At first he was aware of the bitter cold. A dry throat left his tongue feeling thick in the mouth as he tried to gain his bearings. The sun was shining, very brightly in fact for his tiny cabin aboard ship. Blinking blindly he found the comforting sounds he normally woke up to, entirely absent. There was no steady creak of wood flexing against ocean currents, or the constant stomp of boots on deck or stern orders being shouted out by the Gunner's Mate. Instead he swore he heard horses, with clopping hooves and all. Triton's beard he could even smell them! Killian brought a hand to his eyes and rubbed them as if to banish the last remnants of sleep. When his vision cleared though, he was more than confused. He was not aboard ship at all. In fact he was still in town, lying on the ground.

He shook his head as if to dispel what must have been a dream but was halted by pain emanating from the back of his head. Reaching his hand up to feel for any injury, the tips of his fingers brushed against crusted blood, lighting up his skull with something akin to fire. He stifled a curse, choking on it instead and gingerly sat up to ascertain what exactly had happened to him. He immediately noticed his boots were missing, along with his hat and seemingly all of the buttons on his coat and vest, leaving them gaping open to reveal what had been a fresh-pressed white shirt. His knuckles were split open and bloody, indicating he'd been in a fight but he remembered none of it. It appeared that he had been waylaid last night and if that hadn't been indignity enough, they had left him lying in the road. There was little enough point in checking to see whether his money was still in his pocket for he knew it was gone. His assailants were unlikely to have taken his boots but overlook his coins. He frowned, holding his head, feeling more than a little sorry for himself as a man wearing a scowl and pulling a mule walked past, shouting at him to get out of the way.

Killian looked around to see that indeed he was 'in the midst of things' as it were. It seemed to be the same road he had walked up last night although it was much busier now, with all manner of folk passing him by. He stood shakily, his vision blurring for a moment, threatening his balance. He made no move to dust off his wrinkled trousers. Practical as always, there was little point in trying to clean up when it was obvious what had happened. There would be no hiding this, especially not from Liam. Killian groaned inwardly at having to face his brother. He'd been left in charge and had assigned Lieutenant Graff to First Dog Watch in order to partake in a meal ashore for once. But Liam hadn't truly given him permission to leave the ship. In fact it had been a point of contention between the two of them for more than one port of call. And now he was inevitably going to find himself at his brother's mercy. Not only had he disobeyed orders but his appearance, which was decidedly indecent, could be considered conduct unbecoming an officer. But Killian had always thought confronting things face forward was best so apart from a heavy sigh of regret, he wobbled his way down towards the Jewel, the ground cold against his stocking feet.

Every step jarred his head as his numb feet trudged onward. His limbs were stiff and worst of all he was cranky. Not only had he been robbed but he was now very likely to be at the mercy of an angry Captain. He ignored the strange looks thrown his way by the townsfolk and tried not to pay attention to their whispers. They had already been decidedly standoffish when the ship had docked. He couldn't imagine what they thought now, seeing him practically in a state of undress. Concern about how this could affect the Ambassador ate away at him as he made his way along the dock and boarded the Jewel without ceremony. A quick scan of the deck revealed Liam's absence. Judging by the sun it was close to noon and entirely possible that he was back up at the castle for a variety of reasons. Despite that possibility, Killian knew he had to present himself to his brother's cabin and hope for mercy at his stupidity. A clutch of Midshipman stared at him, wide-eyed and questioning.

"As you were." He barked out, clearing his throat, realizing only now that whatever Liam thought, they were still family. The crew was another story. Respect was an important part of life at sea and it wasn't possible to know if this would change how they viewed him.

He slowly made his way below decks, his legs nearly giving way on the steep and narrow stairway. His usual sea legs, easily capable of navigating the deck in a storm, were failing him while they were docked in harbour, a humiliating realization. With every bend of his knees the joints protested. As he made his way towards the Captain's cabin, he ran into Crawley, his brother's steward. The man always looked perturbed, his face slightly pinched with worry. He gave Killian one look and motioned towards the cabin door.

"He's inside taking tea."

