Time seemed to pass in a blur on board the Jackdaw, but she reckoned it couldn't have been much longer than a half year since the start of her service. It was only in the quiet moments before sleep claimed her that she had the time to contemplate the months spent in the company of pirates - or as a pirate, rather. Because while she didn't participate in taking a prize, the crew enjoyed her aid in one very significant way; she kept them well fed. In the end, if they got caught and arrested, she would get the noose the same as the rest.
Before the drastic change to her career, she had been a seamstress in Kingston. It wasn't a grand affair, since the unexpected death of her husband essentially crippled the business. Unable to afford any help and with the limited number of orders she could fulfill on her own, every coin earned was painstakingly counted. But all the expenses of her shop taxed her meager income heavily, and some days, she found herself struggling to even have enough to eat.
Matters only became worse when she received a letter from the harbourmaster of Navassa fort. The merchant tasked to deliver the crate of fabric she had ordered raised his price of delivery, and thus, her presence was requested to resolve the issue in person. On such short notice, the sum needed - not only for the journey, but the cargo itself - was nigh on impossible to get a hold of. So, she was faced with two choices: either let her materials go and accept the losses, or risk a loan from a man around town with a dubious reputation.
In a fit which bordered on desperation to keep her shop open, she decided to take a chance with the latter. A terrible mistake, as it turned out to be, because two days after she had been granted credit, the usurer began to harass her relentlessly for an early payback at a higher rate - a nasty token of her gender and marital status. Not that all the effort would be of any significance, since the ship she secured passage on was set upon by pirates not far out of harbor.
The ferocity with which they attacked was redundant; an overkill given the size of the vessel, and she didn't understand what prize they were to gain. The only cargo carried were the belongings of those on board, not nearly enough to satisfy the crew of a larger ship. A brig, she noted, - the type she only recognized from the sizable ram at the front - moments before the hull to the middle deck exploded in a shower of shrapnel, instantly killing those unlucky enough to be in the way.
It didn't take long after that for the survivors to be herded into a group on the main deck, the bodies of the sailors who tried to put up a fight spread out in a grim display. She saw him then and reckoned the memory would stay with her forever. Clad in unusual robes with a hood which obscured most of his face, she had never seen a pirate nor any other man dressed as he was. Yet his armor wasn't the most striking detail. It was the way he carried himself, the way his gaze swept across each prisoner. He didn't need to wear a special uniform for her to know he was the captain; his body language spoke volumes for his authority.
When he addressed them a moment later, her assumption of his position grew more confident.
"I'd got word a cook might be aboard this ship. Where is he?"
There was a cook, she recalled the portly man with ruddy cheeks. He had been seated not far from her, deep in conversation with another woman about spices. They were one of the first ones to be swept away by the cannon fire. She bit the inside of her cheek, and steeled herself through the worry. There was no way to predict how the pirates would react to the news.
But the reception, she suspected, would be worse if no answer was given. After a long intake of breath for courage, she exhaled shakily and resigned to be the one to call out the fate of the man. As the words built on the tip of her tongue, a meek voice from the crowd of captives beat her to the punch.
The way the captain's features twisted in a rush of anger made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, and she was glad it wasn't her who came forward. He stood motionless for a moment before he turned towards his ship, puffed up with ire. While unable to see his face, the reaction of his crew was enough. Those still below deck pulled back from the gun ports, and the pirates aboard the captured vessel squirmed at the sight. It all began to make sense to her; the stiffness of his posture, the roared 'hold your fucking fire' that she could hear as the cannon fire subsided during the initial attack. Someone had made a mistake, perhaps misheard or disobeyed an order and the error had cost them the life of the man they came for.
Emboldened by the presumed lack of attention, some of the passengers began to murmur amongst each other. In one sharp motion, the captain's eyes fired back to them again, a pistol pulled from his baldric and trained directly at those who dared break the silence. It was impressive, how he could tell without so much as a cursory glance where the sound had come from.
"Shut your gob!"
