companion.

"Bloody hell! Is the word spreading already?" Anne turns and strides purposefully back to her desk insinuating that her sailsmaster is to follow. "Where did you ‘ear ‘bout it?"

(OOC: Assuming your answer is true,)

"Well, blast him from the cannons fer gossipin'," she snarls and drops like a ragdoll into the armchair and snatching a dirk from the table at the same time. "And what do you think I should do ‘bout it, Goncalvo? How would you suggest the capt'n deal with ‘er sister killing a government bootlicker an' ‘is lacky soldier?"

(OOC: Time is roughly 6:12 PM)

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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:03 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

"Perhaps you would deign to allow me the honor of purchasing you said beverage?"

Honor, again, is it?
Fin's brows raise, too, as he turns and slowly assesses the dandy of a man. Where the fop's expression is one of polite boredom, though, Crowe's speaks more towoards skepticism laced, perhaps, with a bit of curiosity. This isn't the sort of man with whom Fin is typically be found drinking with... robbing, perhaps, or stalking in search of a prize, maybe, but drinking? Even more curious in the pirate's mind is that the coxcomb fellow has invited him,

The quartermaster hooks his thumbs over the top of his belt as his scrutinizing gaze makes its way back from the other man's highly polished shoes, past the powder blue poofery of his frilly garb, and settles, once more, on the aristocratic set of the man's visage. For the flicker of an instant, Fin considers telling the man to go f*&% himself. Instead, though, one corner of his mouth pulls up into the beginnings of something more affable than the grim sneer he has been wearing and he offers the other man a curt nod.

"Aye," he rumbles, a faint shrug of his shoulders accompanying the word, "Why th' hell not? Ye look 's if ye c'n afford it,."

He takes a couple of steps in the fop's direction, adding; "If it's anythin' more'n th' drinks ye've got in mind, though, I'll pass. I've had more'n my fill o' folk f*&^in' wit' me, t'day."

"Quaint," the fop drolly comments, leading the way to a table with a good view of the rest of the room. It is already occupied, but that seems not to deter him and as the two men approach, the lot about the table hurriedly and cleanly vacate.

"Please," gesturing at a chair, the aristocrat waits for Fin to seat himself before following suite across the table. "I heard the man you just gutted call you Fin Crowe. My name is Elias Oken and I am very familiar with Mr. Kidane's skills, which yours have surpassed. This intrigues me, sir, for I may have coin for a man of your ability.

"Pray tell, from where to you hail and on which ship did you arrive?"

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:05 PM.)

----------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:50 P.M.

Cracker catches a glimpse of what he is sure is a Cole and a Shark heading in the opposite direction. Spinning quickly on his heel he dashes back the way he had come. Running down the alley and chasing the others doesn't seem likely to work, especially with the crowd on the other end of the alley, but since the road he is on is lightly travelled he can move quickly. If he retraces his steps quickly and then cuts towards them he will likely run into the pair.

Sweat pouring down his back, the boatswain rushes through the smaller side street sending chickens clucking indignantly as he bowls through the midst of them. Scullery maids, servants, and workers of various industry watch him whip past with both curiosity and some concern. Gauging the approximate distance he's cleared with the rate he'd witnessed the first mate and her entourage moving, William cuts to his right in a hurried jog down a thin passage between two buildings. Thin enough that he's forced to run nearly sideways and receive a couple of jarring blows to his shoulders when he miscalculates his steps.

Bolting into the swilling humanity of the main street, Cracker deftly dodges about the milling, sweaty society, then twists in the other direction to keep from crashing into a woman carrying a basket of rags. Within seconds he's made it across the street and is thundering down the new alley in an attempt to cut his quarry off.

William explodes into the subsequent alley and slides to a halt, kicking up a pale cloud of dust to drift in the gentle breeze as his eyes flit from one object to another until they rest on the running backsides of his crewmates. Huffing, Cracker ducks his head and engages in the pursuit once more. He'd seen Shark Tooth run before and recognized almost immediately that the gunner is pulling in to allow Maggie to keep pace and while Stryker is also faster than the boatswain, his slowed pace allows Cracker to catch up.

