On the quant port of Fish's Lodge, all was as it had been. Widow Beverly was up bright and early to sell her delicious bread, little Meldon was out in the square looking to see which privileged merchants he could successfully pick-pocket, the drunkards could be heard all throughout the market from the bar that doubled as a "comfort" house, and Hazel was in the square, singing with her mandolin for some spare change.
It wasn't uncommon for pirates to pass through the town. They would usually pass through to stay at one of the town's notorious "comfort" houses while their ship was being repaired from their latest voyage out at sea. Hazel never had a strong opinion about pirates, mostly due to the fact that she had never really encountered one. Of course she'd heard stories of their ruthlessness and harsh ways, but that's all the were to her: stories. She had seen them strolling around the market place, but for the most part they seemed tolerable. They had never been confrontational before.
The decent crowd that had surrounded Hazel had grabbed the attention of others who were in the square. The crowd grew even larger when she stopped singing ballads and started playing something upbeat. She encouraged others to dance and sing along to the popular campfire songs she sang. Great fun ensued until dawn, when the town's people grew scarce, and the noises of the bar grew louder, and Hazel grew more tired.
She stood up from her stool to stretch her limbs and upon looking down she noticed Meldon. Hazel smiled upon seeing her small friend. With an exaggerated groan she crouched down to be eye-level with him. "I got yah summing, Hazel!" his high voice exclaimed with enthusiasm and excitement. With a sigh, she cupped his small face in her hand. "Meldon, I told you about stealing from people. It's not kind."
As pure as Meldon's intentions were, she wanted to teach him right from wrong. She understood how hard it must be for a child to live without a mother, having lost her own mother when she was just a babe. The boy's father was a kind man, who did his best by his son. Even though they were poor, Meldon was still well fed and cared for. He doesn't steal out of necessity. He steals for the thrill of it.
"I know," the boy said, "but I only steal from the wealthy. And it's always little things! I promise!" Hazel sighed before rolling her eyes and holding out her hand to him. "What did you get me?" she asks with a smirk. He grins wide and proud as he puts a tiny glass rose in her hand. It looks like something that has been broken off of a broach. Even though it is obviously old, having a small chip on one of the petals, she still feels flattered at having received the gift. "Thank you, kind sir! 'Tis a lovely broach," she says in a mock-posh voice. Meldon chuckles, causing her to do so as well. "I promise to keep it safe."
She stands and puts the rose deep in the pocket of her dress so that she wouldn't lose it. The way Meldon looks up at her makes her heart sing. He looks so proud that she liked her gift and she secretly thanks God for what a blessing this child is to her. Meldon wrinkles his nose as she lightly tousles his hair and tells him to run along to his father before it gets too dark out. The quiet of the square and the loudness of the bar makes her wary about him being out so late.
Hazel takes her time gathering her belongings. She places her mandolin in her deer skin bag, trying to make room by moving her canteen of water out of the way. A corruptive noise startles her and she looks up to see a fat, drunken man lying face down outside of the bar he had obviously just been removed from. It is at this moment that she becomes all too aware of the emptiness of the square. She hurriedly tries to gather her earnings from tonight before an unwanted heckler comes to bother her.
She had just finished garnering her things when the bearded man notices her. "Oye!" he calls out to her. "Yee the gerl who plays that thing weth those strings?," he asks, his words sounding too heavy for his jaw too handle. He stumbles toward her, approaching more quickly than she'd like. "Y-yes," she replies, timidly. "You've gotta pretty voice," he compliments darkly. He's so close now she can smell his thick stench. "I really should be going now," she says in an attempt to leave. She hardly moves before he grabs hold of her, making her drop her bags to the cobblestoned ground. She forcefully pushes him, causing him to briefly stumble backwards only to grab hold of her again. This time, she balls her hand into a fist, and strikes him square in his jaw with all her might. He stumble back once more, clutching his nose and gaping at her in surprise. "You bitch!" he yells roughly, raising an opened hand, intent on hitting her. Out of instinct, Hazel ducks her head to the side, covering her face and waiting for the impact to come. She opens one of her squinted eyes when the pain never comes.
She slowly turns her head to see that a handsome, tall man has grabbed ahold of the drunken pirate's arm, prohibiting him from hitting her. Piercing blue eyes, hair as dark as the night, a long, black leather jacket, and soft stubble almost made her forget her current predicament. "Bad form, striking a lady, mate," he spoke calmly, but darkly. A sinister warning. He pushed the drunkard away, causing him to trip on himself and fall. Before the violator could arise fully, Hazel's savior had unsheathed his sword and held it to the man's beard. "Run along. Wouldn't want to display your innards before her." With frightful eyes, the man scurried around the corner of an alley, out of sight.
"I'm hardly a lady," she says, trying to make light even though her quivering voice betrayed her. She was still shaken up. "You sure?" he questions, raising an eyebrow and flashing a smirk as he sheaths his blade, eyes on her. He takes her in. Olive colored skin, wild curly brown hair, timid posture. But what strikes him the most, are her eyes. One hazel, like her name would suggest, but the other was not. The other was green accentuated with flakes of gold. Curious thing, she was.
"I guess I should thank you, sir," she offers. "I'm hardly a 'sir'." She smirks. "You sure?," Hazel returns his quip. He chuckles and she smiles and then there's silence. Suddenly noticing her belongings scattered across the ground, she drops down to place her things back in her bag. She looks up and sees him helping her and nods gratefully.
"I didn't think pirates were in the business of offering aid to fair maidens."
"Oh, I've unsheathed my blade for many 'fair maidens'."
A wink on his part. A rolling of the eyes on hers, mostly done in an attempt to compensate for the blush rising to her cheeks.
As they stand, and Hazel struggles in an attempt to haul her bags over her shoulder, he quickly reaches in and takes them for her. "Oh, I could have-," she starts, but he gives her a look as if to say that she knows she needed assistance. She complies, knowing fair well that she did. "Am I allowed a name, sir?," she asks, making sure to draw out the "sir." He grins and obliges.
"Killian Jones, captain of the Jolly Roger. Or you may know me by my more famous title, Hook."
She purses her lips, exaggerating an impressed expression.
"And I don't suppose your 'title' has anything to do with your left hand," she jokes.
"Sharp, you are," he jokes in return.
After him offering to walk her home, and her obliging his offer, she feels a lot more safe. She feels more secure. As Killian takes her to her door, she takes her bags and thanks him politely. Walking into her cabin, she smiles giddishly at the ceiling. Not quite all was as it had been in Fish's Lodge on this day.