The bar was like any other bar frequented by the lawless or morally ambiguous members of society: dirty, loud, and violent. Every piece of wooden furniture bore scars from knives (often accompanied by unidentifiable stains) or had suffered bad repairs. Many of the chair seats were strung hammock-style with straw or cloth, probably to make them less effective when broken over a patron's head. Not that it stopped people from trying.
Rebecca flinched at the sharp crunch of breaking wood as yet another chair succumbed to the fate of being a weapon for a bar room brawler. No one else seemed to notice though, so she turned her focus back to her questionable looking tankard of water. She swirled it around a couple times, as unwilling to drink it as when the waitress had first plunked it down and said to not mind the grit. Cavendish had yet to drink from his chipped glass either, choosing instead to eye it with the same distaste he might view an exceptionally large bug. Bartolomeo was the only one who seemed not to care, happily guzzling his liquor though it looked no better than the water and the tankard leaked out the bottom.
In the centre of the room the brawlers finished their bout, and with much roaring laughter and hollering by the spectators, the loser was pitched out the door into the alley to presumably bleed to death. Tables were turned upright and the chairs beyond repair were swept into a corner to be used for kindling. The noise became less raucous, and individual voices and conversations began to be heard.
One conversation was louder than the rest, and Rebecca nearly jumped from her chair when the winner of the brawl said her name.
"There's more than a few buyers for rouge royalty," The bandit said with a sick grin, even as blood dribbled down his lips from broken teeth, "and the price is high when the royalty is a pretty little girl."
"I heard she's on this island right now," another man said from a nearby table slurred, "some idiot up the coast claimed 'e saw a woman wearing a gladiator helmet."
Rebecca's table was in the corner, and she involuntarily shrank back against the wall, grateful her helmet was stowed on the boat with a broken visor. With almost indiscernible movement, Cavendish and Bartolomeo moved closer to each other, their broad backs and overlarge coats shielding her from view. The bandits' conversation had turned to what they would do with that kind of reward money, oblivious to the group in the corner.
Bartolomeo slammed down his tankard with a hugely exaggerated sigh of contentment, making Rebecca jump again, and belched loudly. "You two ready to go?"
"Obviously." Cavendish replied with disgust, his drink overturned on the table from the force of Bartolomeo's blow or by his own design.
That left Rebecca, and she did her best to act calm as she stood and tossed a few coins onto the table. She forced herself to casually rest her hand on the hilt of her sword instead of gripping the handle for dear life like she wanted to.
She followed behind Bartolomeo, who walked with his usual swagger, with Cavendish walking behind her with his usual flair. She could barely breathe as the navigated their way through the tables and drunks and bandits, trying to move naturally and not draw attention. But no one seemed to pay attention to anyone leaving the bar under their own motivation. She still moved carefully though, and the part of her that wasn't trying to avoid having to fight for her life was shocked at the nonchalance of her friends. Could the possibility of half an island trying to kidnap her bother them that little?
The bar opened onto the main road, with an alley on either side of it. One had the side entrance to the bar and a body, and the other had the trash heap. The latter was where the two men unceremoniously shoved her the second they were out the front door.
"Shh!" Cavendish whispered, clamping his hand over her mouth when she went to object. "What the hell's the plan, Bartolomeo?"
"Shut the hell up," The green haired man whispered back, yanking off his coat. "I'm working on it! Here put this on, Bec."
Untying the sash she used as a belt for her tunic as she struggled into the oversized garment, he used it to cinch the magenta coat tight at her waist. It nearly came to her feet, and only the sash prevented her from looking like a small child playing dress up. The sleeves still covered her hands though, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of the sour beer that Bartolomeo had so recently spilled on it.
Cavendish tucked her braid down the back, fluffing up the ratty fur collar. Now that they were out of sight, Rebecca could see they were as tense as she was. Even as strong as the three of them were, they were still only three against a potential island's worth of bandits and pirates. There would be too many opportunities to get lost or stuck in an indefensible position.
