Whelp, I'm back. Thought I might try my hand at a short story. God help me I hope I can make this a short story, lol. Enjoy guys!

Things really started to go wrong after they came to the pub. Sure, Killian's day had been going rather lousily to start with – the weather had been temperamental all that day, the winds alternating between howling and slight whispers every bloody hour as they waited forever for a good score to cross their path. Finally when one ship did come along, the raiding of a vessel supposedly loaded had turned up almost bare of anything. Turned out the ship had already have been looted only mere hours earlier and the bare bones of the boat punted off on its merry way. He wasn't sure who had the more rotten luck - the ship that had been boarded by two different pirate crews in one day or him for being the second pirate. It was bloody humiliating was what it was, Captain Hook beaten to the punch – God help him he hoped this tale died right here before it spread. Then on the way to port the weather had finally decided it was going to turn for the worse and the sea had turned with it. He'd always love the sea but she could certainly be a dangerously fickle witch sometimes.

They'd made it to a smaller side port on the way, but the storm was raging and the ship was stuck in this little nothing of a coast town until it calmed.
So the grumbling lot of pirates and himself had shuffled on to the only pub in this shabby little port to drink this bad day away, a good brew and a few pretty bar wenches could always take the sting off a bad day. Too bad neither of those things were to be found here either - the beer was cheap swill, and the bar wenches weren't that pretty (hideous really.)
But at the very, very least the ale was doing its job and him and his crew were getting good and drunk. Overall it'd been a shitty day Killian didn't think could get worse.

He should have known better than to tempt the fates.

While a bar wench whose name he forgot about as soon as it'd passed her few yellow teeth sat down on his lap before he could stop her, the door opened, letting the rain and the thundering tempest glimpse into the warm dingy little pub with an icy gust. Killian Jones barely paid it any heed as he reluctantly took the offered mug from yellow teeth (loathe to outright shoo her off, as even an ugly lass was due the most common respect given to a lady) and knocked mugs with the rest of the crew who cheered and poured the drink back before loudly calling for more.

In the racket and through the haze of alcohol Killian didn't notice that the bar had become rather full, the new patrons hung back, silent and ominous.

One figure stepped forward, a gruff voice barking "Captain Hook!" over the racket.

His Crew's drunken hollers had quietened as they turned they're attention to the intruding force. The man who'd called out his name was tall and thickly built, rain dripping off him from the storm. Killian leaned his chair back, balancing it on two legs so he could better see the figure with the giggling wench still on his lap, half empty mug in his hand.
"Present!" Killian answered cheekily. The man pulled back his hood with spade like hands, revealing a big bushy beard and beady brown eyes.

"I'm here to see your crime against my wife answered for." He declared, voice harsh with his anger. Hmmm, another angry husband, figures this is how the day would end. Killian tilted his head as if confused.

"And what crime would that be?" he asked, lazily sipping at his mead.

"You took her to your bed."

He had no idea exactly who this man's wife was, but it was entirely possibly that he had indeed bedded her – and he would not be the first angry husband to confront him for it.

"I was unaware it was a crime to pleasure a woman," Killian answered, smirking insolently. "Dare I say the crime rather should be to fail at the task."

His crew laughed, and the man's bead brown eyes filled with rage as he drew his sword and the sound of steel echoed around them all as his posse drew with him.

"You jest about seducing and sullying the honor of my wife!" he roared. Killian chuckled, he didn't know who this man was, nor did he quite recall who the woman was who he claimed was his wife, women lined up to fall into his bed and he said about as much.

"Seduce implies an effort in the matter. I admit I may not recall the specifics but this I do know - she came of her own accord."

It was clear however that this man did not believe him, and Killian was willing to bet even if he had he'd still be rearing for a fight, not that he particularly cared either way. Killian sighed, shaking his head as he gently shooed the bar wench from his lap and stood. The steel of his hook glinted in the oil lamp light of the pub, catching the ringleader of this who thing's eyes, a glint to match the sword he boldly brandished. Killian grinned as all his men stood with him, the entire pub's atmosphere suddenly ratcheted with thick, violent tension. If this man wanted to fight he was more than happy to indulge him. And since he'd already indulged in the drink, since he'd already had a bad day, he decided to rub it all in.

"Wives and the like, they come over and over again." He said, finishing his drink. The man shouted with incoherent anger and rushed forward with his posse behind him. Blade clashed against blade as Killian grasped the hilt of his cutlass and wrenched it from its sheath to meet the other mans' steel.

An all-out brawl swept through the bar that rivaled the storm in its ferocity, the clash of swords, the dull sounds of fists throttling flesh and the cries of men yelling and wenches screaming as they tried to scramble away from the mayhem. But there wasn't enough of Killian's crew here to help him turn the tide of the fight, the fact he and most of his men were drunk wasn't helping.

But no matter how inebriated, Killian was a demon with a sword.

The man was all brute strength, hacking and slashing so hard his sword vibrated all the way down the blade and into the hilt. If he kept this up the man might crack his blade. Killian, rolled his eyes at his opponent's lack of skill with a sword - bloody peasants pick up a blade and suddenly think they can match them with pirates. Fools. He side stepped a reckless swing and kicked the back of the brutes' knee, collapsing his leg before slamming his elbow into the back of his neck. He used his hook to wrench the blade from his accusers just before he hit the floor. Killian kicked in the side, rolling him onto his back so that he was forced to glare up at him from the floor, eyes seething with loathing and rage.

Killian pressed the end of his sword under the man's chin and smiled. "With your sword skills it's no wonder your wife sought me out." He said, twisting his wife's infidelity deeper like a knife.

But during his gloating, high on his one victory after a bad day, Killian seemed to have forgotten there was still a brawl going on around him - that was the final mistake of the night - with a few more to come still. A sharp pain exploded through the back of his skull as the sound of a bottle breaking over his head stabbed at his ears. For a moment he saw only red with black spots before falling completely into darkness.