A/N: Hello again, everyone. Sorry for the delay on this chapter; my 60 hour work week magically transformed into an 80-hour work week- kind of like how the Power Rangers' zords all connect together to form the Megazord, and actually, no, it's not like that at all, just kidding.

Anyways, what was I saying? Right- I didn't have a lot of time to type up this chapter the past few days, BUT. Here it is! I had a lot more I wanted to cover, but surprise, it was getting too long so I split it. Story of my life, tbh.

The good news is, that means the next chapter should be out faster. The bad news is… well, I suppose there's not really any bad news? :D?

Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/followed/called me out on/whatever'd the last chapter, you guys are great. :) Also I'd like to thank my boo bear, Dakota (Perfectly Censored) for once again helping me name things and being a pretty good Wall and just generally all-around awesome. And if you haven't read her story, Strange Fruit, you probably should if you like things that devastate your life. What else should you read? NEVER TOUCH THE GROUND, by get-higher. Which is my new favorite fic, I know, I know, I'm late to the party, whatever, I'm here, right? :P

Anyways. I'll shut up now. Thanks again for reading! Enjoy~

Brittany wakes up suddenly, feeling groggy and disoriented. The first thing she's aware of as her senses come back to her are the smells around her. The overwhelming scent of damp wood, humid, stale air, and dried salt flood her nose, and she cringes at the slight sting. When she opens her eyes, her sight is blurry. It takes a second for her to adjust, but once her vision focuses, she can see she's in a dark, cramped room. Her left temple is throbbing with pain, and the rest of her head is pounding with a dull ache. Her shoulders are stiff and sore, her back is aching, and upon attempting to move, she realizes she's bound to a wooden post.

She adjusts as best she can, sitting up straighter to find a comfortable position. She shifts her legs- her left foot begins tingling with a prickling sensation as the feeling returns to it. The hard wooden deck seems to careen beneath her, even though she's sitting still, and it sends a wave of nausea through her. To take her mind off of the unsteady and unsettling feeling, she looks around, squinting in the semi-darkness. Jammed into the far right corner of the room are several wooden barrels. She vaguely wonders what they might contain, but gives up after a moment. It's not like she can go look, and she'll probably drive herself crazy with curiosity about them if she focuses on them for too long. Instead, she slides her eyes around the rest of the room. There's not much else in it- just some stacks of thick, coiled rope. On her left, a narrow ladder leads up through a square hole in the ceiling to the deck above her. If she strains she can just barely make out the sound of footsteps on wood far above her head. There's a low, steady creaking, and combined with the obvious swaying, it informs Brittany that the ship is moving-

But to where?

And how long has she been asleep?

She tries to remember anything about where she might be, or what time of day it is. She knows she's still with the pirates- her clothes seem untouched and- hopefully- her father wouldn't have her tied to a post if she was in his care. When her stomach growls loudly, interrupting her thoughts, she realizes it must be past breakfast, and all at once, she feels ravenous. Her meals aboard the Courage weren't the most appetizing, but they still satisfied her hunger- though not her craving for sweets- and at least came at regular intervals.

She doubts, though, that she'll be treated to such a commodity as food during her captivity. Her stomach growls again, and she winces. She half-wonders if anyone even remembers where she is. The very real fear that she could die, tied to a post in the dark, alone, makes her pulse spike with dread, and she looks around wildly. Should she call for help? Who would even help her?

She immediately thinks of Sam and feels sick again. Is he dead? Did he wake up in time? Did he burn, along with the Courage? Did he escape somehow, or was he too badly injured to swim, and drowned at sea?

The realization that she might never find out Sam's fate sets uneasily with her, but she tries to block it out. She has other things to focus on. She has to make it out of her own predicament, first.

She swallows, pushing down her feeling of panic and taking a few deep, calming breaths. Someone will come, eventually. They have to. She is to be traded, along with Sugar, to her father. It's not the most desirable outcome, but at least she'll still have her life. She can think of an alternative exit plan for her and Sugar later- perhaps once she's settled with Prince Rory. She will be out of danger soon.

Her thoughts relax her, keeping her anxiety at bay, and she feels suddenly exhausted, mentally and physically. She reassures herself again that everything will be all right, and, settling down against her hard, unforgiving wooden post, she closes her eyes and lets the ship's movement rock her back to sleep.

When Brittany wakes up again, it's because she feels as if she's suffocating. She's entirely too warm and something soft and furry is perched on her face. Her eyes snap open, but she sees nothing in the darkness.