Crawley pulled a cloth from his pocket and handed it over. Soft and clean, Killian raised an eyebrow at the man. There was little to be done about his appearance. A clean face was unlikely to sway his brother towards leniency.

"Might as well try to clean up as best you can. Not much you can do about that however." He pointed to Killian's face, grimacing.

A quick inspection with fingertips revealed more crusted blood and pain. His nose had apparently taken the brunt of it. What he wouldn't have given for a mirror. He must look a sight. Crawley nodded at the Lieutenant's reaction, considering his duty done and left the man to his thoughts.

Forgoing the kindness of the cloth, Killian reached his hand up, gently knocking on the worn wood of the door.

"Enter," a brusk voice commanded from the other side. Without another word Killian ducked into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Walking to stand in front of Liam's desk he knew he should say something but words failed him as Liam refused to acknowledge his presence. The older man was leaning over a series of charts splayed out in front of him. The tea Crawley had mentioned was set to one side, forgotten and most likely cold by now. For a very long moment, no words were spoken, the room silent but for the occasional creak of wood. Liam took measurements and made notations while Killian did his best to stand at attention, pushing aside the pain and the overall ache of spending a night outside in the cold.

After what felt like an age, Liam straightened up stretching his back, reaching over to down what remained of his tea before turning to his brother. His eyes, while normally placid, had taken on a firmer quality. An involuntary shiver ran up Killian's spine as he met that gaze, spawning goose bumps all up his arms. But he didn't look away. His face might burn in shame for disappointing his brother but he still had his pride, despite the fact that it would soon be in pieces.

"I had planned to send a contingent of marines after you but when Lieutenant Graff informed me of your intended plan to visit a 'tavern', I thought better of it." Liam leaned over his desk, hands clenched into fists resting on the polished wood. "We are here on a matter of diplomacy and instead of doing your duty as an officer you choose to abandon what little sense you have and go off gallivanting and drinking amongst other things," he looked pointedly down at Killian's open jacket and vest. "Why you would risk everything you have worked for I cannot fathom. But it is clear that you need a lesson in discipline." Killian tried to keep his emotions in check for what he knew was coming next. "Do not think that our familial relation will spare you. If only one of us is capable of bearing his responsibilities without reproach, then it is well and good I am Captain. You are only lucky that as an officer you are entitled to certain privileges otherwise I would have you flogged within an inch of your life!" Killian flinched. "Instead you will be taking every Morning Watch from now until we return home as well as all of Lieutenant Graff's watches for involving him in your escapade. Now get out and go bother the cook for something hot. I can see you shivering from here. And for heaven's sake go and put on some proper clothes!"

Killian was unceremoniously booted from the cabin before he could explain, before he could tell Liam he hadn't been drinking or carousing, not that it would have changed anything. He was also under no illusion that everyone on board hadn't heard that exchange. Secrets were a rare commodity on ships. Sometimes it was best not to harbour any at all. They certainly caused enough problems.

He wandered over to the Officer's Mess, hoping there was something leftover from breakfast as it was too early for dinner but he found no joy, although the cook promised he'd have something ready for the noon day meal in a few hours. One heavy sigh later he was on his way to his cramped cabin to change and wash. There was no point in waiting. There were gun drills to run and midshipmen to test.

In the corridor he passed Lieutenant Graff but the man averted his eyes and offered no greeting. Liam had likely provided his own form of punishment for the boy although what Killian couldn't imagine. After all, it wasn't as if he could have refused the orders of a superior officer. Perhaps he'd only berated him. Shameful yes, but a welcome ill when compared with how many watches Killian would have to take on deck as well as the rest of his regular duties. He would be lucky if he wasn't run off his feet before they returned home, although that was likely Liam's plan.

Turning the knob on his door, he couldn't help but crack a wry smile at his small cabin. Sparse and tidy it was a welcome relief, knowing he could at least find some solace here. A quick look at the tiny mirror next to his wash basin was a horrifying experience. His nose was swollen and bloody and a growth of morning stubble gave him a rather ghoulish look. He shucked off his ruined coat and vest, pity that they'd been his best, leaving him to dress in his rather older and more threadbare uniform. A large bruise on his stomach gave him pause though.