She flinched at the sound of his bellow together with those around her, and the way he pressed on every single word made it clear, that if further aggravated, he would not hesitate to pull the trigger. As stillness fell upon them once more, she watched him struggle to regain composure, one hand slowly dragging down his face. He stopped to scratch through his stubble, and it made her wonder what would happen next. It looked as if he asked himself the very same question. Without further provocation, the pirates should theoretically let them go with enough resources to get to the nearest port. But given what had transpired, she was afraid the captain's anger would drive him to just sink them all.
"Take everything that's of some worth." The order was barked as he threw his hood back to reveal flaxen hair tied together messily. After he watched his crew set out to fulfill his command he turned back to the captives, his gaze intent. "Give voice, then. Anyone else here who can cook?"
A whisper passed through the group, but otherwise there was no answer.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before he repeated the question, his patience obviously wearing thin again. With no hindrance to her view of his face, she noted how tired he seemed, how ashen and dry his skin was. On his best days, the captain was easily a handsome man. But now, his features were sunk in. With a quick glance to those of his crew who were still on the main deck, she saw the same look mirrored.
The prolonged silence stoked his irritation and when he demanded a reply, there was finality to his tone. Not that she could blame him for his insistence on finding someone; they most likely hadn't seen a good meal in quite some time - a predicament she was unfortunately just as well acquainted with.
Those around her, based on the whispers she caught, refused to speak up. While their defiance was understandable, it was not the wisest course in their current situation. When malnourished, one was more prone to aggression and the redundant force of their attack was a prime example of that. But deep down, there was another voice which egged her on to volunteer. It wasn't hard to note how well armed the crew was, how organized they moved despite their condition. Their ship was exceptionally armored, more so than any other pirate vessel was supposed to be, given what she had heard from rumors. Prosperous in everything, except for one very important detail.
If she became the one who provided them with hearty meals, perhaps she could also profit alongside them. That was the other voice, the one that went hand in hand with her will to survive, and steadily built up her courage: greed. A reckless endeavour, no doubt, but with no way to her order and an aggressive loan shark after her, what the pirates could offer would surely be better. For once, she had the opportunity to make a choice over her life - which, up until then had mostly been a series of arrangements made on her behalf. With a voice steady enough to not give away her nervousness, she stood and addressed the captain with her offer of service.
When his eyes settled on her, she tried not to squirm under his gaze. It was easier to be brave without the scrutiny, even if his irritation had subsided somewhat and there wasn't any open hostility to him as he assessed her. But she couldn't quite place the look on his face. Given their state, one would've expected him to jump at the opportunity. Instead, he seemed reluctant to so much as consider her. Confused by his hesitance, her bewilderment grew mixed with a flash of anger when he rejected her outright by turning away. Then, he repeated his question to the others as if she had never even tried to talk to him.
Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks light up and the wound to her pride got the best of her.
"Ach, if you'd rather waste more time tryin' to talk to a crowd who're obviously unresponsive to your demands, then by all means ignore the only person who's offerin' what you want." With a sharp shove, she shook off the hand of the man who attempted to tug her back down. "Get it up ye! I can cook and I volunteer."
Startled gasps broke out in the wake of her outburst, some even looked as if they wanted her to leave with the pirates. The captain raised an eyebrow once his attention was back on her, and for a second, she swore the corners of his lips curved upwards slightly. Perhaps her gall made a good impression.
"What's your name then, Scotland?"
Mindful of the fact that with every flare of temper her accent slipped back to that of her homeland, she swallowed the comment. That jab was deserved.
"It's Miss Emmaline Fraser, sir."
The emphasis to her title was a deliberate one, as was the conscious decision to use her maiden name for the first time in seven years. With no ties or a husband to return to, surely she'd seem more appealing.
"Been a while since I have been barked at so loud." If she thought the last time he looked at her was an uncomfortably close inspection, then she was about to stand corrected. He didn't so much as give her a once over, but more sized her up with his head slightly tilted to the side, and it made her mouth dry out. Beyond the intensity of his gaze, there were no other hints to what he thought as his features were well guarded. Given his earlier mood, she began to think her rant might've been a mistake she would come to regret.
"Awfully eager to join my crew, Miss Emmaline Fraser. Why is that?"