Then the thing on her face moves.

Giving a small yelp, she scrambles up into a sitting position, wondering how she fell asleep in such an awkward way. She regrets it instantly as her neck, back, and right side all scream in pain as she moves. Suddenly remembering why she woke up, she looks around and spots two shining eyes, staring at her from the shadows. She swallows with fear, wondering what kind of animal would be on board a ship that isn't a rat, and then the creature speaks, answering her question as it steps closer.

"Mow."

Surprised to see a cat- and, judging from the silhouette, a large cat- on a ship full of ruthless pirates, she watches as the furball waddles right up to her, seemingly unaware of any danger. Though, Brittany supposes, she can't really harm the feline even if she wanted, since her hands are currently bound behind her back.

"Are you here to keep me company?" she asks as the cat curls up next to her thigh, purring lightly. She wishes she could stroke her fingers through his soft fur. At least, she assumes it's a him. His warmth against her leg, even through her breeches, is comforting, and she doesn't feel so alone. His purring grows louder, and Brittany smiles, watching as his eyes wink shut several times before closing. She feels calmer, less lonely, with another living, breathing thing's presence in the room.

"Are you a prisoner, too?" she wonders out loud, but the cat's only answer is to continue purring by her side. Brittany doesn't mind, though. "Probably not. You at least get fed." She pauses, staring down at his plump body. "I wonder how many other prisoners you've met; you seem awfully friendly."

The cat purrs some more. His tail flicks contentedly.

Brittany smiles, admiring the dark stripes on his back. She thinks he must be a stowaway. What kind of fearsome pirates keep a cat on their ship? Unless it's some kind of demon pirate cat (Brittany imagines how he would look with an eyepatch) but he seems too sweet and docile for that to be true. A fugitive, then. Maybe he had a bad run-in with a gang of thug cats and he's hiding out. Maybe he's an outlaw, and he was drawn to the pirates, fleeing for killing a mouse, or-

"Do you think they'll kill me?" Brittany blurts, her voice wobbling. She doesn't want to die. But what if the pirates break their deal? What if they only give Sugar up, mistaking her for the Duke's daughter?

"Mow," the cat answers.

It's not very reassuring.

Light footsteps above her head draw her attention, and she straightens up, listening carefully. They grow louder as they approach, and Brittany's stomach twists with anxiety. She's terrified of all of the pirates, but if she had to choose, she hopes it's the female pirate. At least she likes to look at her, and she feels inexplicably drawn to her for some absurd reason. Perhaps it's because she admires her, or maybe because she's curious about the existence of a female pirate. Whatever it is, she wants to see her, but as the approaching pirate descends the ladder, expertly shuffling a small, covered lantern as he climbs, her heart sinks when she realizes it's someone she hasn't seen before.

He's tall, with fair skin and brown hair swept up and to the side in a kind of wave. Brittany wonders if he modeled it after the ocean. He wears a slim, bright purple headband, and has one lone gold earring in his right ear. He's sharply dressed, but Brittany can't pinpoint exactly why that is. He's wearing black-and-white striped knickers and a common, black long-sleeved poet shirt. Around his waist is a sash that matches his headband. He carries no weapons that Brittany can easily discern, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

Her breath catches his attention, and their eyes meet. The first thing Brittany thinks is that he's very pretty.

"Oh, you're awake," he says, and his voice is soft and disarming. It puts her at ease. She watches him as he sets the lantern down, reaching into a leather pouch by his side. She tenses, anticipating a knife, but then he pulls out a hunk of what looks like salted meat. Brittany licks her lips, very aware of her growling stomach.

The man is, too. He shoots her a pitying look, shaking his head. "Sorry, this isn't for you," he tells her, crouching. Instantly, the cat at her side jumps to his kitty feet and pads over to investigate. The man holds the chunk of meat out to the cat, who sniffs it delicately, and then takes the offered morsel. Brittany listens jealously to the sound of his little cat teeth chewing his food, and sighs. She debates speaking, but she's worried about revealing herself. She hasn't exactly practiced sounding like a man, and she's not sure she can pull it off for extended periods of time.

She watches the young man stroke the cat's back, and then, once he's satisfied the cat ate his meal, he straightens to his feet, regarding her carefully.

Brittany decides to speak, intentionally deepening her voice as much as possible. "Where am I?"

The man stares at her for a moment before answering with part amusement and part boredom. "Aboard The Tide Ripper: Bane of Man, Teeth of the Sea, Destroyer of Worlds..." He rolls his eyes as he recites the long, rambling title.

