Pirates Return IC

Remove all ads!

"We have eight silver's in the hole - four are mine, four are Jacques. The prize is my four. The entrant wager is one silver." Four silvers was a fine prize for a small contest. "The person who's knife lands closest to the top wins, and the silver is theirs."

Three Swords turned to Daniel, "I'll cover the boy's coin." dropping a coin into the hole. "Money on the table." he said loud enough for all who wanted to enter to hear. "Ricardo, best make that wager seperately with Jacques."

 

Still smirking, Ricardo tossed a silver into the hole. "I'm in."

He reached down, pulling a dagger from his boot. It was one he'd had for a while now, well-balanced for throwing and sharper than most razors. He knew it would serve him well in this little comeptition.

 

"Thank you, sir," Daniel said. He started to imagine his knife hitting the top of the chair leg. If there were a rat on the table, he'd be sure to hit it. He hit rats with his knife nearly every night when they came into his loft. But rats had thicker bodies than a chair leg. It would be a lucky shot for him to stick his knife anywhere on the chair leg, much less at the top.

 

Alexa's eyes narrowed as she watched Daniel join in the competition. She wasn't going to say anything, yet. She had participated in enough of these competitioins herself, and she figured that her son deserved to have his own chance.

She stood up and strode forward, drawing one of her own daggers. She tossed a silver onto the table. "I'll give it a shot myself."

 

Jacques hung back behind the Captain, watching the competitors roll up, wondering how exactly his silver had become tangled up in a game he hadn't started.

He didn't like the prospect of playing against that short, slick-looking pirate... he seemed over-confident. Or was it well placed confidence? Eyeing the pirate's knife, Jacques could tell it was as well balanced as anything forged in the smithy in town... He was unsure if he'd be able to match the throw if it had a good arm behind it.

The boy may have been a good shot, but Jacques had a few more years' experience behind him. The last one, Alexa, he was unsure of... He would simply have to do his best.

Jacques picked up his knives, and strode up to the mark Abbot had made on the ground with his boot, throwing a silver coin into the hole as he passed. He drew his throwing knife, the only one of the three that was well-balanced enough for throwing, keeping his eyes on the stool leg. Steadying his breathing, he gripped the blade tightly, narrowed his eyes, and threw.

The blur of steel streaked through the bar, watched by every eye in the dim light, and buried itself an inch deep three-quarters of the way up the wooden leg. Jacques lowered his gaze and went back to his table.

 

"Okay, mom, if I beat you, I get to skip my chores for a week, if you beat me, I'll do 'em for a week and not get my two coppers for 'em. Deal?"

Daniel was moving from being a child to being a man. This would be interesting, to participate with his mom in a knife throwing contest.

He gulped after seeing Jacques' throw. He stepped up to the line and threw. Too fast, he hadn't really been sure of his mark. His knife stuck in the bar.

"I guess I need to kill some more rats," he muttered.

 

Alexa's eyes sparkled with amusement as she heard Daniel's challenge.

"Agreed, child."

She watched as her son missed the target and hit the bar. Stepping up to him, she bent over and whispered to him. "It was a good try, Daniel lad, but you need less haste in seeking your target. I see I need to give you some extra lessons."

 

Abbot stepped up to the line, Jacques throw was impressive – very much so – the man was an accomplished knifeman and he knew his weapon. He had expected a little more from Daniel, but the boy was excited and Abbot knew he could have done better. Three Swords himself had little use for a throwing knife. With only one eye, it was impossible for him to estimate distances, and this always threw off his accuracy.

Slowly Abbot drew his knife and leaned forward a little, holding the blade by his side. He stared down a spot just above Jacques own knife. Three Swords sucked in his stomach and took a deep breath, his arm coming up and down in one swift, smooth motion. The knife sliced the air, but as Abbot had guessed, his aim was off, as he had not put enough power into the throw and the blade hammered in a good two inches below Jacques.

