Well... I'm back!! Hip hip hurray!! I have started completely reworking this entire series, so this first chapter is vastly different from the Original first chapter! I feel I've grown a lot over the years as a writer... Or at least I hope I have!
I hope you enjoy this chapter!
The clatter of dishes and silverware resonated from the pub's breakfast crowd. Booths lined the sides of the establishment while thick, round tables hosted the majority of the patrons. Men ranging from their twenties to their middle aged years were spread throughout the large room. Richly warm mahogany panels lined the walls and matched the equally dark tables. The bar, nestled on the wall farthest from the entrance, was warmly lit and well stocked with a vast variety of alcohol, neatly organized on the shelves guarded by the lone bartender. He was a large man, arms thick from years of training and breaking up bar fights. Currently keeping a watchful set of eyes trained on his customers while cleaning out a Scotch glass. Nothing went past the man unnoticed, not even the single woman entering the pub. He gave her an almost indistinguishable nod before turning his attention back to the other patrons.
The woman took a seat in a booth near the bar, positioning herself in a location that gave her perfect visibility of the entrance and the current clientele. The men, either regulars of the pub or pirates simply passing through the island, shared a rugged toughness that kept them from brawling with one another in the earlier hours of the day. A system of pirate checks and balances. This same system kept them at bay from the woman. They enjoyed living life more that to lose it over something as absurd as staring too long. They shifted their eyes towards the woman and quickly averted them back to their current tasks, recognizing her but wishing to leave her alone. Naturally they were aware of the woman's identity, familiar with the scar disrupting her otherwise beautiful face, and decided they would rather not disturb her breakfast. The twenty-something looked starved, beat up, and irritable. Best to leaver her be, they all thought.
The interested eyes shifted back to their groups and conversation returned to a slightly less audible buzz as a waitress came to take the woman's breakfast order. "Two herb omelets with a side of scrambled eggs, please," She politely prattled off her regular order. The small framed waitress scribbled something on her ticket, flashed her a hesitant smile, and rushed off through the kitchen door neighbored the bar. Breakfast ordered and checked off her mental list of things to accomplish, she let her arms fold over the beautifully varnished table and allowed her head to collapse in a nest of arms. A heavy sigh of relief escaped her full lips and traced across her fair skin. Nothing like ordering a filling breakfast after a morning straight from Hell.
The woman had arrived at the small spring island's port to be welcomed by a drizzle that soaked through her skin and left a chill in her bones gave the day, beginning at two o'clock in the morning, an ominous start. She had promptly left the ship she'd traveled on at two a.m. and opted to go back home for a few hours sleep before her day began. But fate had other plans. The woman quickly deemed the trek home too long and unpleasant for such an early hour and changed her route to the place of her work. Key in hand, she unlocked the quiet business, only to find a threatening message pushed under the door. Brushing off the notions of ripped out fingernails and chainsaws as the ravings of an upset lunatic, she had crashed on the hard floor behind the counter, falling into a light and restless slumber until six o'clock, at which time she was required to open up shop. The aforementioned deranged man waltzed into the store and went into a destructive frenzy. When she'd attempted to stop the man, he immediately attacked her and unknowingly provoked a sleep deprived beast. She quickly beat his sorry ass and hurled him back onto the slippery and cold street. In the meantime, she'd managed to suffer a few bruises and superficial cuts from the fists thrown and a small knife the man had drawn. She swiftly locked the door behind him and waited until her boss showed up to relieve her shift nearly two hours later. Now around the eight o'clock hour, she sat exhausted in the booth of a cozy pub, nursing her sore muscles and aching bones with the mere thought of food nearing its way to her table.
The waitress set her plate down with a soft clink and quickly shimmied off towards the kitchen again. Wasting no time, the woman nabbed the silverware left by the skittish woman, unraveling them from the white paper napkin and hastily stabbing the delicious smelling omelet. She lifted the warm food to her mouth, thoughtfully chewing while the initial taste danced across her taste buds and ignited her hunger. No more thought was put into the meal and she began shoveling the food into her mouth. Midway through breakfast, she managed to pause long enough to notice a suspicious man enter the pub. His clothes indicated he was new to town, as did the rich chocolate color of his skin. Definitely not from the island she currently inhabited. His black hair stood away from his head in tight coils and formed a short and well kempt afro. He donned a fading grey t-shirt under a sleek black leather jacket. His black denim skinny jeans were tucked into a pair of equally black laced-up combat boots. A woven slate blue scarf hung around his neck to protect him from the chill waiting just outside the pub doors. His slick, badass appearance was discernibly foreign to the island and made him stick out like a sore thumb.
The woman in the booth took a chewing break from her meal to further analyze the newcomer. She promptly discovered a few out of place bulges in his clothing. One located on his right side and on the interior of his jacket suggested a firearm of some sort, most likely one of a smaller caliber. Another bulge located on his left ankle she decided was a knife or another small gun. The last became visible only once he reached the bar, after strutting through the pub with immeasurable confidence. It was detectable only to the trained eye and only given away from the minuscule bump in the back waist of his pants, melding upwards into the natural crease of his leather jacket. The woman could only assume it was a shotgun of a higher caliber. Packing more heat than any other person in the room; he now appeared much more menacing than his calm and angelic face betrayed.