Drawing close, William is surprised that they are so intent on their progress that his approach goes unnoticed until he's right behind Sharky. (OOC: Taking a simple liberty,) "Sharky! Maggie!"

Stryker practically staggers as he turns about and continues to run, but seeing Cracker he grins broadly and begins to slow. "Miss Maggie," he calls ahead, "It's Cracker. He's found us!"

(OOC: Time is roughly 1:53 PM)

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:05 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

"Perhaps you would deign to allow me the honor of purchasing you said beverage?"

"Aye," Fin rumbles, a faint shrug of his shoulders accompanying the word, "Why th' hell not? Ye look 's if ye c'n afford it,."

He takes a couple of steps in the fop's direction, adding; "If it's anythin' more'n th' drinks ye've got in mind, though, I'll pass. I've had more'n my fill o' folk f*&^in' wit' me, t'day."

"Quaint," the fop drolly comments, leading the way to a table with a good view of the rest of the room. It is already occupied, but that seems not to deter him and as the two men approach, the lot about the table hurriedly and cleanly vacate.

Fin follows, an amused smirk his only response to the bluebird's comment. The flow of adrenaline has abated a bit but his wariness refuses to dissipate and his gaze briefly follows the men who scramble to relinquish their table at the finely dressed man's unspoken behest.

"Please," the aristocrat says, gesturing at a now empty chair and drawing Fin's attentions back.

With a muffled grunt and an even more imperceptible nod, Crowe straddles the indicated seat and settles in, his eyes quickly skimming the place, again, before falling back on the man across the table.

"I heard the man you just gutted call you Fin Crowe,"

Fin's nod of acknowledgement is more obvious than his last.

",My name is Elias Oken and I am very familiar with Mr. Kidane's skills, which yours have surpassed. This intrigues me, sir, for I may have coin for a man of your ability."

Despite the fact that the promise of coin raises a brow in curiosity, the quartermaster's eyes narrow a bit as he wonders exactly how this Oken fellow had become so familiar with Kidane's skills, Are ya a slaver, bluebird, he finds himself thinking but not asking, er did ye jus' hire th' black bastard fer muscle?

"Yeah, Bugger's had tha' comin' ta ‘im fer years," Fin rumbles quietly in the wake of a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. "Sorry if I stepped on yer plans fer th' S.O.B," Despite his words, Crowe's expression is anything but apologetic.


"Pray tell, from where do you hail," Oken asks, "and on which ship did you arrive?"

The question called something of a bemused smirk to Crowe's lips, Far's I know, he muses, eyeing the man, me Mum were a Scotch whore an' me Da were jus' as likely a dandy f*^k like you. I were whelped a slave by th' bastard airin' out ‘is guts up on th' balcony an' his shyte-heel master, Le Roux, on an isle not far from this'n, He spoke none of this aloud, of course; the rules of power told him it was never a wise thing to give a stranger (even one offering coin) too much information about oneself. "Here an' there," Fin finally offers with an enigmatic grin, "Mos' recent outta London. I come in on Th' Sun Dog, under Capt'n Cole, jus' this mornin',"

((OOC: A minor liberty, if I may,))

His gaze averts from the dandy across the table just long enough to catch a passing serving wench by the arm. "Bottle o' rum, poppet, an' two mugs," he says, inclining his head toward Oken, "Me mate, here's, buyin',"

((OOC: Assuming a nod of assent from Oken and the wench scurrying off to fetch the bottle, [/liberty]))

As the girl skitters away, Fin's attentions return, in full, to the man across the table and he leans back in his chair a bit. "More important than where I'm from, Mister Oken," he suggests, "is wha' ye might be needin' a bloke like me fer, an' wha' sort o' coin ye'd be offerin' fer my services."

