A new chapter for you all to read up on, this time minus a very long delay! (Though for a certain somebody it must of felt like forever!) Here you are, mates, as I present to thee:
Ladies in Tortuga
Where the pirates had first made landing at Raphael's Vineyard, the patch of land nestled in between the borders of the forest and the aisles of grapevines had been turned in to a makeshift war camp. Out of the ground grew numerous dirty-white leather tents that dusted up patches of rough ground as the wind whipped and sent up plumes of gas that drifted off in to the confines of the hilly jungle. Every box the pirates had brought from Tortuga was unpacked, every weapon distributed, and every man who was able bodied was put under a regiment of preparation for the worst. The tents were formed in a circle, one facing towards the jungle, two facing the sides, and the foremost, which served as the captain's tent, faced directly out in to the vineyard to keep from any foreign invaders sneaking up on the pirates when they did not expect it. Though, this was unlikely considering Rott's flaccidity when it came to making a first move.
The smell of fresh gunpowder and burning steel was the only scent one could pick up for the first few days, as Delmaria's need for over-preparation and captain-like instincts took a hold of his subconscious. Out of the thirty-two pirates that made up his militia, which was scarily half of Rott's forces, Delmaria made sure at least two dozens of them were awake and prepared to defend the camp at all times, while the others were either resting or training; lollygagging was something Delmaria played no parley to. He knew from experience, however, that no matter how large the force it did not matter the number of men as it was how well-trained they were. There were times when he had witnessed a single ship overthrow a British fleet because half of the crew was drunkards and the other half was inexperienced; with Rott's forces being doubled, and yet drug-induced, Delmaria was confident enough work could give him a substantial upper hand.
And while Rott was devouring linens of pork and smoked turkey, Delmaria ran about the tent provided for his needy organizational skills, though it quickly became as messy as his quarter's aboard his ship within the first few hours of his mumbling. All that he had requested to keep in his tent was the essentials he needed - a single wooden table 2 feet long and 2 feet wide, a chair (though he barely even touched it) and an old, crumpled map of the vineyard that they had bought from the cartographer before they had left town. It was old and weathered, probably drawn at the time of the vineyard's conception itself, but otherwise it was still accurate in portrayal, having changed little over the years. He quickly took a quill to mark down where he was, and where Rott was, and from there he mapped out every possible scenario in his mind as to either playing offense or defense.
What Delmaria prided himself with was how experimental and scientific he was when it came to understanding the physics of war. Whenever he came out of the tent his appearance was like that of a madman, his clothes messed and crossing over and his hat tipping ever-so-slightly over the brow of his forehead. He would look around and grab the first pirate he could find, and then subject him to numerous tests to which the other crew mates watched with a silent, hidden giggle out of the corner of their eye. When he needed to test how the narrowness of the grapevine aisles would affect his soldier's accuracy, he made a pirate run down one for his life while Delmaria fired pellets out of his pistol (the unfortunate "volunteer" walked away with a few grazes on his leg, but nothing more.) Another time, he wanted to figure how long it would take his men to storm down the lanes; so, after taking measurements of the camp in retrospect to the length of the farm on the map, he forced three of his men to run back and forth until they met the distance requirements, and then had six more groups repeat the same test. The enthusiastic look that came over his face looked like a scientist hatching the egg of an ancient monster thousands of years old, like all of his work was unraveling before him, even though it was only the beginning.
Though Delmaria knew even with science on his side, Rott was still full of potential surprises. Delmaria wanted security in both experience and numbers, so in the dead of the night just after he met with Rott he sent out the youngest and quickest on his convoy with a single piece of paper, that he demanded was to not be opened or lost until it was placed in to the hands of the bartender Johnny McVane. The boy seemed scared, being told to run out in to the jungles in the dead of the night by himself, which was a thing not even Delmaria did frequently. This is why before anything, he sat the boy down in his tent, and did the only thing he knew that would ail the situation: talk.
He sat the boy, not much older than thirteen, down in the wooden chair next to the chart table and knelt to the ground before him. He gripped the boy's knees. "Listen, mate," he said, but he watched as the boy's fair blue eyes drifted away from his. "Don't turn your head, now." Delmaria beckoned in a comedic, yet father-like tone. It was a voice he used very rarely, because he didn't like thinking of himself as a father - not anymore.
Slowly the boy turned to him. "Why me?" he hushed in a squeaky, timid voice.
Delmaria sighed and turned his head, before looking back. "If you want the truth of it, I'm a tad too scared to do it."
The boy lowered his head and whispered "You're not scared..."
"Now boy, just because I've done this before doesn't mean I'm not scared. There have been plenty times in my life I have been too scared to follow through with something, and I'm sure there will never be a day where I won't be afraid. But look at you, here in the thick of this mess at your age;
that's true bravery, mate."
