A/N: This is thoroughly AU and I really apologise if a few characters seem out of place or out of character, but as you read on, I think you will understand why keeping them in character was a hard thing to do.

I hope you enjoy it anyway, although there is no telling how regular the updates with this thing will be.

Enige-Iets.


Chapter 1 – Cast off.

The flags of grey waved gently in the breeze, flapping occasionally and gracing the harbour with the quiet sound of dew logged material snapping across damp wood. One of the few quiet anthems of the morning. Right now the seagulls were silent and the soothing sound of the waves seemed to sweep the whole harbour into its calm embrace. Rinoa pulled her hair back behind her ears and put a hand on her hat. The breeze wasn't much, but it was enough to pull playfully on her clothing and dislodge her otherwise perfect hair.

Soon, very soon in fact, she would be leaving this harbour, these shores, this country and she would be transported across the seas to a far away land. There she would live out her days in relative peace and quiet. Far far away from the war that raged here, at home. She sighed and turned her eyes away from the flagpole and instead to the ship she stood beside.

The Balamb Garden towered above her, casting her in shadow. It was a huge wooden galleon with five separate levels – two below deck, the deck and two more above that – fire power of 10 cannons a side and was manned with a small crew of 23 including Captain Leonhart himself. It was painted a bright array of Golds and Blues and the entire crew was decked out in gold and blue uniforms. It was originally an ambassadorial ship from Balamb, but upon the outbreak of the war it became her only mode of safe transport out of the war zone.

A cough behind her had her turn around. There stood her father beside a young man dressed in Balamb's Naval Uniform. This – she assumed – was Captain Squall Leonhart. "Rinoa," He father bid her approach, so she did so with a slight smile. Etiquette dictated that smiling and looking pretty was an integral part of making new acquaintances, but that did not mean that she did it willingly. "This is Captain Leonhart. I have entrusted you to him and he has agreed to take you to Balamb for the duration of the war."

She nodded and held out her hand for him to kiss it – as was only proper for a young man when being introduced to a young lady, particularly one of her stature – but he shook it instead. "Miss Heartily," He said coldly, letting go of her hand as though it had burned him, "For your safety aboard my ship I ask that you remain in your cabin for the duration and follow all orders as are put to you."

She nodded. Her immediate impression of Captain Leonhart had naturally been founded on the image of his face. Hard jaw line, high cheek bones, straight nose, flat brows, cold slate-grey eyes. He was the very image of cool masculinity. She had hoped there might be a warming personality to even him out a little, but unfortunately he seemed to be just as icy as the seas he sailed. Typical bloke.

"Rinny-" Her father clasped her hand once Leonhart had turned away to oversee the last few things being loaded aboard the ship, "-I know you're unhappy about this-" Too damn right she was! Being sent away from everything she knew just because of some national altercation with Balamb's high command! "-But it's very important that you do as Captain Leonhart says. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

She rolled her eyes and gave her father a grudging hug. He heaved a sigh, then brushed some hair from her face. "You look so much like your mother..."

Once again, she rolled her eyes. He was just about to scold her for making such an ugly expression when he was called to by one of the ship's hands. "Admiral, we're waiting on your daughter now."

Admiral Caraway nodded, then turned back to Rinoa, putting his bravest face on. "Now then Rinny, you do exactly as you're told, eat all your greens, speak when you're spoken to-"

"Dad-"

"Play nicely with the other kids-"

"Dad!"

Caraway sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. I just worry about you." His face crinkled into a frown. "You just remind me so much of your mother and I love the both of you so much... I just can't bare to lose you as well."

She knew that. She'd kicked and screamed and run away so many times because he loved her too damn much and all the damn time. It was impossible to get away from her loving father, brusque and abnormal though his methods of displaying affection might have been. But she knew that he loved her. The ship's hand who had called to them came to fetch her now and helped her up the gangway and onto the ship. Caraway waved goodbye to his daughter from the dock side.