The Captain's fury was as evident as her frustration after telling her of how he heard of the situation. She fired off questions at him and he thought for a moment. "How would I handle it? That is an interesting question. The crewman first if I may. A man with no tongue finds it difficult to wag one. That may be a bit harsh for he did only reveal it to a member of the crew and a senior one at that so perhaps that is a bit harsh. Five good lashings should remind everyone that silence is oft best. As for your sister, that is a conundrum. You cannot allow her to go around killing government officials or soldiers no matter how much they deserve it. But, she is your second and a public punishment might undermine her authority. Then again it might show you play no favorites." Goncalvo thought for a bit and then added with a sly smile "A good spanking perhaps?"

(Maggie? Who dares to call the first mate "Maggie"???)

Cracker continued to run along with the other two once he had caught up. Something had them running and he was pretty sure that his arrival wouldn't be cause enough for a break and a party.

With a glance at the first mate, he spoke between breaths as they ran, "Sir., a report once we pause." He looked around him and at where they were headed. "Are we goin' back to the Dog?"

As they move, the scene plays back in her mind, and catches on the moment the blade pushes through him, repeating that moment again and again, and she snorts derisively at the mental movie. Over all this, the understanding that Anna won't be happy when she hears, and the sudden flash of concern that she may have set a ting in motion that may come back to f*** them all. It all depends, she muses, on whose men those were she'd taken out. Bloody hell, she sighs, and keeps her feet moving as she tries to push all these thoughts from her head, for none of them serve any useful purpose and only clutter her and distract. And a distraction can get her killed, by rack or by rope. And she has no desire foreiter, tell you true.

Maggie watches the passing scenery as they move, and barely registers the new presence to her little escape party till he speaks, and it makes her eyes roll so hard she gives the briefest of pauses. "F***in' c**ts," she mutters under her breath as she wheels round on a heel to face Cracker.

"No, we're no goin' back t' th' bloody f***in' ship, you twat," she hisses through clenched teeth. There's hellfire in her eyes, and the rage within her hasn't yet passed enough for any form of civil conversation. "There be no way in f***in hell I'll walk trouble right the f*** up to our very f****ing doorway for the Cap'n to waste 'er f***in time on, savvy?"

She pushes on, forcing her feet to keep from breaking out into a run, forcing her heart to slow it's incessant pounding, which presses on her nerves more than she'll admit. Her eyes cast about as she moves to make sure none have taken too keen an interest in her and her motley little band. What she needs is less the dark alley she'd originally thought. Too easy to be trapped like rats there, and like as not, it'd go bad for anyone that tried. No, what she needed to do, thought it soured her stomach to even think it, is to blend.

Maggie slows her pace a bit more and heaves a heavy sigh. "But you boys are. Now, and by differen' f**** paths, ye ken?"

((OOC: assuming agreement from the others))

"You," she gives a nod to Sharky, "let th' Cap'n know I'll be... a bit delayed. An keep it t' yer f**in self why, less she asks direct like. I need t' find Crowe and make sure I'm no' goin' ta be draggin the law back in me nets when I make it back to th' Dog."

((OOC: assuming again the men agree))

"Now!" She growls, as the storm of her emotions passes over her face.

((Whatever checks need to be made here, she'll head for the dive-iest tavern, making sure she's not followed.))

After the first mate rounded on him in a fury, Cracker paused for but a moment and nodded his head. He had no idea what had just happened. Hellfire had always been full of brimstone, but what the heck had brought that on? Something, clearly, had happened. But he had no idea what.

What he did know was that he was headed back to the Sun Dog. He quickly looked at Sharky, nodded his head towards an alley and headed off that way at a trot. He quickly slowed down to a quick walk to better blend with the crowd. He was no longer chasing the first mate, nor trying to keep up with her, so there was no need to run. He was just headed back to the ship.

He was heading back to the ship and puzzling over what might have happened. He'd been ordered not to speak of it, which wouldn't be much of a problem since he didn't even know what "it" was. But apparently the first mate had run afoul of the law. Clearly she didn't want the law on the Dog's tail. And those had been soldiers or guards he had seen earlier headed towards the docks. That was probably all about Lady Cole. But what had she done?