Brittany's eyes widen, both at the news of her location, and by how well-spoken the young man before her is. She wonders if he was royalty in a previous life. She wonders at everything about him. But she has a more pressing question: "How long have I been asleep?"

He shrugs. "A few hours. No more than half a day."

Her stomach rumbles again, and she cringes as a sharp pain hits her. "When shall I be fed?"

The man laughs. "I'll be bringing something around for you this evening. Sit tight until then."

Brittany nods in response, wondering if the man is making a joke, considering she can't exactly do anything other than sit tight. She has at least a hundred more questions, but the man stoops to collect his lantern, and before she can think of words to halt him, he makes his way back up the ladder.

The sound of his footsteps grows fainter and she sighs. The cat sits in front of her, daintily licking his paws, and then his chops. Brittany shakes her head. "Must be nice," she mutters, her stomach clenching again with hunger.

The cat blinks at her, and Brittany's shoulders droop. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm just jealous, all right? I'm not used to going without meals." As if in understanding, the cat waddles back over to her, curling up in her lap. He begins purring again immediately.

Brittany closes her eyes again, ignoring the way her body aches everywhere. She really can't do much else, and she supposes talking to a cat isn't so conducive to her mental health, so she concentrates on the sound of his tiny little breaths, and since she can do little else, slips back into fitful sleep.

"Wake up."

The voice is soft, and Brittany's eyes open to find the young man from earlier, crouched near her, shaking her gently. He releases her shoulder and studies her with sympathy as she straightens up from her slumped position, cringing as she goes. When she's as comfortable as she can be given her bound state, she looks expectantly at the pirate.

"What's your name?"

He ignores her, instead reaching into his satchel once more. He pulls out some stale-looking crackers and one shriveled, tiny hunk of salted meat, which looks considerably less appetizing than the slab he fed the cat hours before. Brittany blinks, miffed.

He's not serious, is he? He doesn't actually expect her to eat less appealing food than a cat's, does he?

"I'm to be in charge of you until the exchange," the man explains softly, moving closer and expertly untying her bonds, "so no funny business. I may not look it, but I'll gut you in half a second if you make any attempt to escape. Are we clear?"

Brittany nods quickly, and as the ropes finally come undone and she's released from the post, she practically sighs in relief as she's able to move her arms. She rubs at her wrists, which are sore and stinging from the burn of the hemp sliding against her skin, and rolls her shoulders, hearing an audible pop. Her muscles are still sore, but she feels immensely better at the relief from her earlier position.

"Here," the man says, thrusting the crackers and meat chunk towards her, and it becomes clear that, yes, he does expect her to eat the unpalatable food. She takes it gingerly, noticing his hands are softer than she expected a pirate's to be as her fingers brush up against his. Doesn't he work with ropes all day long? How is his skin so smooth?

She doesn't wonder for long, though, as she immediately tears into the small, shriveled piece of meat. She's surprised by how tender it is, considering it looks more than unappetizing, but she doesn't really care so much as she devours it. Next she eyes the crackers. Brittany's never eaten hardtack before, but she'd seen many of the sailors on the Courage with various forms of the dry biscuit. She nibbles on it hesitantly. It kind of tastes like how she'd imagine sand to taste, with only a slight salty hint to it; but again, her stomach isn't protesting as she swallows it quickly.

Once her meager meal is over, and her mouth is parched from the hardtack, the pirate offers her a sip from a small, metal flask. Relieved to have a drink, Brittany immediately takes a huge gulp-

And promptly comes up hacking as alcohol burns her throat. Brittany's also never had any kind of spirits before, barring a very mild version of wine. She glares at the man before her, who chuckles into his hand slightly. Could he not have warned her?

"You're awfully green for a sailor," he comments slyly, and Brittany freezes as he hands her the rest of the hardtack he's brought. She swallows, still tasting the bitterness of the alcohol in her mouth, and shrugs, dropping her eyes to her lap.

"I just took a bigger sip than I intended," she answers, keeping her voice low and gruff.

"Of course," the pirate says, and Brittany can hear in his tone that he doesn't believe her, not for a second. She takes a hesitant bite of her cracker, suddenly feeling very worried that he might suspect her secret, and if he knows, he'll tell the Captain, won't he? And the female pirate…

"What's your name?" Brittany asks again, looking up, and the man seems as if he debates with himself for a moment before answering.

"Call me Pegasus."

"Pegasus?" Brittany asks, surprised. It's literally the last name she expected. Don't all pirates have fierce names? Clearly, she's been misinformed.

