Chapter XI

Old Clothes and Memories

Bree stood over the corpse of a freshly slain merchant sailor. She bent her head and said a quick prayer for the man's soul, and then took hold of his feet, dragging him to the side of the ship. She beckoned to Penrod, who obediently scampered over to her, cringing and scraping before her. He and Bree hauled the man over the side, watching the limp form splash into the depths. Penrod looked to Bree, who waved absently.

As Bree searched the ship with the others, she looked toward the prow. No prisoners this time, it seemed. Bree cleaned the blood and gore from her sword, placing it back in its sheath. Good. Better to die than live this half life.

Jones was standing at the railing when Maccus came to him, hauling a chest behind him. He dumped it at his captain's feet, grinning, "Lookit what we found!" He threw back the lid. Jones' eyes darkened. It was a lady's chest, filled with pearls and hand mirrors and parasols and scarves and a dress. Jones looked away, shrugging, "I suppose ye'll want that fer yerself?"

Maccus chuckled, whispering to his master, "No, sir. But what of Miss Bree? Can't we get some fun outta these with her?"

Jones bristled, the two tentacles hanging either side of his mouth curling up. He turned to Maccus, "An' what sort o' fun?"

Maccus quailed. He stuttered, "Just…I dunno…"

Jones turned to the chest, bending down and taking out the dress. He held it up. It was a pretty dress. He had never seen Bree in a dress. She'd look lovely in this…

Jones folded the dress over his arm, waving his hand to Maccus, "If there's any jewelry in that, ye can share it amongst yer crewmates. But this…this is mine."

Maccus saluted, hauling the chest off to loot through.

Jones looked down at the dress. It was a light blue. It would bring out Bree's eyes. Jones clenched his jaw. I'll make 'er wear it! She probably hates dresses! She'll see that I can make 'er do whatever I want!

Bree was totally unprepared when Bootstrap entered the hold, a dress slung over his arm. He held it out to her, "Cap'n says ye're to wear this."

Bree's mouth dropped open. A dress? Surely he was joking! Bree had never worn a dress in her life! She folded her arms over her chest and spoke in a haughty voice, "Ye can tell the captain I'd rather wear a dress o' sea urchins!"

Bootstrap gave her a look, saying, "Please, Bree. Humor him. Besides, ye'd look lovely in this dress."

Bree snorted, but Bootstrap urged and coaxed her until she had no choice. She yanked the dress away sullenly, retreating to a corner. Bootstrap thoughtfully pinned a blanket to the wall to give her some privacy.

Bree removed her clothes, looking over herself. Surely this dress wouldn't fit her! She had a figure, but her curves were small and gradual. The dress was also made for a girl who had slender shoulders. Bree had broad shoulders for a girl, and she had a thin waist. But she slipped on the dress anyway.

It fit better than expected. Bree felt ridiculous. It took her over half an hour to put it on, trying to find the place to put her arms and head and how to tie everything. And she felt uncomfortable. The dress cut low in the front, and she felt slightly exposed.

Bree stepped out from behind the curtain. Bootstrap stood watch for her in case one of the crew tried to tear down the blanket. Bree cleared her throat. Bootstrap turned. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw her.

Bree saw his look and growled, "I look ridiculous, don't I?"

Bootstrap looked her over, shaking his head, "On the contrary, mate. Ye look…beautiful!" He stepped forward, undoing her braids and letting her hair fall about her shoulders.

Bree moved forward a pace, finding it hard to walk in the high heeled shoes. Of course when she ascended to the deck she nearly tripped over her skirt.

The entire crew stopped working when Bree appeared. Some of the crew hadn't seen a woman in over one hundred years. Bree wasn't a girl anymore. Not in a dress.

Bree stood, squirming under the gaze of the crew, feeling their lewd grins. She tugged at one of the ribbons of her skirt, hearing the captain coming out of his cabin.

Jones paused at the door, unsure of what he was doing. Wouldn't it just hurt him more to see her like this? No, I'm simply doin' it to humiliate 'er! he remembered.

Jones pushed the door open, stepped out…and stopped.

Before him stood an angel.

The color of the dress did bring out Bree's eyes. The dress left her shoulders bare, and her hair fell about them. The dress sleeves cut off at the elbow and had a long trim of frilly lace. The waist had small slashes on the sides that tied off with ribbon. Bree, in her normal garb, had a hidden form. But now, with the corsette and dress, looked like a real woman. A matured, fully bloomed woman.

Jones stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Bree. He couldn't tear them away. He stopped right in front of her, looking down at her. Bree's chest was heaving. Her eyes were wide and frightened. But they were so…so innocent.

Jones, forgetting himself, said softly, "You look lovely…"

A beautiful pink blush crept into Bree's cheeks, and Jones felt a rush of exhilaration come from seeing it. But Bree looked just as startled and surprised at it.

Jones remembered himself and snapped out of his daydream, snarling, "But it's only the dress. I think the other clothes fit ye better, whelp."

Bree's face showed a hint of a hurt expression, but she made a show of snarling back. But Jones felt a pang of remorse. Should he have left it alone?

Bree sniffed and said, "I've never worn a dress before. An' I never wanted to! Took me forever to get on!"

One of the crewmembers made a cat call and spoke suggestively, "Come over here an' we'll see how long it takes to git off!"

Jones' beard waved menacingly at the guilty crewmember, "Stow th' gab, Master Hadras! Or that shell o' yers'll go sailin' over the side!"

Hadras backed away, securing his head to his neck.

Bree watched as Jones surveyed her. Part of her was squirming under his gaze, but the other…the other was agonizing over what he thought.

Does he think I'm pretty?

Jones' eyelid twitched, and he turned, limping off to his cabin.

Bree's shoulders slumped. She stood for a while, enduring the sound of her mates calling out lewdly to her. She turned to go back to the hold, only to find her way barred by Clanker and Koleniko. Koleniko chucked her under the chin, saying rudely, "Didn't know ye looked so fine in a dress, missy!"

Bree growled, backing away. She bumped into Crash, who put his arm around her waist. Bree snarled, "Ye're all mad! Just because I'm wearin' a dress don't make me a lady!" She kicked off her shoes, running off towards the bow as the others called rudely after her, laughing and joking in vulgar tones.

Bree felt tears budding in her eyes. She scrambled over to the bowsprits, tearing the skirt of her dress. She slid down, clutching at the bowsprit and weeping unashamedly.

Why am I cryin'?

Was she disappointed? Disappointed that Jones hadn't approved?

He hates me.

But she hated him! She hated everything about this ship! She hated everyone except Bootstrap, and she hated the captain most of all!

So…

Why am I cryin'?

Bree sat in the hold, back in her old clothes. One of the crewmembers had taken the dress. He said Jones was going to keep it and burn it later. Bree clenched her fists grimly. Good. Best burn it. She would've done the same thing.

But Jones didn't burn it. Once it had been brought to him, he had dismissed the crewmember, still holding the dress. He put his hand inside it, near the waist area. It was warm. So warm pressed to his cold, slimy hand. He shuddered.

Jones folded the dress neatly, stowing it away under his desk. He would burn it later. Memories were cruel. Best to get rid of them. He looked at the empty space where his music box had once been. He blinked back a slimy tear.

Why did he have to have two constant reminders?