Child's Play- Clue

~Amelia Jones~

The barrels of the pirate crew's guns were pointed at me, and guns from other patrons of the saloon at them.
"Leave the cap'n be."
Forcing him to his feet, I held him I front of my smaller frame in defense against the bullets. "If you give him up with out a fight, I won't hang him. How's that sound?"
"An' we believe ye, why?"
"Because you'll have to. So get out of town, or there'll be a bounty for you ship and heads."
"Nay! Not me ship!" Arthur turned his head to look at me with an incredulous expression in his stark green eyes.
"Then tell your 'crew' to back off."
He surveyed me for a moment, eyes wandering over me in an uncomfortable way with a loud, contemplative hum. He turned his head to share an expression with his crew that I couldn't catch. "Deal."
There arose a fit of yelling before it quieted down with only a few words from my prisoner's mouth. "Now, now, veer and stand away, lads."
"Put my pistols on the table and go."
The group grunted in agreement and took a slow leave.

~Arthur Kirkland~

"Ri', she'iff, take me home."
"Shut up." Prodding my back, she urged me forward and I feigned weakness in my legs, as she had to support my weight, pulling me closer to her with a nearly contemptuous groan. "What now?"
"I don't got me land le-" A sharp hiss of pain escaped my bared teeth as her hand clutched my shoulder.
Her fingers recoiled immediately, and an angry glare met her when she surveyed my expression. "Claw cat."
"I actually didn't do that on purpose."
"Ri'. Likely answer, bi'."
"Move faster, pirate."
"And a proud one."
"An obnoxious crude one."
"Naturally."
Before long we reached the building and she led me inside, instructed me to sit in a chair, and tied my feet to a table.
"Wha' am I? A common beastie?"
"Exactly." Her hands nimbly untied the rope on my wrists. I rubbed the chafed skin cautiously as she pulled up a chair behind me. "Take off your shirt."
"Oh. You sadistic witch."
"Shut up. Or I'll let you get infected and die. You're lucky I'm not amputating you."
I obliged in the end, a wicked smirk on my lips. She tied my wrists to the table as she had my feet and sat back down in the chair behind me.

~Amelia Jones~

I'll never forget the ceaseless and vicious pattern of white scars on his back. His muscles rippled gently as he shifted, and I was nearly certain from the air of cockiness he was emitting, that he was showing them off to me on purpose.
"Enjoying the view, me lassie?"
"You're a pig."
"Flatterer."
With a roll of my sky blue eyes, I smacked his back with the back of my hand with a small scoff. "Shut up." Putting a handkerchief on the top of the bottle and tipping it slightly, wetting it with alcohol. "You're lucky it just grazed you. It should heal fairly quickly."
"I'm aware, bi'. I've deal' wi' a bu'et or two." His words came to a halt as I took the fabric to the wound, wincing softly as he cursed with a bitter hiss. "Oi!"
"Grow a pair."
"Flog off."
"So you want to get an infection?"
"Aren't ye the wee Li'le shrew?"
"I'm not a shrew."
"Aye?" He cursed under his breath as I finished cleaning the wound. I stood, grabbing some gauze.
"Yeah. You're just a bastard."
"A bastard I may be, me armful, bu' a clever one, which is be'er than some."
"Clever enough to let me untie your hands without running off?"
"Quite. It'll be much better if I have the use of my hands, I'm sure."
"What?"
"Ye got no mo' brain than a sea turtle, gi'l. Alls the same, I won't run."
"Alright." I untied him, eyes suspicious as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I stood behind him, gently wrapping the gauze around his shoulder, wound tightly, as firmly as I could without causing any discomfort too great.
For a moment, neither of us spoke, the calm silence seeming a sacred, breakable thing, tangible in nature that not Arthur or I wanted to fracture. The loud creak of the door broke the seal, awkwardness flooding in with the woman who barged through the opened vestibule. "Amy! I heard these whispers tha-" She finally opened her eyes, her near grey eyes widened, a hand coming to her mouth. "Oh!" A blush came to her plump cheeks.
"Hey, Catherine."
"Who's...your friend?"
"Not a friend. What whispers did ya hear?"
"That you made an arrest."
"Yeah. I did."
"Me name's Arthur Kirkland." His seductive smirk resulted in a smack to the head.
"Notorious pirate Arthur Kirkland."
"I figured tha' wou'n' bes a goo' way to introduce me self."
"Oh. If you don't mind my asking, why is he...?"
"Shirtless? I shot him."
"You shot him?" Surprise filled her features.
"In self defense! Lord almighty, Catherine. You always think the worst of me."
"You know I love you, Amelia, but sometimes you do worry me, running 'round with your guns and being all fierce and strong and..."
"Unladylike?"
"Shut up, okay?"
"He has a little, itty bitty point."
"No he doesn't!" My voice rose, and Arthur let out a sharp hiss of pain as I, in my temper, pulled the bandages much harder than necessary.
"Sorry." I muttered, amending the issue.
"Wa' make it up ta me?"
"No."
"Amy, is it a bad time?"
"Uh, yeah. A little. Would you mind coming by tomorrow?"
"Not at all."
"God Bless."
"God Bless!" She departed, leaving me alone with Arthur once more. His hat sat on my table, his coat strewn over it beside his shirt.
"Yer a tad defensive, aye?"
"No, I'm not."
"Yer doin it now."
I didn't respond, finishing with the bandages and unlocking the cell, untying the rope before I led him into the cell, throwing his shirt at him.
"What about me hat?"
"What do you need a hat for?"
"Cos I be's a pirate, an' pirates need their hats, so give me me hat."
"Actually, I think I'll just keep it." I let a grin grow on my face as I placed the large feathered hat on my head.
"Oi! Take that off! Unless ye be a cap'n, I suggest ye take off me hat!"
I couldn't hold back a laugh as an angrily, taken aback expression made its way onto his face. "Give it here."
"No." I grabbed his jacket, placing it on my shoulders and standing straight. "How do I look?"
He scowled, his green eyes holding his aggravation. "Does ye always be this juvenile?"
"Depends. You're the one pouting over a hat."
"/Me/ hat! Me cap'n hat!"
"Seriously though, I look good, right?"
He reached through the bars in an attempt to swipe it off my head, but I swerved away with a simple grin.
"Ye still loo' like a harle', eve' mo' so, weari' me clo'es."
"I'm not a harlet."
"Really? Look a' yer dress, Bonnie."
"I can't really run after criminals in a long skirt and corset."
He let out one of those long, thoughtful hums of his, studying me. "Yer a rare one, ain't ye?"
"So I've been told."
"Give me me coat ba', a' least!"
Laughter filled the room as I turned, his hand grasping only air where the coat at my hip had once been. For a moment, I let the collaborative, musky scent of rum, gunpowder, saltwater and a loud hint of sweat embrace me, and then scrambled to expel the thought of his arms, and not his scent alone, surrounding me.