At the helm stood Captain Leonhart, shouting out orders and waving his arm in gesture to the crew who scurried like mice to adhere to his command. Rinoa regarded him from where she stood clutching onto the rail. He looked stern and cold and utterly miserable to be leaving the harbour. The uniform he wore also looked very new; she doubted he had been captain for very long. He was standing beside a blonde woman – clearly a woman, there was no man alive who could look so beautiful in a uniform – who was talking quietly to him. For the most part he appeared to be ignoring her words, but occasionally he would turn his head slightly her way and say something back. An answer to a direct question no doubt. It was while she was observing the odd interaction between Leonhart and – who she assumed to be – his first mate that their attention turned to her. A few words passed between them and then the first mate was walking towards her, down the steep steps and onto the deck. The crew parted before her like the waves of the Red Sea.

"Miss Heartily I presume."

"You presume correctly." Rinoa nodded and held out her hand to be shaken. Once again her gesture of acquaintance was swept aside and this time, her hand was ignored completely. The first mate stood with her white-gloved hands clasped behind her back, her eyes dark blue and scathing in the shadow of her hat. It was a big, black, triangular shaped thing with stiff edges and one white feather draping around the back. She wore the crisp, dark blue uniform of the Balamb Navy; white hose tucked into shining black boots, the pressed sleeves of her shirt just visible protruding barely a millimetre from the golden rimmed cuffs of her blue Naval jacket with gleaming golden buttons travelling in two lines down the centre. The coat seemed to fasten more like a pianist's coat and tails than the standard military jackets Rinoa had seen – it had no tails, was slightly shorter at the front than normal and was obviously modified to fit around the woman's bust. A blindingly white tie was fastened around her neck, keeping the collar of her shirt tight to her skin, then disappearing in a ripple under her jacket. If it wasn't for the prejudices of the present day, Rinoa would have called the blonde-haired, caramel-skinned woman in front of her stunning. But as it was, the only words she could find to describe her were 'aloof' or maybe 'prodigal'.

"I am Quistis Trepe, First Mate of Captain Leonhart; it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Here Quistis held out a hand, not for Rinoa to shake, but in the direction of a set of steps that led below deck. It was a gesture that implied Rinoa should go first. She stepped towards the dark set of stairs and peered down. They looked wet and slippery. She glanced back at Quistis, who was looking towards Leonhart instead. He seemed to be signalling her to do something and although Rinoa couldn't understand a word of it, a message seemed to have been conveyed.

"Please." Quistis said, gesturing back down the hole. With a sigh, Rinoa set herself to the task of clambering down the hole without slipping and tumbling arse over teakettle down to a rather soggy looking death. Once at the bottom, with a very red face and Quistis following behind her looking more disappointed than amused – muttering something along the lines of "not very dignified" - they began the trek to her new home.

Her new cabin was on the bottom most level of the ship, in amongst all the food and the animals and what appeared to be gunpowder. The cabin itself was quite nice, built into the ship for the sole purpose of housing her. It was decorated on the inside with a bed, a desk and chair and a small mirror, all draped with fine materials and throw pillows of varying colour. The trunks of her clothing sat in the centre of the room. The crew had apparently not known what to do with those.

Once Rinoa was situated on the chair Quistis bent to help the young lady take her shoes off. Thank god. They were getting quite uncomfortable. "You will not need to dress for balls or regal functions while you are aboard this ship." Quistis said, carefully wrapping the thin laces around two fingers before tucking the little bundle into the shoe and setting it aside, reaching to start on the other one. "The crew will not disturb you at all. They are under strict instructions not to bother you for the duration of the voyage although there will be a guard posted outside your door through night and day. His name is Zell Dincht."

Rinoa cursed inside her head. There went her plans of sneaking about the ship at night. Her shoes neatly put away, it was time for Quistis to leave, but not without one final word of warning. "You will likely be treated as some sort of national treasure." Quistis said, straightening her impeccable cuffs and swiping an invisible bit of lint from her sleeve. "It is not unexpected that we should encounter an adversary of some sort at some point during the voyage and if you are not in your cabin when I come looking for you then I'm afraid it should prove harder to rescue you should the need arise. If you have any qualms please inform Mr. Dincht and I will attend to your needs. But do not wander about the ship as you please. This is not your personal stomping ground, Miss Heartily. Please keep that in mind."

And then she was gone, out of the door, shutting it behind her and locking it as well. Rinoa scurried over and pressed her ear to the door in time to hear Quistis drop the jangling keys into someone's hand and say something to the man who was standing guard outside. Something that sounded a lot like "Don't let her wander around."