Lost her temper, that was what she had done. Cracker was not much of a gambler, unusual for a pirate, but he'd have put a pretty penny (or whatever poor pennies he could actually put together) on the fact that someone had stepped on that pretty red-headed temper. Some idiot probably tried to treat her like a lady, he thought with a bit of a grin as he moved quickly down the road. He continued to keep his eyes open for information - either about the ships in port or his fiery superior officer. He whistled a bit as he headed back to water. Sometimes life amused him.

"Well, blast him from the cannons fer gossipin'," she snarls and drops like a ragdoll into the armchair and snatching a dirk from the table at the same time. "And what do you think I should do ‘bout it, Goncalvo? How would you suggest the capt'n deal with ‘er sister killing a government bootlicker an' ‘is lacky soldier?"

The Captain's fury is as evident as her frustration after telling her of how he had heard of the situation. She fires off questions at him and he thinks for a moment.

"How would I handle it? That is an interesting question. The crewman first if I may. A man with no tongue finds it difficult to wag one. That may be a bit harsh for he did only reveal it to a member of the crew and a senior one at that so perhaps that is a bit harsh. Five good lashings should remind everyone that silence is oft best. As for your sister, that is a conundrum. You cannot allow her to go around killing government officials or soldiers no matter how much they deserve it. But, she is your second and a public punishment might undermine her authority. Then again it might show you play no favorites." Goncalvo thinks for a bit and then adds with a sly smile "A good spanking perhaps?"

"Gentlemen are all the same," Anne remarks with less heat. "Don't matter whether they're in court ‘r on deck, they all wanna see a girl's skirts up aroun' ‘er head.

"Yer idea fer Anraoi ain't a bad one. Arrange it with Crowe when he returns." Flipping the blade in her right hand, she peers thoughtfully at the rafters. "I think yer right ‘bout the public loss o' face. I'll have t' find somethin' tha' Maggie hates. Somethin' she absolutely despises doin' an' make ‘er do it as punishment.

"In the meantime, Goncalvo, now's the time ya share with me the spoils o' yer journey ashore. I don't know yet whether we need t' make a hasty departure, but I wanna know we can an' where t' go when the time's upon us."

(OOC: Time is roughly 6:16 PM)

------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:05 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

"Please," gesturing at a chair, the aristocrat waits for Fin to seat himself before following suite across the table. "I heard the man you just gutted call you Fin Crowe. My name is Elias Oken and I am very familiar with Mr. Kidane's skills, which yours have surpassed. This intrigues me, sir, for I may have coin for a man of your ability.

"Pray tell, from where to you hail and on which ship did you arrive?"

The question calls something of a bemused smirk to Crowe's lips, Far's I know, he muses, eyeing the man, me Mum were a Scotch whore an' me Da were jus' as likely a dandy f*^k like you. I were whelped a slave by th' bastard airin' out ‘is guts up on th' balcony an' his shyte-heel master, Le Roux, on an isle not far from this'n, He speaks none of this aloud, of course; the rules of power tell him it is never a wise thing to give a stranger (even one offering coin) too much information about oneself. "Here an' there," Fin finally offers with an enigmatic grin, "Mos' recent outta London. I come in on Th' Sun Dog, under Capt'n Cole, jus' this mornin',"

His gaze averts from the dandy across the table just long enough to catch a passing serving wench by the arm. "Bottle o' rum, poppet, an' two mugs," he says, inclining his head toward Oken, "Me mate, here's, buyin',"

Eyes dart from Fin to Oken with startled fear that Fin can easily register as a fire his table companion caused, not his grip on her arm. Mr. Elias Oken nods a slow dip of his head and the girl rushes off to complete the order.

As the girl skitters away, Fin's attention returns, in full, to the man across the table and he leans back in his chair a bit. "More important than where I'm from, Mister Oken," he suggests, "is wha' ye might be needin' a bloke like me fer, an' wha' sort o' coin ye'd be offerin' fer my services."

