(Characterization. Peter is still very much Peter. But this Olivia has had a different life, so think of her as a mix between Altlivia and Olivia.)
The rocking of the ship was only increasing as the sun hastened its descent. A storm was coming. The sea would not give him any respite this evening. Keen green eyes flecked with amber took in the room. Tools littered the floor; a worn mahogany table was turned on its head in the center of the cabin. Not an hour ago, the ship had tipped nigh 40 degrees. Two metal chairs encircling the overturned table remained upright due only to the weight of their frames. Grooves in the flooring ran deep around one of the chairs, indicative of two things: a restless soul that usually sat alone.
He heard the footsteps moments before the knock, "Captain?"
Peter braced himself as another wave smashed into the hull, "Enter." The respect men had for their captain could be readily judged in two ways: by whether they hesitate before entering his cabin, and whether they can meet his eye. The man that entered was large; he would have seemed intimidating except for his downturned face and posture. Peter's gaze ran down the man's towering frame, searching his worn garb and fearful expression, but found nothing of consequence, nothing to explain the fear in the man's eyes.
"Captain, there's been a stowaway." Peter grunted, his eyes flickering to the tremulous sea beyond his window. He did not have time for this. A stowaway was troubling news. To keep the respect of one's crew, it normally would have to be handled swiftly. But his voyage was of a precarious nature; there were certain parties that needed to be appeased.
"It's a woman." Peter's eyes narrowed and darted back to the man in the doorway. The man continued to stare down, counting the floorboards. Peter turned and searched for where the whiskey had fallen; he definitely needed a drink now. As if matters weren't dire enough with the storm, now they had a woman on board: very bad luck having a woman on board. The men believed the presence of a woman aboard would bring doom to a voyage. Peter didn't believe in supernatural forces, but he did believe in the temptation of a woman, and the weakness of a man.
"Bring her to me." He had to take care of this now. Half his men were already on deck, fighting to keep the ship upright, and he had yet to determine their course. A few minutes later the door to his cabin swung open again, but this time a woman entered, wrapped in a green cape. It was a soft green, it could have been dyed specifically to match her eyes, the way they matched perfectly. Her hair was tied in a long braid, which glimmered a pale gold in the light of the lanterns. Her face was both fierce and vulnerable, with a softness in the cheek and a hardness in the eye.
She held herself upright, obviously a woman of noble descent. But why on earth was she on his ship? When he approached her, her face betrayed no fear, despite being locked - hands bound- in the quarters of a pirate captain. He liked her already, which only made matters worse. He pulled a knife out of his sleeve, and swiftly cut the ropes around her wrists,
"Would you care for some whiskey?" Peter busied himself righting the table as he waited for a response, but one was not forthcoming. He turned back to the woman and was struck by the intensity of her gaze. She regarded him the way he would his maps, dissecting. He was not used to this. When he interacted with women it was one of two ways, he'd be dining with women of the gentry masked in fine clothes and a clever deception, or as himself, dirty hands and torn suede in which case the women were often farther down on the social ladder. But this, this was clearly a woman born of wealth, the pristine condition of her cloak said as much. The sight of her in his cabin put him on edge, but he wasn't sure he disliked the feeling.
"What, pray tell, is your name?" Peter tried again. His eyes widened, having spotted the elusive bottle of whiskey. He sauntered to where it lay by the window and cracked a small crooked smile and as he picked it up, back turned, he barely heard her voice over the growing waves,
"I will have a whiskey." She had moved. Her eyes were no longer on him but on the floor. But she wasn't looking down in deference like the other man; her eyes were scanning the papers that had been flung in all directions when the table had been overturned. Peter sought to get her attention off of his maps and plans and back onto him,
"Your name for a whiskey? I assure you it's a bargain, aged twenty-seven years. I won it off an unsavory fellow in Shetland. What do you say?" Despite the softness of his tone and the smile on his lips, Peter intended on getting answers. He was just offering a more pleasant option. The cloaked woman appeared to reach the same conclusion,
"Olivia." Peter's smile widened; the name suited her. Olivia. "Now how about you pour the drinks and we can talk about why I'm on your ship?" Peter's smile faltered, his jaw going slack. Well, she certainly had spirit. He made his way back to the table carrying the bottle and two glasses. He gestured towards the chair as he poured, but she chose not to take the invitation.
Pushing the half full glass across the table, Peter moved to the next question that had been on his mind, "You didn't pick my ship by accident did you?" He was already fairly certain of her answer, but he still wanted confirmation. Olivia's lips pursed, her head cocking to the side, shaking ever so minutely.
"No. I had my reasons Peter. May I call you that or would you prefer captain?" Peter's eyes narrowed,
"How do you know who I am?"
"Oh I assure you, I know more than that. I know, for instance that you are looking for the machine. The one in the drawings on the floor, designed by Walter Bishop, the inventor. A machine of an unknown purpose that has been said will change the world as we know it." Peter's eyes were wide and unblinking. He could not conceive how she had come about this information, but he did not interrupt. "My first thought was why they would entrust this task of finding the machine in the hands of a pirate." Peter took a sip of his drink, and leaned over the table, making sure to hold Olivia's eyes as he responded,
"Because I know how to get things done." Olivia smiled then, but she shook her head,
"No. No, it's more than that. Walter Bishop, the inventor, is your father. And I heard whispers, rumours, that only you could operate the machine. Ensuring you were the only one for whom it would work was clever. I gather it was for this reason that you were contacted by certain highly esteemed parties in the British Government promising you letters of marque clearing your name and legalizing your," Olivia's eyes darted around the cabin briefly, her nose crinkling at the sight, "lifestyle." Peter scoffed,
"It's piracy. Don't sugar coat it. And how do you know all this anyway? Who's been doing this whispering? And what is any of this," he gestured to the papers that still lay scattered on the floor, "to you?" One of Olivia's eyebrows quirked as she threw back the drink in a single gulp. Peter had never seen a woman drink like that.
