A/N: And now to Arthur's POV!
-One Week Later, Edinburgh, Scotland-
Arthur Kirkland was not the sort of man to actively seek trouble. However, he was essentially a hired hand—not strictly a pirate, mind you—and rather poor at the moment, so he wasn't going to turn down a job opportunity, even if it meant going after his old adversary, the notorious pirate Captain Antonio Carriedo. He wasn't even in the same league as that sordid fellow. No, Arthur Kirkland was a privateer, and only went after enemy ships, in the name of his dear Queen*. So what if privateering was legalized piracy? Stealing from thieves wasn't really stealing, right? He stared deeply into his cup of Earl Gray tea, searching its watery depths for some answer as he smoothed the crumpled wanted poster out on the wooden bar counter.
"Captain?" A quiet voice asked, stirring him from his meditations.
He looked up, smiling at his soft-spoken first mate, Kiku Honda. "Sorry, Mr. Honda. I guess I'm a bit out of it."
"Understandable," the Japanese man said, nodding. He leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. "So you are going pursue the Santa Maria?" The bounty on the famous Spanish pirate's head was quite high, after all—fifty thousand pounds would be enough to outfit his small dirigible with new equipment, pay his crew, and have plenty left over for himself.
Arthur glanced around them—the Edinburgh pub was mostly empty, except for a few regulars loitering in the corner, and one or two people sitting a few seats down from them at the bar. He thought that the blonde sitting at the table closest to them was listening earlier, but he dismissed it. He was being paranoid. Not that they were doing anything wrong, but…
"I think so," he said with a great sigh, as though chasing sky pirates was terribly taxing, though he loved his job. He shook his head as his best friend let out a low chuckle. Kiku was used to the Englishman's rather contrary nature.
"That is well, because I have already taken the liberty of contacting Jack and Alistair," Kiku said cautiously, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
"Bollocks. I was hoping I wouldn't have to see that bastard for at least another year or two," Arthur grumbled, referring to his elder half-brother, Alistair Kirkland. He was overly fond of alcohol and teasing Arthur, but when he wasn't doing either of those two things, he was a damn good airshipsman. Their cousin Jack was a decent fellow, though, and usually served as Arthur's second mate. "Did you tell them that we were in Edinburgh?"
"Yes," Kiku said smoothly, his coffee-colored eyes as impassive as usual. "They should be here by the end of the week. And we can easily pick up some more crew members in town, if necessary."
"I swear, you know what I'm planning before I do," Arthur said with a sigh, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "Very well. Once we have that foolhardy Spaniard in our grasp, I'll have enough cash to get a permanent restraining order on that damn brother of mine."
"Of course," Kiku said agreeably, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He would never say anything against his captain, but sometimes he needed the Scot's guidance, in his opinion. A flicker of movement caught the first mate's attention, but it was just someone getting up to leave. "Well then, Captain, I suppose I'll get going. Shall we meet tomorrow for lunch and discuss the supply list for the trip?"
"Absolutely," Arthur said, shaking his hand and giving him a rare smile. "Good night, Kiku."
"Good night, Captain." Kiku picked up his long black overcoat and slipped it on before heading out into the wintry Scottish night, leaving the young captain alone to his thoughts for the time being. He stared at the caricature in front of him, rubbing his fingers over the yellowed paper obsessively. The pirate captain grinned cheekily at him with a rather child-like smile, his bright green eyes a similar shade to Arthur's own. He didn't look like a pirate—he didn't look calculating or threatening enough, for one, but Arthur knew his adversary well, and knew that looks could be very deceiving. Yes, Carriedo could be quite deadly when he pleased. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the bartender tapped the wooden counter in front of him, startling him.
"This is for you," the Scottish bartender grumbled, shoving a mug of ale towards him.