Looking over his handiwork, Cavendish shook his head. "She's still too recognizable if any of them have seen a picture. How many girls with pink hair are there around here anyway?"
"Then we make her UNrecognizable, moron!" Bartolomeo said, and he grabbed the blonde's hat and stuffed it onto Rebecca's head, tipping the brim down over her eyes. "There, done."
A loud cheer from the bar made all of them twitch, and Cavendish gave her a firm shove out of the alley. Rebecca glared at him from under his hat, not overly keen on being manhandled even if it was necessary for the time being.
She started down the road, doing her best to mimic the casual swagger most male pirates had. Cavendish and Bartolomeo followed her, one on either side and about a step behind. Without a coat over his broad upper body, Bartolomeo looked even more barbaric, and Cavendish seemed more serious without his hat. People gave them a wide berth, and both men gave anyone who looked too curious a reason to move on. Rebecca couldn't help a small smile. They really were worth dealing with all the squabbles and temper tantrums and arguments.
"Don't worry Captain," Bartolomeo told her with a sly wink when he caught glimpse of her smile, "We won't let any of these idiots get in your way."
She raised an eyebrow. Captain? Well, she was certainly dressed for the part, and though they usually worked as a team, she did often have to take the lead to get things done. Her confidence was bolstered by the thought as she waded through the streets, and somehow they passed through the crowds undiscovered. When the harbour finally came into view, their ship anchored where they had left it, Rebecca had never been happier to see the ocean.
They used a rough wooden plank as a ramp to board their single-sail ship, with Cavendish staying on the dock to untie the mooring ropes as Bartolomeo worked to raise the anchor. The harbour often experienced rough weather and they had been warned upon disembarking to make sure their ship was well secured. Her hands were next to useless in the too-long sleeves of Bartolomeo's coat, so Rebecca squirmed out of it before she went to help, leaving it in a pile next to the main cabin.
Cavendish, who had already tossed up one of the two ropes securing the ship, suddenly jumped up onto the rail and cut through the remaining rope with one quick slash of Durandal. He tossed his overcoat aside and smirked.
"We appear to have unwelcome company coming."
Rebecca looked at the group of men from the bar running down the street toward them, weapons raised and hollering drunkenly, and she almost rolled her eyes. She unsheathed her sword, and when the first man set foot onto their makeshift gangplank, she set her heel against it and shoved it off the railing.
From the stern, she heard Bartolomeo jeering, and spared a glance back to see him deflecting various projectiles off a barrier as he continued to haul the anchor in. The group set on storming the ship from the side seemed to be lacking ranged weapons, so Rebecca continued to kick them off into the water or onto the dock from her vantage point of the rail. She tried not to wince for every man she saw go down bleeding, as Cavendish dispatched those who had made the mistake of trying to scale the ship from the water.
"Anchor's up!"
With an obscene gesture to the frustrated bandits still throwing rocks at his barrier, Bartolomeo secured the anchor and went to the mast.
"We gonna fuck off out of here or what?" He hollered to Rebecca, one hand on the rope for the mainsail.
"Go for it!" She yelled back, and she booted the last bandit off the rail and grabbed Cavendish by the back of his ruffled shirt.
The wind, that had been steadily growing stronger, filled the open sail with a snap, and the ship lurched forward from the dock, knocking the remaining men who were trying to board off the sides and sending Rebecca and Cavendish crashing backward. If she hadn't have grabbed the blonde, he would have most likely gone straight over the side.
Cavendish stood up and dusted himself off a tad huffily before reaching out to Rebecca and helping her to her feet.
"Now that we've avoided the unsavoury dregs of that particular island and survived the rooster trying to kill us, would you care to pass my hat back now, Rebecca?"
"Good idea," Bartolomeo taunted from the helm, "I'll be sick if I have to look at you for any longer."
Rebecca sighed as Cavendish wadded up and threw Bartolomeo's coat at the green-haired man's head, too fast for him to even put up a barrier. She ignored them as they dissolved into a loud, insult slinging rage, and calmly steered them out into the open water with the slightest smile.
They were still worth it.