Ignoring the blatant mockery of her introduction, she instead focused on how he took a step toward her, the man closest to his feet desperate to get out of the way before he got stepped on. While he seemed more open to entertain the possibility of her aboard his ship, she still had the distinct impression something was off. The occasional almost wary side glances towards his crew only intensified the notion, but she steeled herself against her concerns and replied with a confident voice.
"I'm a chancer, and I fancy the money." The look unhindered of surprise on his face made up for the mixture of emotions she had felt minutes before and she took advantage of the upper hand. "You and your crew look just a wee famished, Captain. I offer my service to you willingly, no pressure of threat. I'm also a seamstress, so I would be able to help mend the tears in your sails, or even stitch your wounds."
He laughed, short and barking, and ran his tongue along his upper teeth; a gesture she took as a positive sign.
Yet there was no other answer either way, which made Emma grow more restless by the minute. Her impatience didn't go unnoticed, and after a longer pause, the captain turned his head towards a man who still stood aboard his ship. An imposing figure, even from afar, with dark skin and a bandana tied around his head. One such as him would've been memorable amongst those pirates who boarded, but he never did. Instead, he stood guard on the quarterdeck of the brig, his hands firmly rested on the wheel.
A look passed between them, perhaps the final push needed for a decision to be made, because next she knew, she was given an order.
"Gather your belongings."
It took her some time to find her satchel, and then some more to wrestle it from a pirate's grasp. Whispers followed her as she made her way to their ship to cross over, which showed just how fast news travelled amongst the crew. While they previously seemed ambivalent towards their prisoners - whether due to lack of energy or simply apathy - they now eyed her suspiciously. Some, she would've said, even with open hostility.
"Boggin bastards," Emma muttered, her meager wealth clutched to her chest. "Prospect of a good meal don't seem to please them."
The captain, or she supposed now he was her Captain, was aware of the change to their behavior. He stalked close behind as he escorted her onto his brig, and from the corner of her eye, she swore he looked ready to jump on a moment's notice.
Once on board, she felt at a loss. Unsure of what to do next, but anxious to get away from their stares, she feebly pointed at the hatch that led below deck.
"I'll settle in then, yes?"
Stopped by a firm grasp to her elbow, he spun her towards his cabin and a nudge to her back made his intention clear. With scandalized heat in her cheeks, she opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a harsh whisper before she could voice her indignation.
"Stay quiet, lass, and do as I say. I'll explain inside."
Emma felt the vehemence evaporate from her offense as her gaze followed his. The pirates had since finished with the other ship and returned to their own, spread around the main deck in a crescent which cut off all routes except the one the captain urged her to take. Frozen in place by a rush of panic, she became acutely aware of how he emphasized the word 'lass', and the penny finally dropped. The initial rejection, then the hesitance, the look his crew had given her...She cursed herself for forgetting one important detail: sailors were superstitious about women aboard their vessels.
The captain saw her make the connection and nodded towards his cabin wordlessly. That time, she didn't falter to obey him.
The door to his cabin muted little of the argument that raged on for minutes. She barely made it in before the crew exploded into a clamor of protest against her gender. Afraid of what was to happen next, Emma moved to the back of the cabin, somewhat reassured with two heavy desks between her and the outside. An illusion, most likely. If the pirates decided to come for her, furniture would do little to hold them back.
The noise ceased when she heard the captain's voice bellow over the rest, demanding silence. When the crew obeyed his order, albeit with some argument, he flat out refused to abandon her. His temper returned as he denied the men their right to vote on the grounds of disobeyed orders - which, as she had guessed, cost the life of the man they had originally come to confiscate. Displeased shouts of objection followed, which he categorically shut down with a single, but entirely firm 'enough.'
What followed next surprised her. It wasn't a grandiose monologue about being united by the desire to live freely, to spend as they pleased, far removed from the laws and traditions that shackled them in the first place. That, in what she guessed was her naiveté, is what she would've expected.
She looked up as heavy footsteps crossed the quarterdeck above her. His voice was louder due to the proximity.
"I'm hungry, lads. We all are."
The crew murmured in agreement.