Why can't I remember?

He had left for the tavern, eaten his fill but after that, things strayed into confusion. It had been dark out, he knew that much. He must have been attacked sometime after, heading back to the ship. Originally Liam would have been none the wiser. Of course, things rarely went Killian's way. As he tied and retied his cravat, cold fingers clumsy and fumbling, he found that he still believed his initial frustration was justified.

Liam had been able to leave the ship, to explore the new port. Not only that, but as the senior member of the Ambassador's escort he had been invited to dine at the castle, even to partake in a royal ball arranged specifically in their honour. And of course there was the sightseeing. As per usual Killian had been left behind to guard the ship and ensure the men behaved themselves. It was a familiar, if maddening routine. The Jewel would spend months at sea and finally when they docked somewhere new, Killian was ordered to stay aboard and could only dream of what he was missing. Sometimes he wondered how long it had been since he'd last stepped on solid ground. But something had felt different this time. After all they had never served as an escort for an Ambassador before. No one had expected any trouble and as promised, they had encountered none. Truthfully it was had been a rather easy undertaking with the benefit of a new kingdom to explore. But alas, it had been like every other port, with Liam in his best uniform, sternly informing him of how important his job was, how the safety of the ship and her crew depended on him. Killian had born it all with frustration tempered by duty. Of course he had been excited, inevitably jealous and lastly resolved. He had been determined that this time things would be different. After all, one of the reasons he'd joined the Navy was to see and explore new places, a desire that would likely go unfulfilled if he was always stuck aboard ship. Of course the one time he expected everything to run smoothly, to eat a meal on land and return all in the space of a few hours, everything went horribly wrong.

He sat down on the edge of his cot, exhaustion finally catching up with him along with the seriousness of what he'd done. Liam would have to record his actions in the logbook, report his dereliction of duty and possibly face his own set of consequences.

They could take the Jewel.

His head descended down into his hands.

"What have I done?"

ooooooo0000000000ooooooo

The sun painted a line of light on the wall of Emma's hovel, shining through frayed curtains as she lay abed, lightly snoring. She dreamed of money. Of going out into the market and buying whatever her heart desired. Food, clothes, trinkets she never intended to use, all with the pouch she'd stolen off that sailor. And strangely enough, it was always full, no matter how many coins she pulled out. So there she was, dropping money wherever she went, watching the peasants scrabble for it like hungry dogs, laughing at her good fortune when she was suddenly brought out of her reverie by waking up.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to will herself back into the dream, fists clenched with effort. But it was no use. Cursing, she rolled out from under her ragged blanket and stretched. The floor was never the most comfortable of places but today there was the added advantage of injury. Her head was still smarting from when she'd hit the ground and it was small comfort that the drunkards she'd fought were likely worse off. The one saving grace was her newfound wealth. Smirking she dug her fingers into the side of a floorboard and pulled. The space was small but secret, holding the smallest of treasures. She retrieved the money pouch with glee, relishing the sound of the coins clinking together. Far more precious though was the cloth tied with string that she pulled out next. Delicate fingers gently unbound the bundle, revealing a small ring. Smiling to herself, Emma slipped it on her finger, twirling the band, admiring the green stone, holding it up to the light and sighing before returning it to her hiding spot. She debated whether to slip a few coins out of the pouch and savour the money but thought better of it. The weather was getting colder and she'd never held so much money before in her life. Why not enjoy her spoils while she could?

With the money secure, Emma brushed what dust she could off of her clothes and headed out to the market, the anticipation of food hot on her tongue. The road was crowded of course and loud, with venders calling out their wares and animals braying and clucking in pens. The place smelled of food and sweat and manure and the sun had yet to reach its zenith but the air was already filled with a fine layer of dust, kicked up from the myriad of feet tramping about. Emma had to fight her way through the press of people, clutching tightly to her money through her clothes, knowing full well how convenient today would be for pickpockets. One woman in particular, with a large frame and bright blue cape, had apparently stationed herself in the middle of the road, causing a glut of people all around her. When Emma tried to push past, she was given such a look of contempt she nearly told the woman off, before forcing her way through.