"You are as direct as your means of dealing with Mr. Kidane indicates," Oken flatly eyes the pirate. "I am making a character judgment, Mr. Crowe, even by sharing this table with you. Do you understand? Rushing this potential relationship will do neither of us any good, least of all, my employer. And it is for the sake of my employer that I'm conducting this meeting. You'll do well should this meeting prove fruitful. Patience shall prove a virtue, indeed.

"This Sun Dog vessel of which you speak," the dandy continues his uncomfortable stare, "You say that a Captain Cole commands. Do you have his ear, or is it to him that I should be speaking?"

Rustling skirts and a stirring of the warm air surrounding their table announces the arrival of the serving wench who places to earthen mugs and a dark brown bottle on the table in front of them before making a hasty exit.

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:08 PM.)

----------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:53 P.M.

Maggie slows her pace a bit more and heaves a heavy sigh. "But you boys are. Now, and by differen' f**** paths, ye ken?"

"Aye, sir," Shark's Tooth barks quickly in response.

"You," she gives a nod to Sharky, "let th' Cap'n know I'll be... a bit delayed. An keep it t' yer f**in self why, less she asks direct like. I need t' find Crowe and make sure I'm no' goin' ta be draggin the law back in me nets when I make it back to th' Dog."

"Aye, sir," Shark's Tooth swallows the desert built up in his mouth at the thought of keeping information from the older of the Cole sisters, but he isn't stupid and defying Hellfire Maggie's direct orders isn't highly advised.

"Now!" She growls, as the storm of her emotions passes over her face.

After the first mate rounded on him in a fury, Cracker pauses for but a moment and nods his head. He has no idea what had just happened. Hellfire has always been full of brimstone, but what the heck had brought that on? Something, clearly, had happened. But he has no idea what.

What he does know is that he is heading back to the Sun Dog. He quickly looks at Sharky, nods his head towards an alley and takes off that way at a trot. He quickly slows down to a fast walk to better blend with the crowd. He is no longer chasing the first mate, nor trying to keep up with her, so there is no need to run. He is just heading back to the ship.

Puzzling over what might have happened—he's been ordered not to speak of it, which won't be much of a problem since he doesn't even know what "it" is. But apparently, the first mate has run afoul of the law. Clearly she doesn't want the law on the Dog's tail, and those had been soldiers or guards he had seen earlier heading towards the docks. That was probably all about Maggie Cole. But what has she done?

Lost her temper, that was what she has done. Cracker is not much of a gambler—unusual for a pirate—but he'd put a pretty penny (or whatever poor pennies he can actually put together) on the fact that someone had stepped on that pretty red-headed temper. Some idiot probably tried to treat her like a lady, he thinks with a bit of a grin as he moves quickly down the road. He continues to keep his eyes open for information—either about the ships in port or his fiery superior officer. He whistles a bit as he heads back to water. Sometimes life amuses him.

--------------------------------------

Not wishing to make a scene, Maggie also slows to a walk—determined, angry, and definitely not someone a citizen would want to engage with, but a walk nonetheless. Searching for Crowe means searching for a dive. The quartermaster doesn't usually frequent higher end establishments and the type of information he would be looking for is more apt to be found from those who abide in such squalor. The problem she faces as she strides down the back street is that she has no idea where she is.

Buildings rise up on either side of the street blocking her view of the landscape thereabouts and everything is crammed together so tightly, she can't tell one establishment from the other. Situationally stumped, there's no other option but to keep walking as she sure as hell isn't going to ask for directions to the nearest dive. Staying on this small road isn't going to help her situation any but traversing into the open where she can only imagine that her description is more readily flowing amongst the locals and the law isn't appealing. The question becomes, how is she to find Crowe and continue her mission without getting captured?