She cleared her throat and licked her lips, "And why shouldn't the potential fate of the world resting in the hands of a pirate and certain members of the British Government concern me?" Olivia leaned against the back of the chair, resting her arms on it, fingers interlaced, "But you're right; I have a greater stake in this. I'm involved." Peter felt even farther from understanding,
"How can you be involved?" That didn't make any sense. The details of this mission had been kept very quiet. His crew had no idea; few outside of the people who sent him knew anything about the machine. A disconcerting thought occurred to him, "Do you know my father?"
"No, but it appears he knows me." She reached into her cloak and pulled out a wound up bit of parchment, "he drew this." Olivia dropped it onto the table. The paper was old and thick, the same type as those that blanketed his floor. With a sigh peter collapsed into the chair in front of him. The sun was now fully gone, the only light in the room emanating from the lanterns.
On the paper was a sketch of the machine, much like those he already had. There was also a face, Olivia's face. His eyes darted between the drawing and Olivia. Each line and curve was captured perfectly. This was not drawn from description. The hand that laid the ink had undoubtedly met Olivia, and it was his father's penmanship.
"If you read the inscription it essentially says that while you may control the machine," Olivia placed both palms on the table and leaned towards him, "I turn it on."
Peter let the parchment fall to the table, and ran his hands through his hair. He didn't bother reading the inscription. He'd always been good at reading people, and Olivia was not bluffing. For whatever reason his Father had seen fit to include this woman. Even though they hadn't talked in years, he would give anything to talk now. Unfortunately, Walter Bishop had disappeared three years ago. Not even Peter had been able to locate him. Peter shook himself from his familial thoughts. What to do with the woman?
"So you stowed away on board my ship intending on convincing me that I need your help with the machine? What's to say I'll not just lock you up until we get there? And who's to say I'll let you go when everything is said and done? As you said, I am a pirate, and why trust a pirate?" Olivia didn't answer. The sea had become even fiercer. Each wave now that crashed into the ship, caused the room to quake. Olivia didn't seem bothered by this. She certainly wasn't a stranger to the sea. Her eyes continued to steadily hold his own, her only visible reaction during each wave was her fingers tightening ever so slightly on the back of the chair.
Abruptly, a wave of a considerably larger magnitude than the others crashed into the ship. Peter gripped the arms of his chair. Olivia had other plans. She used the forward momentum of the collision to spin around the back of his chair and before Peter could process the turn of events a small blade was to his throat. Olivia's voice was now low and rough in his ear,
"I did not come on board a pirate ship defenseless, and your men did not search me nearly as well as they thought." Peter eyed the silver kissing his pulse point,
"I can see that." Another wave crashed into the hull, this time giving Peter an opportunity. He used her distraction as she braced herself to fling her arm with the knife away from his throat and vault up from the chair. He normally didn't fight women, but somehow he suspected he wouldn't get the same courtesy. With a hesitant stride he made to grab at her. Olivia utilized this hesitancy, kicking out hard and fast against his chest. Peter felt his head colliding with the wood floor, and a soft but firm weight on his hips a moment later. She straddling him, something he would not have complained about if not for the knife once again at his neck. Some of Olivia's hair had escaped her braid, now framing her face. Olivia leaned down so their faces were inches apart,
"You need me. I need you. I cannot kill you because you have entire crew out that door and there is nowhere for me to go. How about we work with each other yes?" Peter let out a crooked grin and laughed causing the blade to press painfully into his neck,
"And how will you know you can trust me?" Olivia sighed and blew a lock of hair away from her eyes, she sat back upright on his chest. She squirmed slightly on top of him, and Peter could feel himself hardening. He knew she could feel it, but she made no indication besides a slight twitch of her lips,
"Yes, that is a problem. Is there anything you could offer me as collateral? Something I could keep while aboard your ship; something to hold you to your word?" Peter knew instantly what he had to do, but he did not like it.
"Reach into my pocket." The smirk that graced Olivia's lips then was decadent,
"I can feel very well what is in your pocket, but I'm not sure how I would go about keeping it with me. You may not like that very much." Peter laughed again fairly at ease. Olivia was not about to kill him, and truthfully having a blade to his throat was not an unusual occurrence.
"Not that. There's a gold coin in my pocket. Pull it out. I would but your knees are on my hands." He fidgeted slightly to make his point. He didn't miss the sharp inhale as he did so. He wasn't the only one affected by this position, this closeness.
Olivia hastily retrieved the coin with her free hand and held it up, "a single gold coin? That is the collateral to ensure my safety?" Peter would have shaken his head, but the knife at his throat was already pushing painfully against him,
"No. That is my first gold coin; it's from my first loot. I carry it with me everywhere for luck. If you want collateral that would be it." Olivia's eyes studied him for a moment. Obviously trying to judge his sincerity. And while Peter was a master at faking sincerity, he wasn't now.
Olivia smiled and slowly removed the blade from Peter's neck leaving a deep red line, "You have yourself a deal."