Three Swords stepped back from the line. “Ricardo, let us see what you can do.” He said, lifting his mug and downing the grog.

 

Ricardo was still smiling as he stood, holding the dagger loosely in his left hand. Jacques’ throw had been as good as he’d expected, although he could not suppress a little pang of disappointment at how badly the boy had done… they way he had wrangled with his mother had amused Ricardo.

He did his best to not to look at the boy’s mother. The surety she’d shown in entering the competition had brought back memories; Ricardo cursed himself for a fool as he stepped to the mark. He knew that the only reason he was remembering her at all was because he was in this thrice-cursed town.

He trained his eyes on the chair, and raised his arm, readying for the throw. He barely registered the murmurs of surprise at his left-handed throw as he narrowed his eyes, concentrating.

The dagger whistled through the air, cold steel glinting as it hit the wood perhaps half an inch above the dagger Jacques had thrown. For a moment, both knives shuddered, until Jacques’ dagger clattered on the ground.

Ricardo turned, and smirked at the redhead. “Your turn, Señora.”

 

Alexa raised a mocking eyebrow at Ricardo,and stepped up to the line, then paused, recognizing the accent. She refused to let his courtesy or his voice throw her, and decided to shut him out of her mind while focusing on the competition. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the target and picked her mark.

She raised her right arm, feeling the familar weight and balance of her dagger in hand. Her concentration firm, she threw the dagger at the target.

The dagger spun through the air, blade flashing as it hit just alongside Ricardo's dagger, and embedded itself in the wood, quiverring.

Alexa smirked at Ricardo. "It appears there is a draw."

 

Ricardo raised an eyebrow at the redhead’s bold smirk. “Indeed.”

He was surprised by her skill; it seemed strange that such a slim body would hold the strength to throw with such deadly accuracy.

Ricardo ran his eyes over her briefly, taking in her singed clothes and pale, freckled skin; the cleanliness was the most notable thing in her, just like it had been in her son.

Or perhaps it was her eyes.

Her gaze did not waver as his eyes met hers. The hazel colour brought back another flash of memory, and for a moment, Ricardo did not know what to say.

He soon recovered, smiling at her. He tilted his head, breaking the eye contact, and called out to Three Swords. “What say you, Captain?”

 

Seeing cobwebs between the strings of the lovely old harp depressed Matty. The instruments he'd manages to scrounge since Da died - with the exception of his silver flute, the one thing he'd had from Da's own hand - were cheap. All together they couldn't match the value of the harp. He needed a drink or two or three to blur the image of the dust where Da's fingers belonged.

He turned into the closest tavern. It was noisy - there was a card-game happening, and a knife throwing contest. There was the boy, Daniel (who was smart enough to feign not recognizing Matty - a good sign), talking to a woman who was likely his mother. Too late did he spot another of the contestants, Captain Abbott himself. He had to respond to Three-Swords' summons, even on dry land.

"Matty, me boyo, give us a tune to take me mind off losing four silver! Yer wit's as sharp as me blade, son!"

"I canna, Sar, me pipes're lef' aboord," he mumbled in reply.

"Then sing for your supper, boyo. Ye used t' sing the gulls into silence. What's happened to yer voice these days?"

Which was exactly the last question Matty wanted to answer.

 

"Nice throw, mom," Daniel said. "I guess I'd better get started on the dishes." He went back into the kitchen, but kept his ears open for the conversation from the front room.

 

Alexa acknowledged her son's words with a smile. "Don't worry, lad. Another couple of years, and you'll have more experience."

She felt her skin crawl slightly as Ricardo held her gaze. Hiding a shudder as a memory rose within her, she turned to listen the conversation between Three Swords and a boy who had just entered and appeared to be a member of the Pale Horse.

 

Seeing that the Captain was otherwise occupied, Ricardo turned his attention back to the woman. “The Captain seems to be busy, Señora… perhaps you would join me for a drink while we wait?”