"You shameful opportunist. What you don't understand is that it's better to die on your feet than to live on your knees."

"You're heading backwards, it's better to live on your feet than to die on your knees."

Quistis shook her head as she passed them. The crew was lively today. They'd been well rested in the last few days, in preparation for this long and potentially dangerous mission and it had them all in better spirits. Normally, when the long days of nothing but ocean had gotten them down, they hadn't the energy to bicker and fight amongst themselves, the ship was silent most of the time towards the end of a voyage. Hearing their cheerful arguments made the breaking day seem a little warmer from where she was standing.

She climbed the stairs to stand at the helm beside Squall. "Miss Heartily is safely locked in her cabin, as per your orders, Sir."

"Good."

She looked sideways at him. The ship had barely left the harbour and he already had a look of business painted onto his face. It was the one he wore in times of trouble. Or times when he had no other facial expressions in stock. Either way, it told her that he did not want to be hounded every five minutes by the petty problems of either Miss Heartily or his crew. She sighed. Personally, she had always enjoyed going to sea. There was a peaceful gratitude that came with every harbour – knowing that the sea had not deemed you hindrance enough to sweep you into the gaping abyss of her wide watery mouth – and there was an excitement about each cast off – a challenge to see whether or not you could survive again. The seas were a rough and dangerous place. They bucked and see-sawed and threw their little riders about like they weighted nothing at all. Mother Nature was a rule mistress and she had them all in her grasp. But most captains did not mind. They adored the beauty of her swelling tide, the blue chasm of her depths, their very lives revolved around mastering her temper and riding the waves like they were nothing.

Captain Leonhart – for as long as she had known him – held none of this adoration for the sea. He scowled on every cast off and scowled at the sight of every harbour. He had never once commented on how beautiful the ocean was at noon tide, or passed warning about the jagged rocks to maul his graceful vessel. Many of the crew called him a land-lubber and she was leaning to agree with them. Captain Leonhart was a Landlubber alright, but he was the Captain of this ship and he did not want to be disturbed.

"Tighten those sails!" She barked, pointing at the corner of a flapping sail and watched as a few hands rushed to tighten it. "Secure those cannons!" she shouted as more men ran to complete her command. They were minor changes that needed to be made, but it was better that she gave the orders than Leonhart. He would not go down to check their handiwork later. Quistis would and the crew knew it. They would not be getting away with any sort of sloppy work while she was on board.

She was about to descend the steps to the deck when Leonhart caught her arm. It was a rare thing indeed for the Captain to touch her at all, let alone reach out by his own accord. "What is your judgement of her?"

"My judgement?"

"You have a better judge of character than I do. What was the impression she gave you?" He'd let go of her arm by now and put his hand back on the helm. She watched him carefully adjusting the position of the wheel. Only a few months ago he would not have talked to her at all, prejudices and his own anti-social behaviour demanding that a woman on his ship was an outrage and a sacrilege. Now he had two on board and wanted to know what the other one was like. Lord help her.

"She seems innocent enough, maybe a little fragile even."

He nodded and adjusted their heading a little more. "Trouble maker?"

"Perhaps."

"All hands on deck."

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Quistis cleared her throat and assumed the rigid position of a high-ranking Naval Officer; feet slightly apart, hands behind her back, spine straight and chin pointing straight out. The crew below her scrambled to attention and stood in much the same pose, although not as well practised or perfectly turned out. Leonhart stepped up to the railing and looked down upon his crew.

"We are sailing straight to Balamb taking with us the daughter of Admiral Caraway!" The men exchanged glances, a few looking excited, a few mischievous and all of them nervous. "It's possible that we encounter Pirates or Corsairs and should any harm come to our cargo we will have failed this mission." He fixed all of them with a pointed look, not unlike the look one would give to some very naughty children. Children that you hated to be around. "You are not to enter her cabin. You are not to converse with her. You are to attend to your duties as you are instructed. Your task is to transport the Admiral's daughter to Balamb without injury. These are your first priorities. Anyone who disobeys these orders will be punished."

