For what seemed like an eternity, both parties stood frozen like deer in headlights. The pirates were speechless. Holding a ladder rug, hair matted, and staggering like a drunkard, Alice wad a sight to behold. In turn, Alice stood still, both from uncertainty on what to do and from the contents of her stomach threatening to make it up her throat.
Finally, a burly man who looked to be about thirty years of age stepped forward. He regarded Alice with suspicion, his jaw flexing in and out like he was trying to chew through what he saw before him. “What the fuck are you?” He asked, his eyes expressing a mixture of bewilderment and malice.
Alice took a step back, unsure on what to say. The atmosphere had grown even uneasy than before, and she regretted stepping out onto the deck.
The man matched her step, and drawing his words out he said, “I’ll ask one more time: What the fuck are you?” This time he said it with more certainty, and drenched in meanness, her step backward revealing that she was no threat.
“St-stay back!” Alice said, realizing rather foolishly. She brandished the stake like a weapon in front of her, hand shaking.
Uproarious laughter followed this action, and the men began to walk toward her with confidence.
“I said stay back!” she shrouded, swinging the makeshift weapon wildly. She felt trapped, like a mouse in a python nest, trying desperately to escape.
“Kids got quite a mouth on him,” the burly man remarked, “but he doesn’t seem to understand a simple question. I said, who the fuck are you!” He said closing the space between them fast.
Alice took another step back, hoping to make it back to hatch and into the relative safety of the belly of the ship. Much to her dismay, she saw that two more pirates stood between her and escape. More laughter. She realized they were treating this as a game, the same way she used to corner and catch rabbits when she was younger. Of course, she always released them afterwards, but she doubted that she would be given the same courtesy here.
“Come on boy, last chance,” he was less than a meter away now, so close she could smell the bourbon and smoke rolling off him. Not knowing what else to do, and pressed for time, she threw her only weapon like a spear at the man. He dogged it easily, even though had he not moved it wouldn't have hit him anyway, and it floundered uselessly to the ground.
This attempt resulted in even more laughter, and Alice realized that they were having, in contrast to her, a very merry time. Most of the men were in a circle now around her, abandoning their duties to watch the spectacle. She swung her fist at the one who was leading the whole fiasco, but he caught her by the wrist.
He swung back his arm to deliver a blow, but stopped a few inches shy of her face. Instead, he roughly grabbed it, and leaned in to inspect it. He raised his eyebrows, and then satisfied with his discovery, declared, “This fiery lad, lucky for us, is actually a girl!” The hoots and hollers of the men sent a chill down her spine. The brute roughly shoved her to the men, sarcastically adding with a faux curtsy, “I’m sorry if my blunt language offended your sensibilities, milady”
He reached out his arms as if to embrace her, and them men pushed her right back at him, tearing a hole in her sleeve in the process. He hugged her closely, and his greasy bearded brushed her face. She was disgusted by him, by his breath, by his cloths, and by his mannerisms.
He looked at the hole in her sleeve, “Eager to get undressed and started, milady?” She felt sick. She tried to wiggle out of his hold, flailing her arms and kicking her legs to no avail. She raked her brain for a solution, a way out. They had discovered she was a girl, so there was no point in keeping her identity a secret anymore. Her family’s name probably carried weight even to these barbarians, and she hoped that it could somehow convince them to release her.
“Let go of me, I am Alice Smith, from the house of-” before she could finish her sentence he struck her in the stomach, hard. The force of his fist knocked the wind out of her.
“Nobody cares who you are anymore, sweetie,” he said, his voice pure evil, “a pussy is a pussy.” Her stomach was reeling. She felt the bile that she had tried so hard to contain rising up from her stomach. Before she could stop herself, she vomited.
He pushed her away in disgust, visibly angry. Alice was on the floor, coughing up a lung. The men stepped away, sensing the change in the air. It was no longer jovial, but had a sharp despicable seriousness about it, radiating from the bearded man. He stepped towards her, and gripping her by the hair raised her up. She clawed at his arm, her skin feeing like it was detaching from her skull, blood pooling down her neck from the reopened wound.
“Let me go!” screamed in between coughing fits, “you cannot do this! I am Alice, from the-” He jerked her around like a ragdoll, cutting her off.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, and what I’m gonna do is teach you a lesson.” He swung as to land another blow, this time to her face, but before he could do so he heard a voice, ringing loud and clear.
“What, exactly, is going on here?” It came from a figure who had just exited the Captain’s cabin. He was sharply dressed, wearing polished leather boots and a long coat, with glittering gold buttons. A feathered hat adorned his head, and a metal sword his hip. His expression was of pure annoyance rather than concern.
The grip on Alice’s hair loosened. “We found a stowaway captain, some bitch with a salty attitude. We tried to have some fun, that's all, but the wench viciously attacked me like some crazed animal!”
The Captain looked around. None of the men dared nod in agreement, instead sheepishly looking away. It was clear who had authority here.
“Mr. Brody,” said the Captain, glancing at Alice, then looking straight at the man with the beard with utter bemusement, “how did this girl, as you so put, ‘viciously attacked’ you?”
Mr. Brody turned scarlet red. He paused, the keen eyes of the Captain watching him, waiting for an answer. “She had a stick,” he stammered, “and she threw it at me full force.”
“So let me get this straight,” the Captain said, obviously humored, “this twig of a girl threw a stick at you and you feel you have been ‘viciously attacked’. I wonder why you even get a share of the bounty if that's all it takes to fell you. Maybe I should enlist her instead, if she is as utterly vicious as you describe.”
Mr. Brody looked at the ground in silence, utterly stunned. The other men were barely suppressing laughter, out of respect for Mr. Brody but more out of fear that the Captain should turn his sharp tongue on them.
“Release her,” said the Captain, plainly. Alice dropped to the ground; she knew not what to make of the situation. Slowly, tentatively, she tried to rise, staggering. With all her willpower she steadied herself. She tried to adopt a façade of neutrality, but found that all she could do was glare.
A quiet had overtaken the entire group. The Captain looked at her quizzically, his face expressing not concern but mild curiosity. The breeze picked up again, tugging at his white shirt and putting waves into the back of his long coat.
Her blouse once again blood covered, her hair mused beyond repair, and her partially exposed stomach bruised, Alice staggered forward to meet the eyes of the Captain. Then, with as much dignity and grace as once could muster in this situation, she said, “I am Alice Smith, from the House of the Luka Trading Company, and I demand you release me.” Then, with another stagger forward, and blood trickling down her brow, she promptly fainted.
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