"Yes," Pegasus says firmly, and Brittany interprets through his tone that he doesn't want to talk about it. She licks her lips. She has a million questions, but she knows he won't answer all of them. She'll have to prioritize.

"You mentioned an exchange," Brittany points out slowly, concentrating very hard on the tenor of her voice. "Do you know what is to happen to me?"

Pegasus nods. "Well, we are about another day's sailing time from our home. With any luck, the messenger we've sent to Lycas will return with news of your lord's compliance with our demands, and you and your lady will be exchanged at the designated time and place." He shrugs nonchalantly. "A very simple transaction, if all goes well."

Brittany's stomach tenses as she realizes that the pirates were so easily able to discern where she's from. She wonders if they know the area well; though, when she was first taken from the Courage, they didn't recognize the patch on Sam's coat- only that it represented that she was of a high social standing. She worries that maybe they somehow coerced the information from Sugar.

Her thoughts race as she finishes her hardtack, and refuses another sip of spirits. "Thank you," she tells Pegasus genuinely. He's the first person aboard The Tide Ripper to show her kindness.

"Mow."

Well, besides the cat. The fat blob of fur looks up at her from her lap, and she pets him, finally able to feel the softness of his pelt. It's even softer than she'd imagined.

"Well, hello, Lord," Pegasus says softly. "I don't have any more food for you."

Lord, the cat, doesn't seem upset at the lack of food- instead he settles down next to Brittany's thigh and begins purring immediately. It's silent for a moment, and then Pegasus slowly gathers up the ropes he'd taken from Brittany's wrists. Reluctantly, Brittany offers her hands to him, who begins tying her up once again.

"Lord likes you," Pegasus points out as he works.

"Why do you keep a cat?" Brittany asks in response, staring down at Lord.

Pegasus pulls back as he finishes with her bonds, and Brittany notes with slight relief that they're looser than they were. Her shoulders still scream at her, but it's not nearly as unbearable. Pegasus stands, lifting up his lantern.

"For the rats, of course," he answers finally, turning and making his way to the ladder. "I'll see you again in the morn, when we reach our destination."

Brittany's left sitting in the dark with her thoughts, contemplating Pegasus's words. Her stomach still growls, unsatisfied. She eyes Lord, still curled up by her leg. He's a very large cat.

There must be a lot of rats.

"I'm tellin' you, Arty- this is the big one; we get that map, and we can retire," Puck says enthusiastically. Santana tries not to roll her eyes from her spot a few feet away as she whittles idly at a block of wood. She was enjoying her time on deck, sitting on a huge pile of rigging, her feet propped up on a nearby crate, inhaling the smell of the sea- but Puck always seems to interrupt her when she's in her quiet place.

"Woah, woah- wait just a minute," Arty says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Does this place even really exist?"

"It does." Puck nods firmly, and Santana laughs.

Arty looks justifiably doubtful. "And how do you know?"

"He doesn't," Santana answers carelessly, unable to contain her eye roll this time. Arty blinks at her and Puck glares.

"I do," he insists. "I have a source- a very reliable source- that assures me-"

"What source?"

"That's- not important." Puck fidgets. "But listen-"

Shaking her head, Santana tunes them out as they continue to talk about The Big One, as Puck has taken to calling their next score. She focuses instead on the small block in her hand, trying to discern some kind of shape from the motions of her knife. She'd never been particularly skilled at carving, but it's good stress relief, and, based on her company standing a few paces away, she has a lot of stress to relieve.

She doesn't actually believe the map Puck's been talking about since he'd learned of its supposed existence from his very reliable source is even real. And even if it is real, she doubts it's actually attainable. But who is she to argue? She doesn't truly care whether it's real or not. When they get to the map's supposed location and Puck's made out to be a fool, she'll get her satisfaction. She smirks at the thought. He's in for a big surprise, dragging them halfway across the world for a map- but honestly, it's not like she has anything better to do, and even if she did, she still would rather be right where she is: feeling the cool caress of the sea breeze, smelling the salt from the water, listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the sides of the ship as it cuts through the water. If there's anything better than this, she hasn't found it yet. So if she must accompany Puck on another of his hare-brained adventures, well, that's just fine with her. Funding the trip, however-

Her mind turns to their captives, and the presumed money they will acquire for their return- if they are who they expect. The girl acts snooty enough to be of noble descent, that's for certain. But the boy-

Santana's almost a thousand percent sure that the boy is a girl in disguise. But why? Is she masquerading as a boy simply to be a sailor, like Santana herself did when she was a child? Did she actually attain Captain status, or is she pretending to be so? Did her crew know, as Santana's does, of her true gender? No... if they did, she would not be pretending at all.

