Cataluna Carriedo was pregnant. That wouldn't have been a problem, had her Italian love been her husband. Or Single. He wasn't and now he had left her to return to his wife. Her unborn child abandoned. Cataluna couldn't kill her child and couldn't face the shame of her parents. So she fled to the United States of America, selling the many trinkets her lover had given her to pay her way. She spoke English passably and traveled to a place where she could live peacefully and comfortably. She took a job as a waitress and made a comfortable living for herself and the baby that was soon to arrive.

Eight months after she had been left, and ten after she had become pregnant… Two lovely babies were born. A boy and a girl. The boy was dead and the girl had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The girl Survived… Barely. And after they had recovered from the ordeal, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo went home with her mother.

Antonio was always bullied for that faint lisp he had whenever he spoke. His voice always had a faint rasp to it and it rumbled faintly with his mother's Castilian Spanish accent. He soon proved that his difficulty in speech and his seemingly oblivious personality hid a devil with enough anger to make the Spanish inquisition look like a tea party.

The only time anyone saw him cry was when he was in his senior year of high school. The new kid, Arthur Kirkland, broke the Spanish-American's prized toy. On his tenth birthday, his mother had taken him to a hobby shop and he had fallen in love with the model ship displayed on the kit. He had spent a month on the ship and another week painting the name on in a flourish. La Armada Invencible. The Invincible Armada.

Antonio had always taken pride in his ship, caring for it like it was the most perfect treasure in the world. The punkish Arthur Kirkland decided he wanted the ship for himself. It had not ended well. Antonio had fought tooth and nail to protect his beloved ship, but was overpowered and tied to a chair. He was forced to watch as the ship was destroyed before his very eyes. The event had traumatized him. He avoided the English boy and only referred to him as Pirata Diabolico. Whenever they spoke, Arthur would be sure to mention the ship… If only to watch the unfortunate Spaniard burst into tears and cry about his beloved Armada.

His mother died on his final year of college, a major in history and a minor in theatre. She had fallen ill with pneumonia. Her medical bills were too high to support herself and her son's tuition. So she hid the truth from him. The antibiotics were untaken and the illness killed her. He had no one to show his new diploma to. Only a burial. His mother resting in the hallowed grounds of the church cemetery. He sold their house and moved to a flat in the city. Her insurance had been worth a million dollars. He could live a wonderful life, instead he lived like a hermit, barely doing more than the minimum. Out of sheer boredom he trolled the help wanted section of the classified adds. A peculiar one caught his attention.

Nationalista Café! The script light and playful drew his attention. The requirements were strange. Must have a knowledge of History, be able to speak Spanish, and an actor. He Shrugged and called. The owner, An Italian named Remus R. Vargas, told him to come in. And if he had any costumes from the fifteenth century, wear them! He had some preserved clothes from an ancestor who had achieved the rank of admiral during that time. After some digging, he found the clothes and put them on. Thankfully they fit.

He stood staring at the waiter in horror. The blonde waiter in blood-red with a plumed hat stared back at him with those green eyes that mocked him with their complete disregard as to who he was. But he was quite familiar with this man. Arthur Kirkland was still a pirate. The costume proved it. He felt the familiar harsh pain in his chest build up, felt the tears appear… And began to sob in distress.

"Y-y-you bathtard! You're the pirata diabolico that dethtroyed mi Armada Inventhible! U-u-uthted eth t-t-terrible!" He sobbed, unable to control the lisp he had had since childhood. He usually was able to keep it under control, but around Arthur… There was no way he could keep it contained to faint traces. He didn't notice the faint shock and discomfort of the man he accused, too distraught at the still-fresh pain of loss. Nor did he notice the Frenchman creeping up behind him with dastardly intent. Not until…

"YEEEEEEK!" SLAP! THUD! CRASH! Antonio stood with his hand still outstretched, staring at the stunned man covered in broken crockery. The blonde man behind him started laughing in malicious glee as he strode up behind Antonio and pulled the Spaniard into a lean, muscular body. Arms wrapped around him as he stiffened, his face paling with fear. Warm breath ghosted over his collarbone as the pirate spoke.

"I see you have met France," the English drawl made his hair stand on end, and a quivering heat form in his belly. He was familiar with the fear and hate, but knew better than to struggle. He nodded weakly as the Englishman behind him nuzzled the back of his neck almost affectionately. The hands stayed relatively G-rated, but that was because he would struggle if his arms were free. A whimper escaped him as the pirate continued to speak, "I have to apologize though. I did not recognize you for a moment there…"

"Antonio."