A few pairs of eyes, including Quistis', turned to the Cat of Nine Tails that hung above the Captain's cabin door. There had been men to die by the flay of those tails before and Quistis wielded it without a qualm. The crew all knew she would have no trouble in wielding it again. (A/N explanation of the Cat of Nine Tails at the bottom.)


Irvine yawned and stretched his legs down the mast. This was boring. So he might have a good pair of eyes, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be stuck in the Crow's Nest every bloody voyage. He could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he had spent a whole voyage on the deck. Three. Once when his wonderful eyesight remained undiscovered. Once when the Captain in question hadn't heard about his since discovered eyesight. And once when he'd fallen ill with a stomach bug that no one wanted at the top of a very tall pole. Every other voyage he had under his belt had been spent with copious amounts of time lounging about at the top of the mast, coming down occasionally for rests, meals and toilet breaks. But that was it.

He plucked off his hat and rubbed a hand over his eyes. The sun glinting off the water was blindingly bright. At least here he was out of the way of the ocean spray, he didn't know how he would cope with that ruining his eyes too. He tugged his pony tail tight and put his hat back on, peering out into the distance.

He frowned, was that a speck on the horizon or was his eyesight beginning to fail him at last? No, it was definitely a speck. The longer he stared at it the more it began to look like a ship. It wasn't long before the colour was also discernable: Bright red and flying the Black and Gold standard of the Galbadian Navy. At least they were friendlies – relatively.

"Galbadian vessel on the starboard side!" He shouted down, pointing to help the pairs of eyes that looked up at his shout. "At the Prow!"

Down below, Squall left his position at the helm and went to the rail, fiddling his Periscope from his belt as he went. He drew it out and peered down it. Yep, that was definitely a Galbadian Vessel. Damn, that spotter's eyesight was good. He glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky then turned to Quistis, who was squinting out at the Vessel as well. She would probably need some eyeglasses at some point, but her vision wasn't all that bad and besides, eyeglasses were very expensive in this day and age.

"What time is it?" He asked her. She reached into her pocket and took out a silver pocket watch.

"11:43."

Hmm. It was barely midday and yet they were already encountering other ships. It made him uneasy. He peered back down his Periscope and sighed. This was going to be a long day.


Rinoa giggled and pressed her ear back to the door. "You know," She said lightly, biting her lip between her teeth, "It's always been a dream of mine to go to sea and go sailing off into the sunset."

"Oh, you should see the sunsets!" Zell said happily from the other side of the door, "They're beautiful! All different colours fanning out around the sun! And it reflects off the waves too!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Sometimes when I'm on watch and the sun's going down, I watch the sunset instead of doing my watch!"

"But won't you get in trouble?"

"Nah, I'm never caught."

Rinoa giggled. She liked Zell. When Quistis had said that there was going to be a guard outside her door day and night she expected it to be some gnarly old sea-dog with one eye, a wooden leg and no grasp of basic English. Of course she realised she was over generalising with some of the men she had seen wandering around the port sometimes, but it was good a place to start as any. In any case, she hadn't expected him to be so nice and talkative, if Quistis' attitude was anything to go by.

"Do you think I could see the sunset over the ocean at some point?" She asked tentatively.

"Um," Zell seemed unsure and she could hear him scuffling about for a little while before he called out "Yup, there's a porthole in your cabin there. You should be able to see the sunsets from there."

Rinoa looked around and frowned. She couldn't see anything that even vaguely resembled a port hole. "Where?"

"On the wall. I think it has glass in it." Came Zell's reply.

"Where?" Rinoa asked again, patted the walls down with both hands. There wasn't anything there! Silly man.

She heard the key turn in the lock and then Zell marched in, walking straight to the portside wall. It was covered in drapes of material and Rinoa had put a few of her pictures up to make the place look a little more homely. These all promptly came down when Zell began to search for the port hole as well. He found it after not much looking and revealed Rinoa's first look at the ocean up close. She dropped all the paintings she was trying to gather up when she saw the sea. It was a beautiful endless stretch of blue waters lit up by the sunlight and glittering brightly underneath it.

"There ya go, Miss Heartily." Zell said, smiling proudly, still clutching a silk drape in both hands. "There's your port hole. You can watch all kinds of things from here. Sometimes we even get dolphins chasing the ship!"