--------------------------------------------

Cracker can be a huge help when on board a ship and at sea, but ashore in a new city without having had any real opportunity to discover landmarks and bearing points, this settlement is a veritable maze and he's a rat stuck within. Despite thinking he was just going the exact opposite direction than the shore while chasing down Maggie and Shark's Tooth, he has now discovered that the streets wind, interconnect, and change direction. Furthermore, they are quite tied together like a giant knot. Having just broken free of the others, the boatswain had rushed down another alleyway, dodging past stray chickens and cats as well as stirring up a dog into a frenzy of barking. But now, he is confoundedly lost.

Looking about, William can see that there are forested hills peaking through the gaps in buildings on two opposite sides of the street leaving to openings of blue sky in between each—something that places the boatswain's decision at a 50% chance of taking him to the shore.

If there's anything good about his predicament, it is that he is in what appears to be a very quiet courtyard with a dirt floor amidst an array of buildings that appear to be primarily residential. Clothing hangs from lines draped between balconies like flags drifting in the salt air and birds chirp harmoniously all about, but no people are apparent.

(OOC: Time is roughly 2:05 PM)

It hadn't gone amiss that Elias Oken was a man of considerable power and influence, hereabouts. The way he carried himself spoke enough of his confidence, sure enough, but the manner in which he'd laid claim to the table at which he and Fin now sat without so much as a word, let alone a protest from those who had abandoned it, and, now, the fear in the serving girl's eyes as she sought Oken's accord to Fin's demands, Those things told Crowe more about the man than did his aristocratic garb and bearing. A slow dip of the dandy's head send the girl hurriedly off to fill the order.

As the girl skitters away, Fin's attention returns, in full, to the man across the table and he leans back in his chair a bit. "More important than where I'm from, Mister Oken," he suggests, "is wha' ye might be needin' a bloke like me fer, an' wha' sort o' coin ye'd be offerin' fer my services."

"You are as direct as your means of dealing with Mr. Kidane indicates," Oken flatly eyes the pirate. "I am making a character judgment, Mr. Crowe, even by sharing this table with you. Do you understand?"

Crowe answers with a nod as even as Oken's gaze. Aye, he didn't bother to speak out loud, I reckon I un'erstand well enough.

"Rushing this potential relationship will do neither of us any good, least of all, my employer. And it is for the sake of my employer that I'm conducting this meeting. You'll do well should this meeting prove fruitful. Patience shall prove a virtue, indeed."

At that, a bit of an ironic smile plays on Crowe's lips. I waited a good lot o' years ta send Kidane ta Hell, he managed not to say aloud as another curt nod accompanied the bit of his reply to which he did give voice, "Ye'll find I got th' patience o' Job when it comes ta business, Mester Oken."

"This Sun Dog vessel of which you speak," the dandy continues his uncomfortable stare, "You say that a Captain Cole commands. Do you have his ear, or is it to him that I should be speaking?"

Rustling skirts and a stirring of the warm air surrounding their table announces the arrival of the serving wench who places two earthen mugs and a dark brown bottle on the table in front of them before making a hasty exit.

The pirate's gaze abandons Oken's only long enough to track the girl's retreat and, in so doing, quickly survey the Rub's common room, once more. The aristocrat's presumption that Captain Cole would be a man mildly intensifies the sardonic set of Crowe's features as he turns his storm-blue eyes back toward Oken but he stops short of challenging the man's speculation. Instead, he simply reaches for the bottle that the serving wench had left and pours a healthy sample into each of the mugs. "Th' Capt'n trusts me judgement," Fin rasps, returning the bottle to the table and nudging one of the mugs in Elias' direction in a single motion. "I c'n arrange a parlay if ye'd pr'fer," he continues, lifting his own mug and indulging in a sip as he settles back and offers a shrug, "but, seein' as Coles' ears an' mine hear much th' same, ye'd be savin' us both a piece o' time choosin' ta converse wit' me."

((OOC: Hoping I didn't make too much of an assumption, there, regarding Anna and Fin's ‘relationship.' If so, I can edit, Anyhoo, Fin's "testing the waters" as much as Oken appears to be, and, through whatever conversation transpires, he'll be trying to gauge the breadth and depth of the other man's, obviously extensive influence and, of course, angling for work.))