"Filthy rabble," she heard the woman whisper, just loud enough so that she would be sure to hear it.

Emma just rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to let that woman ruin her day, no matter how rude. She immediately bought herself an apple, ignoring the questioning look of the merchant when she handed over the coin. As she wandered around, pausing in front of a stall displaying bolts of silk, she took a big bite of the fruit, letting the juice dribble down her chin, savouring the sweet, juicy taste for the first time in years. She thought better of touching the fabric though. As much as she wanted to trail her hand across the cloth laid out on the merchant's table to see what it felt like, the look in his eyes warned her off. His thick bushy eyebrows and tiny beady eyes gave him an ominous look and she knew no manner of soap and scrubbing would ever get her hands clean enough for him. She wanted to shake her money in his face and demand the most expensive material he owned just to see how he'd react and wipe away that angry scorn. It was a foolish idea though. Soldiers patrolled the market and anything out of the ordinary, including a peasant spreading money around, would be given special attention. She tossed the apple core in with a pen of pigs and contemplated buying a chicken for supper. Her knife was small but it would do the job and she could save the feathers. What she wouldn't give for a pillow.

"Hello girlie."

A deep voice startled her. Before she could turn around a large hand clamped down hard on her arm, fingers digging into her skin. She was almost pulled off her feet before she could glance up to see the man from last night that she had tried and failed to pickpocket. In the full light of day she was able to get a better look at him. He might have once been considered handsome but a nasty scar cut through his lip and down his chin and his eyes fixated on her, filled with anger, never wavering for a moment.

"Back to steal again?" His breath was hot on her face, smelling of stale drink. His mangled nose was a reminder of what she'd done to him last night but she'd only defended herself, nothing more.

"Let go!" She knew it was pointless. He had a firm grip but she could only hope that someone would take notice and help extricate her from the situation.

"Won't even admit to it will you? I'll fix that."

Glancing around for a moment, he proceeded to drag her down the road towards the nearest soldier, while she let fly a burst of curses at him, dragging her heels, imploring anyone who would listen to help her. Unfortunately everyone preferred instead to watch the unfolding entertainment before them. He finally stopped pulling her along behind him and came to stand in front of a man lounging against a building, his cuirass shining in the sun, a sharp reminder of who was in charge.

"Last night this wench attacked and robbed me." He yelled loud enough for every bystander to hear correctly. Clearly he wanted an audience.

"What!" Emma looked over at him in alarm. His face was blank, revealing nothing but a slight twitch of the lip as if he was fighting a smile.

That lying ass!

The soldier, blue eyes and all, looked rather lazily between the two of them as if he could barely be bothered to even address the accusation.

"And you are?"

"James Bocan."

"And you claim she robbed you?" He looked Emma over with a decidedly hungry look in his eye.

"She had help and a knife and she gave me this," he pointed at his crooked nose.

The soldier folded his arms and pursed his lips, skeptical over how this man could possibly have been robbed by a woman.

"And what exactly is it you want?"

Bocan frowned at the mocking confusion. "Arrest her of course!" He shook Emma's arm for emphasis. "She's a thief!"

The soldier shook his head. "I'm unable to do anything on your word alone. I need proof."

Emma allowed herself room to breathe after he spoke. She wasn't just going to be locked away. Although Bocan's grip hadn't loosened any, she could sense his hesitation. Perhaps there was a way out of this.

"I don't have his damn money!" She struggled and attempted to kick him when she couldn't wrench herself loose. It seemed that luck was not her friend today. Her only recourse was to copy Bocan's brazenness. After all, two could play at a game of lies.

"So you deny robbing him?" The soldier stared her down, looking for any hint of deception.

"Yes."

"And attacking him?"

"Yes!"

"Search her then. Probably still has my money." Bocan grumbled, clearly expecting the law to side with him.