"Dolphins? Really?" Rinoa exclaimed, pushing her forehead up against the glass and trying to see out. She wanted to see the dolphins now if there were any. "I've never seen them before!"

"They're really pretty." Zell beamed, but then a shout of his name brought him back to attention and he cleared his throat quickly. "Err, excuse me, I'll not be a minute, Miss." He said, handing her the silk drape and then scurrying back out of the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Rinoa smiled and looked back out of the porthole. It looked like the journey wasn't going to be too terrible if she at least had a view of the sea. She glanced at the state of her room and sighed, beginning to fold the silk drape in her hands. It was pearl pink and deceptively heavy, though it looked quite light. She had put that away in one of the trunks and was just gathering her paintings up in her arms when the ship heaved suddenly to the left and the paintings flew from her hands again. Unused to the motion of the sea anyway, she was thrown with a yelp to her knees.

Muttering an expletive her dear dad would have probably popped an eyeball over, she staggered to her feet and grabbed fold of the door handle. But it didn't hold her up as she had expected. It flung open instead, depositing her on her stomach in the space outside. Zell had already gone and now she could hear shouting coming from above the deck.

Panic – as any young lady was bound to feel in this sort of a situation – began to flood through her as the scenario from 'upstairs' filtered into her mind, courtesy of her wild and woolly imagination. There would be gun fire starting any minute now, the bullets flying into the bodies of the crew and knocking them off their feet, chewing through muscle, bone and organ tissue alike. The enemy would charge on board, blades raised and they'd hack limbs and digits from the men who had been hired to protect her. Blood would soak the deck, mixed with fingers and slithers of flesh, the subcutaneous layer of fat sticking them to the floor and catching like string to the undersides of the shoes that mashed them into the deck.

She heaved herself off the floor and over to the steps that led to the above deck. The shouting was getting louder and now there were footsteps, running all over the place, along with the scrape of heavy objects. She recognised the sound immediately. Cannons.


La Carenza was a busy place at night time, surrounded on all sides by the darkness it provided cover for all manner of nightly things. Women selling themselves for money stood in the light of the murky windows, holding a hand out to any passerby who looked like he might need the distraction. Sometimes there were takers, sometimes there weren't. Inside the place it was a hazy affair of old smoke, candle light and bodies. It was packed most of the time anyway, but at night La Carenza became the lair of the Pirates. It was a well known abode of those who wanted to keep away from the law. Not necessarily for piracy, but for prostitution and the black market as well. The only reason it had been left alone by the authorities was... Well, the fire power. Not only was the bar bristling with battle hardened brutes, but it was also the main cache for the town's supply of dynamite and it was all hidden in the cellar. It was like dancing on a volcano as one exemplary statesman had once said.

Tonight the majority of the place's patrons belonged to the crew of the Pirate ship the Siren. They were a motley array of men all drinking away their most recent haul. The music was good, the food was passable and the girls were a plenty, what reason was there not to indulge in a little of their fancies? After all, their captain had retired to a 'private' place a little while ago and going by the man's stamina he wouldn't be back to join them for a little while.

Through the door stooped a huge hulking figure, wrapped in a thick cloak and sopping wet. It was clearly raining quite hard outside. He pulled the hat from his head and let the door swing shut behind him, peering through the fog of smoke. Whoever he was looking for, he clearly couldn't see so he shrugged his cloak from his shoulders and hung it – along with his hat – on the peg on the back of the door. The loss of clothing decreased his size by what must have been a third and now what stood in the doorway was a tall, dark haired man wearing a faded and beaten up uniform of the Galbadian Navy. He smoothed his hands down the front of it and peered once again into the crowd. Somewhere at the back of the bar he spied a head of pale grey hair and he made a bee-line towards it.

"Hey, Fuujin!" He greeted, pulling himself from the tangle of the crowd with a 'pop!' and staggering into the table, sloshing the tankard of beer that Fuujin had just put down. "Have you seen the Captain? I got something to tell 'im, ya know!"

Fuujin shook her head, frowning down at the beer sploshes now adorning her sleeve cuff. "PROSTITUTE."

"Oh." He scratched the back of his head, "Well it's really important, ya know. Did you see where he went?"