~Arthur Kirkland~

My eyes narrowed in concentration, and taking advantage of Amelia's apparent distraction, I managed to snatch the back of my red coat, a smirk widening across my lips as I pulled her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist for a firmer grasp than I had on the coat, and she struggled against me as I stole back my hat. Not only did this result in my getting my captain's hat back, but it also won me Amelia's place in the crook of my arm.
"Let me go!"
"Hmm... Nay. I doesn't think I will."
"Why the hell not?"
"Why's ye think, me bitty vixen?"
"Cuz you're a stupid jerk!"
"Nay, me lass. Because, pretty poppe' o' mine, yer mu' be'er suited ta sit ri' here. In me arm. And aye, the coat does suit ye."
"You smell like...stink."
"Oh, quite original." I purred into her ear, my mouth gravitating towards hers, and I noted the hesitation held in the gentle tremble of her own plump lips. Before she drove her elbow into my crotch.

~Amelia Jones~

Sitting on my bed in a room separate from my office and holding cell a short while later, my silence stretching the near whole hour that had passed since I took my leave of the vulgar, distasteful vagabond in my midst. He'd been calling at me the entirety of it, the meaning of most of the words and phrases he spoke were utterly lost on me, from the unusual way they rolled off his tongue or slid through his teeth to the sounds themselves that formulated the foreign words, to which they're true definition was, I had about as much a clue as the queen of the fairies who'd been dumb enough to fall for the man with the literal ass head. Except with one exception: the ass head with which I was associated had earned something of mine quite distant in meaning from love. Who could ever love a man like Arthur Kirkland? The idiotic, crude smirk constantly on his lips canceled out the potentially favorable structure of his jaw, and his inability to think of anything but brandy, bounty, and broads made the enigmatically startlingly handsome gleam of his forest green eyes lose absolutely all their luster in one's mind, his irrevocably ill tempered and cruel ways dulling any possible attraction that his physical appearance, no matter how astonishingly glorious, completely moot.
"'Eyy! Me pre'y li'l doxy! Co' ba' eer! Don't be's so damned cold! An' fetch me a rum!"
With a resigned yet aggravated groan, I threw my boot into the other room, hoping I'd be so lucky as to have it hit him square in the jaw and put him soundly to sleep for the night.