Delmaria could make out under the boy's shadow a small smile come across his face, one like you would give when somebody was doing their best to cheer you up; because, that's exactly what Delmaria was doing.
"Now listen here," Delmaria said, as he reached on top of the table and grabbed the small, burnt envelope. "I need you to run as fast as you can through those trees, and get this to the King's Arm. Just follow the path directly over the hills and back in to town - you think you can do that for me?"
It took a moment, but the boy nodded quietly. Without a word, he took the envelope and began to make his way out of the tent, and Delmaria followed avidly behind him. As he turned the corner of the tent he stood and watched as the boy began to walk off in to the forest; and listened as, without any sort of initiative or direction, the rest of the crew cheered and clapped for the boy in support, as he began to dart up the hill, and in to the distance.
Luckily the boy had reached Tortuga by the next morning, and Johnny heeded the words of the letter dearly. He almost immediately passed the position at the bar to his apprentice and ran up to his room, where he furiously took his quill to paper and began spreading the word of Delmaria's needs in the form of fliers that were pinned to every wooden post all over Tortuga. They were a personal plea from Delmaria to ask any and all capable pirate captain's to come aid in the approaching battle, and Johnny made sure he slipped a piece of paper to every man and woman who entered the bar - and of course, he made sure to pin them right over Rott's recruitment papers.
Though as they neared the end of the second week, it seemed that Tortugans stayed away from the papers and pieces of propaganda that lined the streets. Johnny was mesmerized, but he found out from a few tipsy frequents at his tavern that the only reason they strayed not was because they did not support Delmaria's effort, just they were too afraid to do anything about it. This angered Johnny, who was a very strongly opinioned person when you truly got to know him, and went on a rant about how "Not doing anything is just as bad as agreeing with the evils that are unfolding before us!" in the name of tacit agreement right in the middle of his tavern, which got him quite a few stares.
Though, Johnny's efforts did not go unnoticed. His rantings caught the ear of a quite jovial woman who happened to be passing the doors of the King's Arm while his rant went on, and she took joy in watching amusingly as he ran about with his ever-persistent rage. Even though she seemed to take it as a joke, she still kept in mind the seriousness of the moment and sucked it in like a vacuum, and when Johnny cried out at the end of his speech "Won't anybody listen to me!?" she raised her cap off her head with a chuckle, waving it around in the air.
And it was two days later, when Delmaria was sitting in his tent and scanning over his maps once more did he turn up to see her at his surprise, walking in with a few of her men in tow. She was a tall, strong-bodied woman, probably a few inches taller than Delmaria with her boots and all. She wore over a metallic-like dark black corset that came over the majority of her breasts a thick, black knee-length overcoat with a royal purple scrawling that curved upward like a dragon's claw up the sides, and then curving inward over the front of the coat to a stunning, almost royal design. Her legs were hugged by a deep, dark purple pair of pants with a silken shine, and her boots furred at the tops to give the illusion of a forest of prickled, yet soft spikes that bristled the skin at the touch. Her skin was tanned generously, but her shade did not match the deepness of her laughing, glittering brown eyes. And beneath a purple and blue feathered hat, elegantly turning upward at the left of her face, was her signature grin, showing just a sliver of her oddly white teeth.
"Well I'll be damned, look who it is!" Delmaria cheered, standing up out of his chair with a large smile on his face. "Safe to say I haven't seen you in God know's how long!"
"The pleasure is all mine." she smiled back with the tip of her hat as she stepped forward. Her voice was smooth like silk, yet seductively classy like the shine off of a porcelain statue, with the fine-tuning of a very light Portuguese accent at the tip of her tongue. She extended a hand with two purple rings sitting on her fingers opposite the middle, and Delmaria reached out, lifted it, and gave it a very soft kiss on the top of it.
"It's good to see you again,
Lady Nayana." Delmaria said with a soft chuckle, to which they both giggled at their own inside joke.
As Delmaria patted the top of her hand and let her slip out, Delmaria gazed in to the glimmer of her eyes bouncing off of the candle light; and it took him back, just three years ago, when they had first met...
1
August 10th, 1722
The Ratskellar, Padres Del Fuego
10:11 PM
While many consider Tortuga the capital of piracy in the Caribbean, Padres Del Fuego is by far one of the most uncommunicative and social; meaning, its social circles are many, and the number of secrets it holds is vast. One such example is the Ratskellar; though the Ratskellar may seem as just a simple bar on its surface, many of the citizens and frequents in the bar have always failed to uncover the secrets that lay beneath its surface. Should you find yourself as part of an "inner circle" of a certain group of pirates, so to speak, they would allow you access to a hidden passage located behind a set of double-doors that sit in the back of the bar, which though may seem useless actually lead to a small tunnel that burrows underneath the tavern and in to a small basement-like area carved in to the dirt and rock that sits beneath the bar, leaving for a very ancient, rustic, and yet oddly homely feel.