"I'm also tired of eating the shite Smithy tries to pass off as grub." Someone's insulted yell brought a smile to her lips and the others shared her amusement as they roared with laughter. For a moment she considered how unorthodox the captain's method of diffusing a possible mutiny was. Instead of a long and inspired address, he chose to muster enough joviality to entertain them. It was creative, something she wouldn't have thought of him at first glance.
"So I reckon we don't bite the hand that's about to feed us, aye?" While he sounded lighthearted, there was no mistake that his firmness was still there. The message was clear; the matter was no longer up for discussion.
Emma's grasp tightened around the satchel clutched to her chest as she waited for what would happen next. Based on the sounds, the crew seemed to return to their posts. Although their disapproval hadn't dissipated, - that much was obvious from what she could make out - they decided to put issue aside. Her assumption proved to be correct when a short time later an order was barked.
"Mains out, let's get moving!"
The first thing he did after he entered was to take a hearty swig from a bottle pulled from a crate by the door. When she refused the offer for a drink, he shrugged, then moved to settle behind the heavy mahogany desk at the back of the cabin. For a moment he closed his eyes and leaned back, exhaustion clear on his face. Emma waited patiently, hands folded behind her back as she stood in silence. He smiled briefly when she had his attention again, and he introduced himself.
Edward Kenway.
"Am I safe then?" She inquired warily after the ship's articles were read. The question, while mainly aimed to quash the worry of any physical harm that might become her, had another purpose: to serve as a distraction from the image of the awful punishment she'd have to endure if, by chance, she went and pissed in the ballast. I don't even know where that is, she thought, but regardless vowed to use the designated areas to relieve herself just to be safe.
"Reckon so."
"Am sorry? That's hardly comforting after what just happened outside."
Edward stared at her thoughtfully while his fingers drummed on the document she was meant to sign. He appeared to weigh his next words with care and her stomach tightened in a rush of anxiety.
"I'll tell it as is, Miss Fraser. As is custom among our kind, we do not usually take on women for service. But you," There was a short pause in which he smirked at her, "and let this stay 'twixt us, have made a touching appeal. Your gall earned you at least a chance in my books. That said, I still can't foretell how the lads will behave." When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised a hand and cut her short with an expression that read 'I'm not done talking yet.'
"I'm no fool, or the like, unaware of the dangers you might face. It's why I'll assign you a mate, to help and protect you." The look on his face then turned almost impish, and she raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Emma had the definite sense he was up to no good. "You'll bunk in my cabin until you settle in proper."
Of all the things she had expected him to say, the cohabitation of his cabin was not one of them. Her response must've been what he had expected, since Edward laughed like a cad who had gotten the exact reaction he aimed for. But he otherwise made no effort to officiate her service, and she stood there confused, unsure whether he only tried to ruffle her feathers or not.
"Is this a jest?"
"No."
Oh. Slowly, she sunk into the chair opposite to his, ignoring how he didn't offer her a seat - after his proposal, etiquette was hardly at the forefront of her mind. While there had been no mention of a shared bed, she wanted to know exactly what the arrangement would entail. If she was to sign her name to a contract, Emma had to be sure what he said was not a subtle indication that she would have to be intimate with him for a job, or protection.
"…are we to sleep together?"
"No." Edward feigned innocence poorly. "I was to string a hammock up in a corner, but…" Here it comes, she thought, since his tone dropped to cornily flirtatious. "If you'd rather have me on the bed, how can I refuse?"
It took actual effort not to roll her eyes at the obvious attempt to get a rise out of her. Instead, Emma stared at him with a deadpan expression and decided to teach him that, while she was somewhat out of her depth, she didn't like to be teased willy nilly by anyone.
"Sounds like there's some confusion, Captain, as it seems you're very keen on stuffing. Perhaps a switch of roles is called for, then."
The unimpressed look on his face was on par with hers from moments earlier and he hid a sigh with a swig from a flagon nearby. Despite her best intentions, a small laugh of victory escaped her. Edward set his drink down and grimaced, but the expression was too lackluster to be one of actual annoyance. Rather, he seemed to understand she would not sit idly while he tried to hassle her. With a slight bow to his head, he gave her a wry smile.
"Fair enough. Point taken."