Fuujin jerked a thumb to the back door of the bar and took another swig of her beer. He nodded, then set off to drag himself through the knot of bodies that stood between him and the back door. A few more people bumped into Fuujin's table as he walked off, spilling yet more beer and earning themselves several life-threatening glares. There was going to be blood on this floor before the night was done if they weren't careful.

He pulled himself out of the crowd and clattered into the back door, wrestling it open against the crush of bodies and spilled out of it into the road behind. It was still raining veritable cats and dogs and he had to squint to see the figure – or rather figures – crushed up against the wall of the nearby Cartwright. He called out:

"Yo, Captain! I got something really important to tell ya, ya know!"

There was a grunt of something and then silence again. Apparently the Captain didn't want to be disturbed. He scratched his head and tried again. "It's super important, ya know! It's about Leonhart and Caraway's daughter, ya know!"

The Captain let out a muffled curse, then pushed off the wall and stomped over to hear the rest. "This had better be important, Rai. Because in case you hadn't realised it, I'm sort of busy right now."

"I know, I know," Raijin nodded, glancing over the Captain's shoulder at the woman still leant up against the wall with her hips thrust forward. She curled her finger at him in a 'come hither' gesture and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "But it's about Leonhart, ya know! Tomorrow morning he's sailing back to Balamb waters and he's taking the Admiral's daughter with him, ya know!"

"So?" Bright green eyes narrowed slightly. "If they wanna get hitched then let 'em. It's none of our business."

"No, but he's not marrying her, ya know! He's just transporting her to Balamb! For Caraway, ya know!"

One elegant blond eyebrow arched. "Really? So she's still the responsibility of Caraway? Even while under Leonhart's command."

Raijin was nodding vigorously. "An' not only that, but they're also taking loads of her shit with them, ya know! All her finest possessions, ya know!"

"They're worth a lot of money." The Captain agreed, scratching at a hint of stubble. "We could hold her for ransom and flog all her stuff at the same time." He was considering hard, weighing up the pros and cons even though they both knew he couldn't deny anything that might involve a scrap with either the Navy or Leonhart. The only question was the urgency of the matter. Finally he came to a decision and began to usher Raijin back inside.

Behind them, the prostitute called out in protest. "Hey! What about my money!"

"Nothing sold nothing bought!" The Blond headed Captain called out behind him, pushing Raijin quickly through the barely open door and narrowly avoiding a shoe.

The situation inside hadn't sorted itself out at all, in fact it only seemed to have gotten worse. A fight had broken out and amongst the rabble of writhing and struggling bodies Fuujin had half a tankard in her hand and was bashing various patrons over the head with it. Several bottles of beer had been spilt and there was some woman's dress floating about over people's heads, all the while a tenacious little band of men was singing '5 pieces of 8' in the corner as loudly as they could, adding to the general noise.

Raijin and the Captain fought their way through to where Fuujin was braining a man with her tankard with what could only be described as malicious delight. "We have to make an announcement!" The Captain shouted to her above the din while Raijin fended off an enthusiastic man wielding a fire poker. When she couldn't hear him, he shouted again. "WE NEED TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!"

Once again not hearing, Fuujin clambered onto a very rickety old table top anyway and shouted at the top of her lungs:

"QUIET!"

Silence in the hall.

Raijin cleared his throat and tried to hold the table still as his Captain climbed up beside Fuujin, towering several heads above her. He too cleared his throat.

"Tonight, we're very fortunate!" He began, sticking both thumbs through the loops of his belt, his sword jangling against his bulging money purse. "Raijin has brought word of the lovely Miss Heartily and the licentious Captain Puberty!" A cheer went up from his crew and a glimmer ran round the pub as weapons were rearranged in preparation. "Tomorrow morning they set sail for Balamb, aboard the Balamb Garden. I've heard there's going to be a lot of booty on that ship tomorrow, and Caraway will surely pay any price for his daughter to be safely returned to him, don'tcha think?"

Another cheer went up and several of the patrons, uninvolved in this mixture of pirates and looters, began to filter from the pub. "It would be unfair for Captain Puberty to make off with all the riches, especially when we have tried so very hard to protect the pride and waters of this Nation!"