Delmaria was one of these such people. He clapped with the joyfulness of a child as he slammed his cards down on to the table under the single lantern that hung overhead, and swept his arm across the table like a hawk's wing to sweep in the gold and personal affects that sat on top of the table, adding to the pile that sat directly to his left. The five other men who sat at the table, including Lawrence, who was doing his best to bluff against his own captain, moaned and groaned at the fact it was the third hand in a row Delmaria had swept through, and they were now becoming tired as their pockets became hollow.
"Easy now gentlemen. Just because you don't know how to hold your drinks and cards at the same time doesn't mean I'm guilty of anything." He taunted as he beckoned for the dealer to lay out the next hand, who rolled his eyes as he flipped the cards towards each of the pirates.
The lantern above them swung lightly as the noise and chatter from the tavern above pounded below, rocking the dull yellow light around the dirt enclave. The little hideout was like a hole in the ground, the size of a usual living room with a roof that curved like a dome, and the poker table sat directly underneath the highest point to provide the most amount of room possible. The outside of the room was lined with dirt-covered boxes and barrels that each contained bottles of stored alcohol, either aged or plundered to supply on the most high tier of pirates. Delmaria stood and walked his way over to a dark corner of the room where a grayish-green, open box sat, and he plucked out from inside a dark bottle of thick rum that swished around half-full as he examined it.
Just as he prepared to take a deep swig from the bottle, he heard a loud clacking of chains and wood from across the room. He turned his head, as did the rest of the room, to the small mouse hole where the tunnel led in to the room. A light filled the tunnel, most likely the one from upstairs, before it began to wither away and the loud bang of wood and chains closed again. Instead of the roar of cheers or hellos that usually came after the door opened, there was silence.
The room became tense as all eyes fell on the opening that waited there before the table. It was like a moment after you hear a noise in a house that has nobody in it but yourself; your body turns to stone as your lungs collapse in on themselves, under the pressure of overwhelming fear and anxiety. Though, they were not so much scared, as they were waiting for something to happen; after all, when you know something is going to happen, sometimes you would rather have it happen and deal with the consequences than let your imagination run at a fury. And this was exactly what happened to Delmaria; as more scenarios played out in his head, he snapped his fingers and motioned for the rest of his men to reach slowly for their guns.
As Delmaria reached the handle of his old, silver-plated pistol, he heard the rough sound of footsteps echoing against the dirt steps of the tunnel. His grip fastened quicker than he had wanted, and slowly he pulled out of his holster and extended his arm in aim towards the opening of the tunnel. He could make out a silhouette against the back wall of the staircase, and just as he saw the first tip of a shoe he wrapped his fingers around the trigger of his gun, and waited patiently as he rested his back against the wall.
Yet instead of a Navy brute forcing his way through the tavern, or a disgruntled enemy captain looking to settle a score, it was instead a fair-skinned girl, perhaps ten years younger than he. Despite her feminine beauty she wore very little makeup, far less than the women who lingered outside of the bar, and carried herself in clothing very much like a man's - a buckled riding coat, numerous vests and belts to push down her breasts, baggy sailor's pants, and a tricorne to which you could see the wisps of her hair falling down at the sides. She was trying to carry herself in the position of a male, tilting her head down to hide the female features of her face out of the candlelight and airing her coat out to hide her figure. It wasn’t fooling Delmaria; but it was fooling his crew.
“Eyo boy, who are you?” Minty McGingis called out from under the curly hide of blonde hair that was his beard. He scratched his dirty, red face with his black fingernails as he stared down the unfamiliar stranger in an unfriendly manner, like an old southern man sitting on a porch with a gun pointed right in your face.
“I am-“ the girl caught herself speaking in her normal tone, but coughed and continued in a deeper, testosterone-induced guise. “My name is Gaston.”
“Gaston?” Delmaria smirked, making a “I know you’re lying” sheen glisten over his eyes solely in the girl’s direction. She tipped her head, but Delmaria let it pass. “Have a seat, Gaston.”
Delmaria slipped back in to his seat, and slowly the girl awkwardly tip-toed over to the table and slipped on to the stool directly across from Delmaria, her body posture tight and closed with her cap still tilted over her head. Darkskull patted the dealer on the back, and as the cards were shuffled, Delmaria made conversation.
“We don’t play any fancy games around these parts, Mr. Gaston. We save the Pirates Dice and Up the Rivers for the formalities – down here, it’s just a group of us playing some good old poker.” Delmaria picked up his cards and chopped them on the table. “You know how to play?”