She thinks harder. Perhaps she's the other girl's lover- that would explain the hiding, and why they were found together in the cabin. Santana's stomach clenches with unease at the thought of the two together, though she can't place why. She shakes her head slowly, staring down at her knife as it strips away shreds of wood. The block still hasn't taken on any sort of recognizable form, and combined with her thoughts, she quickly grows frustrated. Carving is supposed to calm her-

Santana takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She will figure out the imposter's intentions just as soon as they make land.

"We can't fail," Puck's insistent voice cuts back into her thoughts and she stares over at her Captain, who is still trying to convince Arty of his case. "We just need that map."

"If it even exists, and if it's where you think. And how do we fund such a trip? The Kingdom of Lao is far, and-"

"SHIP, HO!"

Santana sits up, dropping her feet to the deck. She listens carefully for the second call, determining the nature of the spotted ship. She's not worried about pursuers from the ship they'd sunk, but-

"BLOOD SIREN!"

Santana rolls her eyes, letting out an annoyed huff. Grand. She leans back into her rigging, readjusting herself, and props her booted feet back up on the crate. She can hear Puck cursing, and she glances over at him- their eyes meet and they exchange an exasperated look before they settle in and wait, tensely, for the Blood Siren to sidle up to them.

She watches disinterestedly as the other ship quickly pulls up alongside theirs, and heavy mooring ropes get thrown onto her deck. Then, two young girls- Santana forgets their names (or, more likely, doesn't care to remember them)- leap over and begin securing the ropes to The Tide Ripper's bitt posts, anchoring the two ships together. A plank is laid across the two rails, and then, looking like a large feline climbing down from a throne, Quinn- The Lioness- struts onto their ship, flanked by her Quartermaster, a sturdy black woman who goes by The Mistress of Hell. (Santana doesn't know her real name, and she doesn't really care to.)

"Well, pay no mind, Q, just come right aboard," Santana says flatly, and Quinn waves her hand in a shooing motion.

"Stop sulking, Santana," the blonde says sweetly, her pleasant voice belying the vicious bitch Santana knows rests within. Santana glares at her for a moment,

"Why are you here?" she asks, staring back down at her wooden block with feigned apathy.

Puck hops down from the foredeck with a flourish, making his way to Quinn's side and boasting, "Yes, what brings you aboard The Tide Ripper, Bane of Man, Teeth of the-"

"Oh, do spare me that long, asinine drivel," Quinn pleads with a roll of her hazel eyes. Puck snaps his mouth shut, his pride wounded. He kicks his boot at the deck and Santana sighs heavily, setting down her block- but keeping her knife in hand. Just in case.

"You still didn't answer my question," she growls, pointing the knife at Quinn.

Quinn rolls her eyes again, sighing. "I just wanted to see for myself what you deemed so important to attain that you set a blazing torch out in the middle of the sea- that's all."

Puck grins and puffs his chest up proudly. "Boss, right?" He puts his hands on his hips and Santana watches, horrified at his spectacle of idiocy. "I must admit, I'm surprised- word of my bossness sure travelled fast."

"Or maybe it was the sight of the ship we left burning in the middle of the ocean," Santana mutters under her breath.

"You are an extraordinarily balled-up buffoon," Quinn says to Puck, her voice dripping with pity as she shakes her head slowly. "That was a Lycan ship, and now you've gone and set it ablaze; are you trying to bring the entire fleet of Lycas down on you?"

"Pssh," Puck scoffs, waving his hand dismissively. "They won't even know who done it; we were in and out of there like lightning, and anything left of that ship now rests at the bottom of the sea."

"You'd do well to lay low for a while, regardless," Quinn huffs, before giving Puck a meaningful look. "If you start a bout, you know which side I will support." Puck nods bitterly, and then Quinn's expression brightens, almost as if hitting a switch. (Sometimes Santana wonders if Quinn's as batshit crazy as the rumors claim.) She smiles as she asks, "So- what did you pillage? Any prized valuables?" and Santana rolls her eyes. Of course that's why she came.

"Aye- we got the entirety of their cargo," Puck brags with a nod, and Santana's anger builds slowly. Why's he being such an idiot? "A few crates of tobacco, all the money for their travel… we also got a little extra more than we expected, but you won't hear me complain."