"Ah," Arthur said, frowning, "I didn't order this-"
"Naw, you didn't," the bartender agreed grumpily. "She did." He nodded towards the blonde that Arthur had noticed earlier, but ignored. She's still here? He thought. And then—why did she buy me a drink? Arthur followed his gaze, and the woman—a girl, really—looked up from her table and grinned. He smiled back at her, surprised but flattered, and raised the mug to her.
Taking it as an invitation, she boldly sauntered over to where he sat on his barstool and seated herself down next to him. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with crescent moon-shaped amber waves that reached just past her chin, a heart-shaped face, and a huge smile. Her black breeches were fairly tight and seemed to be made for a man and she wore a loose, cream-colored blouse under a brown leather jacket that turned up at the collar, making her look like quite jockey-like…or maybe like a pilot. What was a young woman like her doing in the middle of a Scottish pub on a Sunday night? She didn't appear to be a prostitute, although her dress was quite unusual for a young woman, and women didn't usually travel alone.
"Thank you for the drink," Arthur began slowly, watching her curiously.
"Sure," the young woman replied, flashing him a dazzling smile. "I thought your friend would never leave." She rolled her blue eyes dramatically and propped her elbows up on the counter, kicking her feet childishly. She seemed perfectly at ease, a quality he rather envied. He never felt easy, except for when he was in the air.
He felt heat creep into his face at that comment. She was being rather forward. Especially for a woman. "I—er, yes, he had some business to attend to," he said lamely, mentally kicking himself for completely wrecking their conversation. "What brings you here?"
"I'm staying over in Scotland for a few days, until I fly out again," she replied in a clear American accent, signaling the bar tender to bring her a drink. "Just a little whiskey, please," she told him, smiling charmingly at him. "Jack Daniels, if you have it." He obliged, pouring a small amount of amber whiskey into a tumbler, and left them.
"Fly out? Are you leaving with family?" He queried.
"No, I'm a pilot," she announced proudly. "Amelia F. Jones, at your service!" She stuck out her hand to shake.
Arthur stared at it for a moment. Where he was from, ladies did not shake hands with gentlemen. Or at all, for that matter. Why, she wasn't even wearing gloves! He shook her hand awkwardly anyway, giving her his best smile. "Arthur Kirkland. I'm a privateer."
"I know," she said, leaning forward with a gleam in her bright eyes. "I overheard your conversation. I'm offering you my services as a navigator. I want to join your crew."
The Englishman frowned. "You eavesdropped on us? That's quite rude."
"Mmm," the American replied, looking not at all repentant. "So. Can I join? I promise, you won't regret it. I'm damn good at what I do." She grinned again. She's obviously used to getting her way, he thought, his sense of irritation growing with each second that passed.
"That's very, ahem, generous of you, Miss Jones, but I already have a navigator-"–even if he is a bloody git—"and what's more, it is not safe for one such as yourself."
The girl cocked her head to the side, getting a dangerous look in her eyes. "Such as myself? You mean a woman, don't you," she said darkly. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Arthur said abruptly, albeit with some regret. He didn't like to disappoint a lady, especially one that was rather attractive. But it couldn't be helped. It wasn't even an option. He downed the ale quickly, and stood up. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Jones. Thank you for the drink, but I must be going—"
"Wait, you can't go!" Amelia cried, jumping up as well. She looked up at him imploringly, pouting slightly. "You have to let me join! I can help you catch him," she added in a lower voice, although she still spoke too loudly.
"Him? Miss, I don't think you realize what you're saying—"
"Just give me a chance," Amelia urged. She reached out to grab the sleeve of his scarlet overcoat. He cringed. He was not good at this sort of thing.
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," he said curtly, pulling away from her. He put on his black bowler hat and nodded at her. "Good evening, Miss Jones." He turned on his heel quickly, before he could change his mind. Not that he'd even considered it! Of course not. Without another glance back, he strode out of the bar, leaving the irritated American girl in his wake.
"Damn Englishman," she said crossly, and downed the tumbler of whiskey before leaving the pub as well, storming out into the chilly Scottish night.