Another cough. “I’m not the best, but I know the basics.”
“Interesting.” Delmaria said. For his own amusement he was going to toy with her. “What’s your first name, Mr. Gaston?”
“Gaston.”
“Gaston Gaston is your name?” Delmaria tilted his head, chuckling.
“No, my first name is Gaston.”
“Then what’s your last name?”
“Gallivante.”
“Gallivante? Is that Italian?”
“No, it’-“
“I know lots of pirates that are Italian.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you!” Delmaria clapped, paying attention briefly to his hand to make out a King of Spades and a Jack of Hearts; adequate, though he wasn’t concerned with the cards as he was with the girl. “So what brings you to Tortuga, my Italian connoisseur?”
“I told you I’m not Italian!”
“My apologies, you’re obviously Sicilian.” He chortled. “So? What’s your business?”
“And more importantly, how did you manage to get in here?” Lawrence asked, leaning over the table with an eyebrow raised. Delmaria couldn’t tell if he was in on it or not too.
It looked like the girl started to open up more when Lawrence began speaking, as she quickly shot a small smile and then affixed herself. “I’ve come here looking for a few new crew mates of mine, as I have been doing every few months or so for the past few years. The gent at the bar is a friend of mine, get’s me my drinks for free; he figured if I was this frequent here that he would let me down here.”
Delmaria nodded slowly, moving a few coins on to the table as the pattern of the game began. “Tell you what, mate, I’ll make you a deal.” Delmaria motioned all around the table. “See these mates here? If you can beat me in this hand, they’re yours.”
The entire crew shot him glances of madness, and Lawrence, who was sipping his drink, backwashed in to his mug when he heard that and slammed it back on to the table, looking at Delmaria with a blank expression of anger and confusement. Before he could protest, however, Delmaria continued.
“BUT,” he interjected, “If I win, I want to see that fancy hat of yours.” he smiled devilishly.
Without a bit of hesitation, the girl smirked and beckoned forward, “You’re on.”
The other crew mates backed away from the table and watched in awe as the captain and the stranger went back and forth in meager conversation as they both tried to delay the game to convince their opponent to drop out. They chatted about things from crab shells, to the winds during the summer on Cuban beaches, to how hard it was for Delmaria to clean his ever-growing beard.
“Though, how do you shave such a monstrosity?”
“It does not so much grow as it does manifest. As long as there are no bird nests, I’m just fine.”
Their conversation had dragged on for about a half hour when the first card had slipped on to the table – a Jack of Spades. Delmaria kept his composure, however, and didn’t let her have the satisfaction of knowing what he was doing, regardless of bad or good – as much as he wanted her to fold, he wanted more of seeing her make it through the hand and then have her see defeat before her eyes. As two more cards fell on the table, a Ten of Diamonds and a King of Spades, Delmaria almost got the sense the hand was made for him, and slowly he rubbed his fingers against the cards.
Delmaria could see on the other end of the table, however, his friend was not doing so well. He could see a few drops of sweat pouring down her forehead, and like a hungry wolf he smiled with his teeth as he watched his prey become more and more uncomfortable under his gaze. She rubbed the back of her head, still balancing the hat gently on her head, and Delmaria’s urge to end the match and gain the satisfaction of revealing her true self pour over him. He gripped his fingers around the cards just a few more pushes tighter, tipped his hat up, took a swig of his rum, and then;
Just then a loud bang could be heard from the top of the staircase; but instead of the roar of the tavern filling in and then fading away; it was dead quiet, as though the tavern had been hushed. The heavy pound of footsteps led around the corner of the dirt staircase, and there in loose, blue, linen night-clothing, much like you would expect a lavished woman to sleep in, a tall Portuguese woman stormed down the steps and smacked the “girl” on the back of the head with an extreme force, letting the hat fall square off the top of her head – except, it wasn’t a woman, but moreover a man decked out in very shaded makeup.
“Dammit, Vincent! I told you to stop going through my stuff!” she yelled at him, grabbing him by the collar of the jacket and tossing him roughly back towards the staircase. He began to run with a giggle in his step, and as he rounded up the staircase she yelled to him “You’re lucky I don’t have you killed!”
She turned back to see Delmaria with a very big smile on his face, his eyes open, and her hat sitting neatly in his lap. “Nice crew mate you got there.”
“You could say that.” She huffed, with a smile on her face. “Name’s Nayana.” She extended a long arm and shook his, which also outreached.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~
“Delmaria?” the voice called back to him. Delmaria snapped out of his daydream to see Nayana waving a hand right in front of his face, her casual smile with a dash of intrigue on her face. “You daydreaming?”
Delmaria smiled, and rubbed his hand back over the map. “You could say that.”