"What do you mean?" Quinn demands suspiciously, and Puck's teasing smile is enough to make Santana lose her patience.

"For fuck's sake," she snaps, crossing her arms. "The Duke's daughter was aboard the ship and she's now in our possession."

"Are you touched in the head?" Quinn hisses, staring at them with an incredulous expression on her face. Switch flipped. "You might as well light your own ship on fire so they can find you!"

"Relax, Q, we'll take care of them," Puck assures. "We're meeting them near Alti Isle, where we have full advantage. If they send more than one ship, we'll leave. They can't outsail us. We're the fastest ship in these here waters-"

"Except mine," Quinn points out with a nonchalant shrug.

"Right," Santana agrees sarcastically.

"Right," Puck agrees, with far more enthusiasm. "We're on to something big, Q- really big-"

Quinn barks out a harsh laugh. "As if I've never heard that before." Her lips turn up into a devious smile and she eyes Puck predatorily. "So you've copped the Duke's daughter, eh? I have to admit, I'm curious."

"That's bad for your health, Q," Santana snaps. "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Back down, lass," Missy says, speaking up for the first time and glaring, and Santana offers her a sardonic smile, twirling her knife challengingly. Missy's eyes narrow, and her hand drifts to the hilt of her curved sword-

"She's just a girl," Puck interrupts, trying to dispel the tension. "Got quite a mouth on her, though."

"She'd probably fit right in with your crew," Santana says casually with a smirk, continuing to twirl her knife.

Quinn glares, but Puck, ever eager to win Quinn's affections, says, "I'll take you to her, if you'd like."

"Yes, it's not like you've never seen a girl before," Santana mutters, slipping her knife back into her boot and finally rising to her feet to reluctantly follow Puck, Quinn, and Missy down to the hold. Puck shoots her a glare but she meets his irate expression with one of her own. She knows Puck just wants to show off- he and Quinn have a weird history and even weirder present relationship, but she doesn't have the energy to argue or get involved with their business. If Puck wants to brag about stealing away some wealthy brat, then she won't stop him. And she can't deny that they need Quinn on their side, rather than against them. As terrible as the idea may be.

When they reach the hold where the Lycan girl- who has refused to give them her name- is being kept, Santana watches Quinn warily as the blonde takes in the sight of her, sprawled delicately in her plain clothes against a pile of rope.

"Well, it's about time," the annoying girl snaps. "I'm starving. What kind of people are you? I demand my supper immediately, and-"

"Why is she dressed like that?" Quinn interrupts, staring down at the girl at her feet.

"We ambushed them," Puck explains. "Think we caught her and her guard in the midst of something, if you catch my drift... judging by how they're dressed." He wiggles his eyebrows impudently.

"That's a disgusting accusation," the Lycan girl grumbles. "And I'm still hungry-"

"Is she your only captive?" Quinn asks, raising a curious, delicate eyebrow and tuning the girl out as she continues to complain. "You mentioned a guard. Did you bring him, too?"

"Yeah. I'll show you."

Puck turns, leading Quinn back up the stairs, and Santana narrows her eyes, trying to figure out what Quinn is planning. She can't for the life of her discern why the blonde pirate would care about what captives they have- unless she wants to take them for herself, which isn't a new concept. She lets her hand drift to the hilt of the sword at her hip, reassuring herself. She doesn't want to have to take on The Lioness and her crew- she's almost sure that they are outmatched. Quinn has a wicked, ruthless reputation for being heartless, and her ship is armed enough to support that status. She knows it's why Puck is so willing to do her bidding.

It's also why she won't shoot her mouth off.

When they reach the small room where they are keeping their other prisoner, Puck holds the light out, and Santana's eyes meet blue ones again for the first time in two days, sending a tiny shiver down her spine. She swallows. If he's a boy, he's a very pretty one. But Santana knows better- boys don't have eyes like-

"Here he is," Puck mumbles, and Quinn stares at the blonde Captain with an unreadable expression.

Santana looks at Quinn's face for any reaction- she wonders if Quinn knows what she, herself, more than suspects- that the Captain is no boy at all- but Quinn gives nothing away. Instead, she turns, and her hazel eyes meet Santana's. After an intense, uncomfortable moment, she smirks.

"Well it seems you have everything under control- though sloppily," Quinn says, waving a lazy hand as she inspects the rest of the room. She pauses as she catches sight of the several large wooden barrels in the far corner of the room, and her eyes narrow, a smirk coming to her lips. Santana clenches her jaw. "Are those the barrels you lifted?"

