This was concieved a oneshot, but then it mutated...
Know that it follows the end of DMC, and also that I am still working on the Jack the Monkey endorsement. Enjoyeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Playing with Poppets
The time, she decided, had come. This bright, breezy morning she had arrived early above deck, her hair neatly secured with a string, and her taught nerves hidden beneath a confident stride. In fact, she fairly swaggered aft, deliberately pacing herself as she came abreast of her targets. The daft duo was unenthusiastically coiling a line as thick as her ankle, but her proximity drew the expected response. Pintel dropped the rope, dusted his hands on his filthy trousers, and sent her a yellow leer—"Oi, Poppet! Seein' as yor' dressed for work an' all, 'ow 'bout you come over 'ere an' 'elp give me rope a pull!" Ragetti fell to giggling as he used his fingertips to rotate his wooden iris toward her. "'Ave 'er pull me rope, too, if it ain't to 'eavy for 'er," supplied the skinny pirate, and the pair stood cackling at their own wit.
"Actually, I might have a bit of business with the both of you," she held a straight face; "I thought, perhaps, a game…."
The laughter had stopped, and one and a half pairs of eyes locked onto her in confusion (the wooden one had gone askew again). "A wot?"—Pintel.
"A game."
"Wot kind of game?"—Pintel, again.
"The kind where if I win, you must do something for me, and if -you- win, I must do…something…for you."
"Wot's 'something'?"—Ragetti.
"Anything."
The two pirates gawped at her until the possibilities began to bubble up in their pickled brains, at which point a not-very-nice sort of glee wrinkled their sunburned faces.
"An' wot be the rules of yer little game?" Pintel queried, almost softly.
"It's one against one, so perhaps you'll want to go first?" An affirmative nod from the balding scoundrel.
"Very well," said Elizabeth, taking a step back and gracefully drawing her sword. "The first to cry 'halt', loses."