The next few days passed far too slowly for the privateer's liking. Supplies had to be bought, new muscle had to be recruited—he'd lost his bo'sun, a stout Swede, to another ship on the past trip—and other preparations had to be made for the journey. But now, on a balmy Friday, Arthur stood in front of his darling ship, the Victoria, swelling with pride as more hydrogen seeped into the giant balloon above the airship, growing steadily with a hiss. Yes, it was good to be going into the air again. He never felt quite right on land, for some reason. The Victoria was a smaller model, built to hold a medium-sized crew and a small cargo bay, more adept at chasing down winds than carrying passengers across oceans. She was far from the finest ship on the line, but Arthur loved her, more than he loved any person, certainly. She was his pride and joy—he had hand painted the elegant gold lettering on her side himself. Now, she was almost ready to go—the necessary repairs had been made yesterday in the Edinburgh Aerodrome, and she was itching to leave the ground as well.
He stood on the steel platform leading up to the gangway of the small ship, watching his crew carry crates of foodstuffs and other supplies into the cargo bay. He checked his pocket watch. Thirteen hundred hours. They would be leaving shortly, and that damn brother of his was still missing. Bloody Scotsman. Probably drunk somewhere, knowing him—
"Artie, m'boy!" Someone bellowed from behind him, his raucous voice echoing off the walls of the aerodrome. Burly arms gripped him from behind, nearly lifting him off the ground. "I missed yeh!"
"Put me down, you wanker!" Arthur yelled, his composure slipping momentarily. "I told you to be here two hours ago! Where were you?"
"Out and about," the Scotsman chuckled, setting his younger brother down roughly.
Arthur backed away from him, glowering. "I'm sure," he said through his teeth. "Now help the rest of the crew load up. We're leaving soon."
"Aye, lad," he said, swiping his hat to briefly ruffle his younger brother's hair.
"That's Captain to you!" Arthur bellowed, reddening slightly as another crew from the neighboring port looked over at them curiously, swiping back his hat. "Git," he mumbled to himself.
He moved to help his second mate, Jack Kirkland, relocate the extra sandbags for safety into the cargo bay, and looked around him. His small crew looked about ready to go—Kiku was already on board, inspecting the interior one last time, and Alistair and his underlings had finished moving everything. It was finally time to go.
"Alright, men," he announced, striding up the gangway in his finely polished boots. "Let's get her going, shall we?" He signaled to the aerodrome workers, who moved to release the Victoria from her hold on the dock, which stuck out over the cavernous interior of the building, several hundred feet in the air. The sealed doors in the dome above them slowly creaked open, making a horrific screeching noise as bright sunshine poured into the aerodrome. At last, Arthur thought giddily. Removing the last anchoring cables and sealing the gangway door, the Victoria began to rise smoothly into the air, slowly but surely.
Get ready, Carriedo, Arthur thought smugly, a devilish smile crossing his face. We're coming for you.
*Queen Victoria. Yes, Queen Victoria died in 1901, so she may have already been dead by the time this AU takes place (late 1899)
*Bosun. Shorthand for boatswain-someone who oversees lower crew members on the ship, a "petty officer".
Human Names Used:
England/Great Britain: Arthur Kirkland
Japan: Kiku Honda
fem!America: Amelia F. Jones
OC Scotland: Alistair Kirkland (I made them half-brothers so that it would be more acceptable if they were raised in different areas, hence Alistair's Scottish accent as opposed to Arthur's English one.) Himaruya didn't give him an official name, so I used one of the more popular fan names.
OC Australia: Jack Kirkland. Again, using one of the more popular fandom names for our dear Aussie.
No translations in this chapter, I think, unless you have some trouble with Arthur's British slang.
As always, reviews are appreciated-also since Australia and Scotland are technically OC's (well, Australia is an official character now but he's new so eh), please let me know if you think I'm not characterizing them properly.