Puck nods and cautiously leads Quinn and her bodyguard away to show them the contents of the barrels, leaving Santana where she stands, towering over the person at her feet. Santana takes a moment- free from would-be judgmental eyes- to study her captive. She observes the long blonde hair, shiny and soft-looking. She imagines how it would feel around her fingers, clenched in her fist- she bites her lip, scanning lower, examining delicate features, and each inch of flawless skin she finds convinces her more and more that there's no way the person at her feet is male. She is beautiful, despite the dark, ugly bruise that's formed on her temple from David's strike from days earlier; a bruise she can clearly see even with the shadows of the lamp obscuring her features. Santana's anger spikes momentarily at the memory, but she appeases the oncoming, irrational rage as she notes that the swelling has gone down, at least- and then she mentally scolds herself right after, shoving away her beginning feelings of sympathy quickly, her mask of indifference slipping back into place. She shouldn't care so much about this fragile girl.

She shouldn't have sympathy for her.

Even if they do end up having similar backgrounds, pity won't help her. Her heart gives a pang at the thought of the girl before her ever having to endure the hardships she has had to deal with in life, and she takes a deep, steady breath.

Maybe she does feel just a bit of sympathy-

Blue eyes rise from where they'd been looking at her chest- was she just checking out her breasts?- and lock with her own again. The pure color and depth make Santana feel like she's the captive one, and for the first time, she feels unsteady on her feet with the familiar swaying of the ship.

When the girl unconsciously licks her lips, Santana can't stop herself- she immediately wonders what they taste like, imagines biting into her lower lip, and sucking on it viciously, swallowing the girl's moan- and a throb of desire hits her so hard she sucks in a sharp breath.

Their eyes meet again once she tears her gaze from the girl's pink lips, and Santana feels as if a flow of energy passes between them; the blonde shifts helplessly at her feet, her slim thighs tensing visibly even under loose uniform pants, and Santana is overcome with a heady feeling, resulting from the power and control she holds in her current position. She wants to-

"If you're quite done, Ira Del Diablo," Quinn sneers, snapping her out of her trance, and she turns to glare at the bitchier, though admittedly still attractive, blonde. She nods, at least grateful that Quinn used her code name in the presence of an outsider; but as she stares at the still-smirking Captain, she wonders just what is processing in that psychotic mind of hers, and tries to ignore the fact that she was just caught staring. She can still feel the heat of a blue-eyed stare flooding through her, and she stays silent, not trusting her voice as first Quinn, then Missy, climbs up the ladder.

Puck slips next to her, keeping his voice out of Quinn's earshot as he whispers, "Not too bad- only one barrel of rum."

"You're a fucking ninny," she hisses, outraged. "If you keep submitting to her-"

"You think I like paying her off?" Puck growls in response. "You know we have to. The Rozzers love her; they'll look the other way if she annihilates us, or worse, turns us in. If we want to stay in business, we have to pay her."

Santana huffs, shaking her head, and Puck smiles genuinely, poking her in the ribs. She squirms. "C'mon Dia', don't be like that- it's only until we make this big score-"

"-if we make the big score-"

"- and then we're done. We retire with more wealth than we know what to do with."

"Right," She grumbles. "You'd just better be on to something."

"I am. I promise. Have I ever been wrong?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "You mean besides all of those other times-"

"Is y'all comin' or is your legs broke?" Missy calls down from the next deck up, and Santana gives Puck a look of truce, but conveys through her expression that they aren't done talking about his so-called Big One. She internally shakes her head at herself for making it sound so- wanky. Gross.

She and Puck climb up to the main deck just in time to see Quinn's two younger female minions hustling aboard, passing them and making their way down to the hold where they'd just come from, no doubt hurrying to fetch Quinn's haggled-for goods. Not that Puck really put up much of a resistance. She lets her breath out slowly, reminding herself that they need Quinn on their side.

Once the barrel is being hauled across to the Blood Siren, Quinn's cheerful, taunting voice calls over, "Noah, do get in touch when you find that score you're looking for, hmm? I'd love to see what your incredible talents manage to uncover." Her ship breaks away with a sudden lurch, and Quinn's loud laugh, followed by the laughter of her crew, carry across the space as she exits.

And Santana just sends a sheepish Puck a murderous glare.

