It was the first meal she'd ever had with the entire crew. Her morning shift was up, and she relished the reasonably fresh bread and stew- it was surprisingly good, and thick, if salty. She knew that, for the sake of peace, she should have bolted the meal and made a run for it, but she was nowhere near weak, nor cowardly, and was fully prepared to force the crew to get used to her presence. And the barrel of her pistol, if need be. She was no child, anymore. And she did not have to fuck them on a repeated basis. This helped her chances immensely.
She ignored the sniggering of a group of the crew on the side of the room opposite her, even though one was jamming his thumb roughly in her direction, because she refused to be paranoid or to make an ass out of herself. She would not pick fights, but she wouldn't be insulted, either. There was a very fine line. She took another swig of the water in her flask, far better than even the finest rum. Not that she disliked the pirate's drink of choice, but there was nothing she particularly enjoyed about losing control of herself, and rum would do that, eventually. She'd always considered herself a little above the drunkards, but maybe it was because she knew the ultimatum behind what they did, that her vision was peripheral, and she could see how their niche in the world fit. All they saw was the reason why. She saw the how.
"… can't blame the Cap'n for bringin' her on board, though you'd think he'd share…"
Okay, enough.
She stood, calmly, and put her plates away, nodding to the cook, who grinned back at her, having been hearing the remarks made far better than she, and knowing that glint in any man's eye, and now, in any woman's.
"Share what, praytell?" Cal suddenly found his throat being caressed by something very sharp, and very cold. He had, at least, the sense not to say anything.
She shoved him around on the bench. "Your darling captain is not equipped in such a way that he gets anything to share. But if you wanted some, you could've asked." She took the knife from his throat, enjoying every minute of this.
"Well, then" there was a mischievous glint in Cal's eyes, "why don't you share?"
She caught him, hard, across the cheek, with the flat of the dagger, but she angled it a little too much, and it drew blood where it drug across his cheekbone.
"You'll pay for that, bitch," he snarled, rising from the floor.
She flipped the knife and caught the handle, shoving it back into her boot. She held out her arms, opening herself to any attack he had, her eyes darting back and forth for any kind of attack.
"Bitch yourself," she snarled. "Bring it."