Completely unarmed and suddenly aware of the danger at hand, the woman shoved away her half eaten food and fished in her pockets for money. The man bellied up to the bar, producing a slip of paper and inching it towards the bartender. He studied it for a few moments and then resolutely shook his head. The armed man tapped the paper, mouthing a few words to the bartender and let his eyes narrow dangerously. Reaching her money, she silently dropped it onto the table with a generous tip included. She slid out of the booth, trying hard to move unnoticed, and made her way towards the sole exit.
Thoughts of bounty hunters and World Government spies leaked into the woman's mind. But she pushed the notions away, kept her head held high, shoulders back, and pace steady. If he was after her, she needed to be as inconspicuous as possible. Though if he were any sort of threat, he would've already spotted her and assessed the easiest way to make the takedown. Undoubtedly, he was carrying more weapons than the ones she's been able to identify, if so, she was in serious trouble. At such an early hour, she had naively assumed nobody armed so well would be out looking for her. She had made the idiotic mistake of unarming herself, not even bringing a switchblade with her. Mentally, she kicked herself for making such an amateur and potentially fatal error. But as she neared the pub's only exit, a wave of premature relief washed over her. Maybe she'd avoided the danger of the situation.
Suddenly, someone burst through the pub door. It cracked off its hinges and landed on the ground with a sickening thud, nearly landing on top of her. She dropped back a few feet and, stunned, examined another obvious foreigner. He was several years younger than her, though the small scar curving underneath his left eye made him appear much more worldly and distinguished. A tattered old straw hat covered a head full of disheveled raven hair. His lean body was clothed in a red vest, held together with three brass buttons, a pair of shabby blue denim Bermuda shorts that were frayed at the ends, and a pair of worn out sandals protected his feet. Wild eyes searched the large room while his hand held the hat securely in its place. He gave the woman standing in front of him a quick and nonchalant once over. She was far too astonished and dazed the by the boys brutish entrance to move her feet. Everyone inhabiting the pub fell silent, resting their gaze on the intruder.
The woman spun around, a terrifying thought seeping into her mind like poison. Sure enough, the bounty hunter had swiveled around in his bar stool to see the creator of the commotion. The man examined her for only a second before realization quickly spread across his features. With a swift hand, he reached into his jacket and produced a small .38 flintlock pistol. Instinct took control long before reason. The woman closed the distance between the boy and herself. She grabbed his arm and yanked him in front of her before he realized what was happening. The bounty hunter aimed and quickly squeezed off a few rounds from his seat. She pulled her make shift shield down as she dropped into a crouch, trying to make herself as small of a target as possible.
White hot pain splintered through her right shoulder and left her momentarily blinded. Black dots speckled her vision for a few moments and as soon as her vision cleared, she quickly surveyed the damage. Blank horror filled her mind and replaced the fire in her shoulder as she glanced to the left. A rod of skin stemming from his shoulder was stretched out several feet behind the boy she'd selfishly used. Another partition of skin near the ground to her right was stretched out in an identical manner. A few more surrounded the woman and numbered five in all. She glanced over the shoulder of her shield to catch a glimpse of the petrified and aghast faces of the other patrons, the bartender, and the bounty hunter. A nagging thought tugged her mind to a pressing notion. Five bullets had miraculously been stopped by the human shield. But there had been six rounds fired off.
Something warm trickled down her right arm, drawing her attention away from the boy. Blood flowed from the open wound in her shoulder. The sixth bullet. She could fell the color melt from her face as she did a double take of the hits her shield had taken. "What the hell?" She whispered with a mix of awe and horror seeped from her voice.
Without warning, the rods of skin snapped back to their original locations, sending the bullets they'd blocked soared back to their original master. The first two connected with perfectly bottled decanters of booze, shattering the glass containers, their contents creating a fine mist over everything in the area. The second bullet wedged itself harmlessly in the woodwork of the actual bar. But the last, harmlessly whizzed past the bounty hunter and firmly planted itself in the forehead of the bartender. Brain matter spray and blood sprayed out from the back of his skull. His eyes rolled backwards while his heavy form collapsed behind the bar with a sickening thud. A few spots of blood painted the bounty hunters cheek, a result of the dead man's fatal wound.
The very alive shield ripped his arm free, letting the woman fall backwards and onto her ass. He readjusted his ratty straw hat and pushed himself up to a standing position. He patted the imaginary dust off of his denim pants. She stared in utter disbelief as the boy squared his shoulders and spread his feet in a defiant way. His fists remained clenched at his side. The woman was far too shocked to pick her pride up of the ground, let alone lift her rear from it. What were the odds of this freak walking into the pub at the exact instant when she needed such a superhuman shield?
She could hear as the boy sucked in a mouthful of air, his back arching slightly to allow increased lung capacity. Another moment of silence passed before he release every ounce of his breath, "WHAT WAS THAT FOR!!?"
Thanks for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!
Please comment/critisize my work. I wish to continue growing as a writer as I hope to one day make this into a career! Any questions? Message me! :)
Also, for future info, please check out my homepage on this site. I'll update current news and progress on my end... Thanks for your continued patience and support!