Santana's in her quarters, resting after having told Puck off and threating him about his ridiculous plan and how it had better be the real thing. She reclines on her soft, quite comfortable hammock, her thoughts racing wildly. She's confused and irritated, and no closer to figuring out the source of her frustration than she was before Quinn's visit. She supposes she should be cross over Quinn's visit, or Puck and his idiocy, but truthfully, she can't stop thinking about the way a pink, lower lip looked pulled between white teeth, and she sighs, running over the entire encounter in her mind.

She wonders what Quinn knows- because Quinn must know something- and worries about what that might mean for them. She also balks at the idea that she is in any way intrigued by her blonde captive. There's no reason for her to be. Blue eyes, while admittedly stunning, shouldn't make her mouth as dry as they do. The sight of a velvet pink tongue shouldn't make her pulse race as much as it does. And certainly, imagining the breathy moans she could coax from a creamy throat shouldn't make her stomach tighten-

She growls in frustration, covering her face with her hands. She can't be this intrigued by a silly girl- it's unheard of. Perhaps if she satiates her desire, she will cease acting so absurdly... it has been a while, after all, since she's released her tension. She could, quite simply, go further belowdecks, satisfy herself, and leave, and no one would be the wiser- not that that was a factor in the slightest. The thought of taking the innocent blonde by force makes her pulse pound. Something in blue eyes scares her- but she has to be rid of this incessant, edgy pull. It's not productive.

Just when she's resigned herself to such a drastic, instantly gratifying solution, however, there's a knock at the door. She calls- rather grumpily- for the person to enter, and is surprised when the door swings open a crack and Kurt pokes his head in.

Annoyed at his appearance which is ultimately delaying her departure and consequently, her satisfaction, she thinks hard on why he would pester her to begin with and sulks. "What? Did he refuse to eat again?"

Kurt looks at her, unamused as he enters the room, closing the door gently behind him. "I fed Lord hours ago, Santana."

Santana sits up a little, the hammock swaying. "What is it, then? Don't tell me he's dead-"

"He's not who you think he is."

The implication in Kurt's words makes her pause, and suddenly the heaviness of it settles on her. She raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"He is actually a she," Kurt says slowly.

She hesitates, then finally relents to reveal what she suspects, slightly surprised that Kurt drew the same conclusion. "I know that," she mutters, settling back down against her hammock. "I just don't know why." Another pause as she contemplates Kurt's findings. "How did you know?" Her stomach twists at the idea of the girl revealing herself to him, but she shoves the feeling away.

Unheard of.

Kurt grins slyly. "I know what a man looks like, just as you surely know what a lady looks like."

Santana glares, crossing her arms over her chest. So he doesn't know for sure. "Fair enough. But that still doesn't solve why she's masquerading as a boy."

"Why don't you ask her?" he says with a shrug. Then, his smirk turns wicked as he adds, "She's awfully friendly, Santana."

Brown eyes narrow. "What are you implying?"

"That she won't bite." He shrugs again.

"Oh yeah?" Santana challenges. "Well, maybe I will."

It takes her exactly two seconds and the sight of Kurt's smirk growing wider for her to realize what she's said. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully and she huffs, exasperated, "You know what I meant."

Nodding, he chuckles a little. "I did- but do you?"

"Quiet," she mumbles, thinking on the plan she had decided on not even ten minutes prior to her conversation and how it somehow aligns with Kurt's assumptions. She feels all of her resolve drain out of her, leaving her worried about how Kurt knows her so well. She swallows, avoiding his eyes. Is she that predictable? "Is that all you came to tell me?"

"Yeah. I'll take my leave now. We're only a night's out from shore." He turns and slips out, leaving her with her thoughts. Kurt, who's spent the most time with the captive girl, backs her identity as female. It makes Santana certain that her gut feeling is correct.

Now all she requires is complete confirmation.

She settles deeper into her hammock, staring up at the ceiling and releasing a calming breath. She smiles to herself.

They'll make landfall in the morning, and nothing will stop her from having her answers.

Whew! Well. Not a lot of Brittana interaction- yet- but don't worry. Next chapter they get to have a proper (or improper, hehehe) conversation, so stay tuned! ;)

Or don't. It's your choice, haha.

The lady pirate that Quinn is (loosely) based off of is actually a real, badass lady pirate: Jeanne de Clisson. And she was known as The Lionness of Brittany. Never not lol'ing about that, tho. Of course, I turned up the crazy to fit Quinn, so they are drastically different, but in case any of you were curious... ~now you know. You'll definitely be seeing a lot more of Q throughout the story.

Review if it pleases you, but if not, that's okay, I'll hear from you next time!

See you soon, pals!