He ran his eyes over her again, ruthlessly quelling the memories threatening to surface. It had been a long, long time since a woman had managed to spark his interest, but this redhead definitely had.

And it was not because she reminded him of her. That had happened before.. and this was not it.

 

Her attention brought back to Ricardo, Alexa gave him an appraising look. "A drink? Perhaps for a brief time. I shall need to check up on Daniel soon enough."

She headed over to the stool where Ricardo and her's daggers were still embedded. Pulling them out she walked back to him, and handed his to him, hilt first. "Well thrown."

Pulling up a chair, she sat down, and put her booted feet up on the table, and slipped her own dagger into her right boot.

"I noticed you using your left arm to throw the dagger, are you indeed left handed or is there another reason?"

 

Ricardo frowned slightly, turning his dagger in his hands. “Very observant of you, Señora. There is indeed a reason, but I’d rather not divulge it. Perhaps with time, we will be... well acquainted enough for you to find out.” He smirked at her.

He had noted the easy way she wore the dagger in her boot, and ran his eyes over her body again… this time, checking for weapons. He could only see the one at her waist, but he doubted it was the only one she had. Such loose clothes did not only obscure the shape of her body, but also provided ample chances for hidden weapons. Such a shame it was, he reflected.

 

Where's that boy Daniel gone off to! He said eh could sing, Matty thought desperately. Fortunately, Bart was quick to his rescue.

"Leave off th'lad, Cap'n," he laughed. "His voice likely be breakin' - 'e's close t' th'age, ain't 'e?"

"Nah, lookerim, hant got more hair on his cheek'n lass," a drunken voice called out.

Matty wanted to whirl in anger and find who spoke, silence him with a dart in the throat, but forced himself to look sheepishly at the floor instead. "'E...'e's righ', Cap'n, me voice be breakin' and I canna tell when it'll go true agin," he mumbled.

"Then take Iain's seat by the fire, and take 'is lute, too," Bart chimed in. "'E's drunk enow fer t'night if'n 'e canna tell ye from a lass."

Matty gratefully took the fiddle from Iain, who didn't seem to mind. He tuned it quickly, and broke into a lively tune.

[ August 02, 2005, 10:31: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

Duecelion Purcell stumbled out of his room. His eye smarting. He knew better then to sleep with two waitress's from the same tavern but damn it, it was so much fun. He was beginning to sober up and that was makeing his head hurt more. It had been at least three days since he was sober, so the forthcomeing headache would hurt.

Waveing to the innkeeper as he left, he ducked another bottle being through by Maria, she was such a firecracker. Breathing in the salty air, Duece let his vision track to the ports. There was another ship, and it was one of the better ones he had seen.

As he bounced off the door and through the entrance, of the Rotten Kelp, eyeing the other patrons, more for his own safety, he grabbed a bottle of rum from the bar, leaving a handful of gold coins, and watched as a red headed woman sat with a sharply dressed man. He recognized the woman from around town, but she was one who had never fallen for him.

 

Olson stumbled down the seaside street. The road was rough and broken, often stained by blood or ale in some places. The ex-sailor was now quite used to such conditions. He walked alone, a single dirty man on the busy street. His destination was the Rotten Kelp.

Entering the pub, Olson almost smiled. Almost. In the middle of the tavern, a group of men and women alike had gathered to watch what looked like a card game. However, as Olson ordered an ale and walked over to the group, he realised it was really a knife throwing duel. A sleazy looking man and a red head were sitting down, their knives leaving two large holes in the table leg. Olson smiled this time. He had noticed the large man, with an eye patch and long hair. This was the popular Three Swords. The very man Olson had been seeking out, after the small boy had run into the sailor’s previous tavern screaming about the captain searching for recruits.

Keeping his eye on the one-eyed captain, and those who Olson guessed were his crew, he took up a seat near the group and leant back, waiting for the right chance to inquire. What he was going to say: that was the problem.