That's when she felt all the air depart her lungs, a flash of cold sweep over her skin as the soldier nodded in agreement, grabbing her arms. She tried to twist away from him but he roughly shoved her up against a wall, one hand solidly in the middle of her back, holding her still. He chuckled as he removed a glove, stuffing it haphazardly in his belt. His hand skimmed along the tops of her arms to her shoulders and then down her back. She stood, tense and afraid, her heart beating madly as his hand descended down to cup her ass. A quick squeeze made her squeak before he moved onto her thighs, not really searching rather than just 'feeling' and obviously enjoying himself. Emma bit her lip. She'd appeal to his baser instincts if she had to but first she had to hope he didn't find the money. As he made his way up her hips to her waist, his hand quite clearly passed over the pouch, feeling the outline with his fingertips. Emma held her breath but instead of alerting everyone to his discovery, he moved his hands up to her breasts. Gasping in anger, she elbowed him only to connect directly with his armour and a sharp pain in her arm soon followed.

"Get off me!" She snarled, shoving at him, cradling her limb against her body. He stumbled back, money pouch in hand, glowering at her for spoiling his fun.

"What's this then!"

No.

He held up the pouch to the crowd who immediately began whispering amongst themselves. As she stood with her back to the wall, regarding Bocan and the soldier with equal amounts of anger, Emma spotted the woman in the blue cape staring at her, still full of contempt, still assuming superiority.

"It's not his!"

"And I suppose it's yours?" He opened the pouch, spilling the coins out into his hand. He looked from them, all shiny and new, down to the rags she was wearing.

Bocan smiled like that cat that got the cream.

"That's my pouch! She stole it off me last night."

NO.

The soldier handed the pouch off, sans a few coins to Bocan and proceeded to pull on his other glove while speaking to Emma.

"For the crime of theft I arrest you in the name of King James." He reached out towards her, determined now that she was both a thief and a liar, expecting that she would spend an indeterminable amount of time contemplating both evils from the cold floor of the dungeon.

NO!

Emma pushed back into the wall as hard as she could. She wanted to yell, to fight! But all she had was her little knife secreted in her boot. How could she hope to fight a trained soldier with a sword and win? As he grasped her wrist and made to drag her away, she felt something tight inside her burst loose.

A flash of light surged from her hands, tossing everyone in front of her to the ground. The sound was like a crash of thunder, followed by yells and screaming as panic and injury became evident. Emma, not one to miss a moment, sprinted down the road as fast as she could, not daring to look back, not daring to think about what had just happened.

She couldn't stay. Not only because the soldiers would come after her but because a good many people knew her face now. Pickpocketing depended on invisibility. Without that there was no point even attempting it. No, she would leave town and take to the woods where she wouldn't be found amongst the hidden groves and caves. And it was autumn so the forest would be bursting with nuts and berries. As well, the fields and farms would be bustling with the harvest and she could take her pick, fill her belly to the brim with fresh food and none the wiser. Not only that but the surrounding villages were just begging to be plucked clean of their coin.

She ducked down a back alley and climbed over a fence, always keeping an eye out for any soldiers. Her lungs were starting to burn from the exertion as she took the long route back to the hovel she called a home. She was breathing heavily by the time she reached it, peeking out from the side of a building to stare across the road at her door. She casually glanced around, taking note of how calm everyone was, walking towards the docks or up to the castle, speaking with neighbours and generally going about their business. There didn't appear to be anyone searching for her and there wasn't a soldier in sight. Closing her eyes and muttering a curse for courage she quickly stood and slipped across the road, sliding inside her door before she could blink.

One hand grabbed her blanket while the other made for the floorboard, earning her a bevy of slivers for her trouble. She'd only barely slipped the cloth-wrapped ring inside her shirt when her front door was slammed open with a bang. Her eyes widened and she froze as two soldiers stepped inside and grabbed her, pulling her outside before throwing her to the ground.

Outside a group of onlookers had gathered and standing in front of Emma was the soldier she'd run away from. He leaned down towards her face and roughly grabbed her chin.

"You're coming with me."