Raijin and Fuujin exchanged grim glances. It was a thorn in their sides every bloody day. "I think it's about time we got some pay back on the ol' Admiral!" The captain announced, heralding more cheers and this time a few brandished cutlasses, swords and more than a few beer bottles. "We cast off tonight!" He shouted amid the cheers. "Tomorrow, we ambush Balamb Garden and steal Caraway's Daughter! We set light to the flags of the Balamb Navy and sink 'em to the depths! To the Siren's call of the ocean!"

The roar that erupted onto the street was deafening. The crew of 37 men, not including the Captain and his two faithful friends burst from the pub and charged towards the docks. There was a full night's work ahead of them if they were to be ready for Leonhart when he came.


The Balamb Garden had started out as nothing more than a speck of black in the distance, but not it was taking the form of a miniature Galleon, bobbing along towards them. The standard procedure for this sort of situation was to pass barely a foot from each other, the entire crew gathered on the starboard side to salute the other ship as it passed. Guns and swords would bristle and hand would shake. It was only natural, they were at war with each other after all. But the Balamb Garden was flying the Ambassadorial Flag so it was protected from combat to some degree. Certainly from any self-respecting Galbadian ship anyway. Unfortunately for the Garden, the Siren was not just any Galbadian ship and – although certainly self-respecting – the promise of protection was certainly not something they considered extending.

"Listen up!" The Captain shouted, capturing the attention of his crew, who were all watching the approach of the Garden with barely concealed excitement. "What we want from that Ship most of all is Rinoa Heartily. The rest goes as normal; paintings, silks, money, whatever holds value. But as soon as we have the woman, we're out of there."

A Mexican wave of nods greeted his command and then attention returned to the approaching vessel. He added one more order to the pile. "Leonhart is mine. Raise the Standard!"


Irvine frowned as the Galbadian Flag disappeared from the top of the mast of the other ship. What the bloody hell were they doing? Uneasiness began to gather in his stomach as he saw a different flag begin to run up the pole; grey with a flash of red just barely visible on each tug of the runner. His uneasiness was proven not to be unfounded when at last the sea winds unfurled the material completely and he was left staring wide-eyed into the unmistakable image of the Fire Cross. Dread pooled in his being as he looked into that well-known symbol of defiance. Why hadn't it clicked sooner? Of course it couldn't be a genuine Galbadian Galleon; they were all off battling the Trabians in the arctic conditions of World's End. It was an aggravating thing to acknowledge that this was not the first time he'd seen this flag. He cleared his throat, unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and called out in a voice that was slightly reedier than he'd have liked:

"It's the Fire Cross!"

Down below, Leonhart and Quistis, who had previously been engaged in a conversation - admittedly rather one-sided - over the ethics of the Trabio-Galbadian skirmish, rushed to the side.

"Fuck." He swore, slamming his hands down on the wood. Beside him, Quistis adopted her no nonsense frown. He turned to her, "It's Almasy."

She nodded, then spun around, pulling her whip from her belt and cracking it at her side. It left a score mark on the wood at their feet. "Alright, men!" She shouted at the men who were gathering at the side and watching the approach of the ship ahead of them. "Battle positions! I want cannons ready! I want bayonets attached! I want muskets at the ready!" Down on the deck the men hurried to her commands and she cracked her whip again. "Get this ship ready for battle, now!"

She turned to the helm's man, "Nida, take us out of their course!"

Nida nodded and spun the wheel, the whole ship tilting suddenly to the Portside as the rudder turned in the water. Quistis jerked a little on her feet, then dashed down the steps to the deck and grabbed a rope that was about to slip free, tying it quickly back into place, then rushing down the steps to the hold.

Leonhart watched her go, then turned his attention back to his enemy. There he was, standing on the very prow of his ship, hanging on to a rope and leaning out with a wolf's grin stretched across his face. He looked damned pleased to see them, that was for sure. Something made Leonhart nervous that maybe this meeting was a little more than pure coincidence. It wasn't even noon yet after all and already they were running into conflict. With 'Captain' Almasy no less. It was too much to be a coincidence. Almasy had to know what it was they were transporting. But how?

He shook his head and turned to spin into his cabin, marching up to the table and grabbing his weapons. He rammed the musket into his belt and snatched up his scimitar. How Almasy knew was not important at the moment. What was important was getting out of this alive and with Rinoa – preferably – still on board and living. He spun back out of his cabin again and looked back to the approaching ship. Damnit, it was gaining on them quickly. Apparently evasive manoeuvres hadn't been taken quickly enough. He looked to Nida. "What's our speed?"

"23 knots, Sir." Nida said, glancing at the dial to his right, along with the compass.

Fairly fast then. He didn't even want to know what tricks Almasy was pulling to mean he could be going even faster than they were. Maybe he had some sort of Voodoo going on. It wouldn't surprise him. Looking over the side, he watched as the Siren's cannon hatches were raised and the noses of several cannons protruded like bristles from the ship. Looking to the men rushing about on the deck, tying ropes and hurriedly passing out weaponry, he shouted out an order: "Prepare for conflict!"


"Secure that Cannon," Quistis shouted, cracking her whip and pointing at a cannon that rolled slightly as the ship bucked. "There's no room for mistakes people!"

She frowned out of a cannon hole at the red ship approaching. It couldn't have been more than 10 meters away now. Buggeration. "Load the cannons!" She shouted, cracking her whip again. It was a habit born out of nerves, and she had no intentions of trying to amend it.

The Siren was approaching with alarming speed now and the last ball had barely been loaded before she snapped her whip down again and shouted, her voice breaking a little in the middle:

"Fire!"


Rinoa shrieked as the first volley of cannon fire sounded over head and she threw herself flat on the floor, burying her head in her arms. Shouting erupted then too and the sounds of scrambling feet before the deafening whumpf of splitting wood and displaced air sounded up there as well. A vaguely inhuman cry brought her head out of her arms and she looked up to the stairs. She couldn't see anything but dust and flying wood chips and she could barely hear anything above the crash of the waves - seeming so much more magnified - and the shout of men. But over the din, she could just about hear the crack of a whip and a feminine shout, commanding: "Reload!"

She squinted at her hands for a second, the palms a little scuffed from her fall and a few beads of blood were beginning to form. This was the first taste of combat she'd gotten. It was one of the few times she'd seen her own blood on her hands. It reminded her a lot of a day a few years ago, when it was not her blood on her hands, but someone else's, the blood of someone very important to her. She frowned and set her jaw. Back then she had been little more than a slip of a girl, unable to stop the blood from spilling. But this time, she'd be blowed if she let her blood run through her fingers by virtue of simple mistake or idiocy or pathetic habit.

She struggled to her feet and looked around for inspiration. It was clear that the first thing she needed to do was to get off this ship. It was clearly too dangerous and although she knew she'd been given orders to stay in her cabin and wait for death to find her, she didn't much like the idea. When the Crew lost, she was liable for a killing and she didn't like the idea of that. Either that or she'd be captured. Whatever. Neither was particularly preferable. She picked the front of her dress up in both hands and rushed back into her room, looking first at the porthole and then around at the things that littered the room. A brass vase stood on the dresser and she grabbed it, turning round and fixing the porthole with a look. Right. It was time to get messy.


A/N: Cat of Nine Tails was a whip with nine 'tail's on it. These frequently had metal spikes and other such things knotted into them that would flay a man down to the bone. It wasn't uncommon to receive a punishment of 40 lashes with it, although most of the time the cries for mercy would come around the 5th or 6th lash mark. By the time number 40 came around, there'd be little left on your back to stand you up straight and screaming for mercy was a moot point anyway. Lost of men died under the Cat of Nine Tails.

Anyway, I hope you liked that, if anyone bothers to review at all, it would be nice. I like to think that my work is appreciated, even though it seems like I'm just starting another fic again for the hell of it, if you've read my profile you can see that I fully intend to finish every fic that I start.

As I'm sure you know, any reviews are welcome, pointing out speeling (intentional mistake while trying to be funny :/) errors, or just giving me inspiration for the plot.

I don't feel like I need to write a disclaimer for this as we are currently on a FANFICTION website and therefore you will all have to assume that this is based off another persons work - or in this case, several people's work :)

Anyway, another plot bunny just struck with little (I won't say any because that would be lying) warning, so I must leave you to hit the review button ;) and stick this to your story alert. Also, my dinner is done so I have to go anyway xD Spaghetti Bolognese yum yum! Err, I mean Yo Ho!

-Iets.