La Quinta Storia: La Notte Ubriaco
Her gaze drifted across the endless black. The barely visible horizon was a seesaw that wobbled with each wave that sprayed across the prow. She tipped the clay jug back for another hearty swallow of rum. It was nearly empty. She arched her back, tilting the jug higher, and sucked after the last remnants of her second jug. In a staggering and sudden burst of rage, she screamed and chucked her empty into the calm waters. She glared disdainfully as she watched it disappear beneath the inky surface of the sea.
"More Rum!" the pirate captain bellowed as she staggered across the deck. "I need more rum..."
She stumbled over to some cargo lashed to the deck. It had to be in here somewhere. She rummaged through its contents, carelessly chucking bolts of silk and finely woven brocades over her shoulder until she finally excavated her prize.
"Oh, there is indeed a god," the pirate crooned as she hastily uncorked the bottle. The tang of the spiced liquor bit at her lips, and a comforting warmth spread across her body, settling in her belly. She blew out a contented sigh. "This is the life."
"Indeed. Indeed. But I thinks ya be havin' enough, now. How 'bout ya call it a night, yeah?" A deep patronizing voice shattered her reverie, and Amica choked out a startled yelp. The jug of rum clattered to the deck. She watched the jug roll awkwardly away, nearly reaching the cabin before the realization struck her that this was an unconscionable waste of good booze. She rounded on the perpetrator of this foul deed.
"Azaf! You, figlio di puttana! You… You, bastardo! I'll kill you myself!" Amica wailed with labored breaths of rage. Her voice slurred through every insult her pickled brain could imagine as she hurtled forward, throwing an ungainly fist at her first-mate's cheek. Had she been of a sounder mind, she might have avoided the rum that puddled beneath her feet. However, such was not the case, and there would be no recovery from the assault on Amica's already poorly maintained center of balance. With her arms oscillating wildly, she fell backwards to land spread-eagle on the deck. No matter how drunk the pirate happened to be, she would have to be blind, in addition to inebriated, not to notice her position. Her laughter, coarse and bitter, filled the night.
"Tell me, Azaf... When did I become this incompetent?" Amica asked softly.
"Ah, don't be takin' it so personally now. These be troubled times for ya, milady. I know it. An' there bein' some things no matter how hard ya try an' run from 'em, they gonna catch ya," her first-mate said sagely. She arched an incredulous brow. "The boys be knowin' it, too, but we be followin' ya wherever ya be goin'. Ya be the cap'n, milady, and the boys, they trust ya. Ya've always been able to bring in a steady take. At the end a' the day, that's all that really matters. So don't pay no mind ta it."
The pirate captain sighed, and a long silence followed as Amica digested his words. It felt good to know that her men supported her. She would be lying to herself, if she said that it didn't matter. After all that had happened in her life, her crew was all she that was left, almost like a gruff and dysfunctional family. The African pirate sat down, and reclined lazily against the boxes, as if he knew that he were in for a long conversation. Amica watched his dark irises pan across the disheveled cargo, and he flashed his white smile, radiant in the darkness. Her lips pursed in a mock frown that quickly grew pensive. With her inhibitions, such as they were, she felt inclined to relieve herself of the burdens she carried in her thoughts, a notion that concerned and terrified her with all the implications that it carried.
"Azaf, I've been thinking… What do you say if we go straight? Stop all this robbing, and make an honest living for a change. Take up privateering maybe? Or guard the merchant ships?" Amica said.
The moment the words left her mouth, it was as if a great albatross took flight in her heart, carrying with it the weight of her confession. This was an idea she had toyed around with in the weeks since her release. It was the only possible solution she could conceive that would alleviate the problem of providing loot to the crew, while still avoiding any undue attention from the Arcana Famiglia. It was something she wished she had thought of sooner.
"Aye, won't be hearin' no arguments from me, an' I be thinkin' the other boys'll agree ta it, if there's money to be had," Azaf said.
That was trouble in it all. "If there was money to be had." Surely, there must be. She wouldn't be the first pirate to seek this variety of reformation. The trouble was acceptance. Who would take them? Who would put their faith in the most feared crew to sail the Mediterranean? Noble intentions were not considered their most celebrated trait.
Such decisions were difficult when she considered the perspective of her entire crew. They relied on her leadership. It seemed this absence of confidence was here for an extended stay. However, now was not the time to wallow in self-pity, nor in the decimation of her pride. Amica could only do what she thought was best, despite the uncertainty that gnawed at her. The only choice she could make was to push forward into the unknown, and hope that she could deliver on the promises she would make.
"We'll stop in the next port of call and see if we can't catch word of something there," Amica said.
"Aye, aye. We'll change the course. Ya just leave it ta me, cap'n," Azaf said. He offered a lazy salute. Amica nodded and awkwardly rose from the deck to stumble towards her bunk.
Before reaching the door, Amica turned. Her first-mate still reclined against the cargo. "Oh, and thanks, Azaf. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Then I'll be takin' a little more of the cut, yeah?" Azaf grinned mischievously.
"Hmmph… Don't get too comfortable there, Azaf. I still might be able to make do."
A/N: This chapter is: The Fifth Story: The Drunken Night
Whoa! Our first fully OC chapter. Hmm.. I guess this is an achievement of sorts.
I felt like it was really important that she swear in Italian. Sort of like Ricky Ricardo on I Love Lucy or something.
And here's the translation:
She calls him a bastard (I'm sure that wasn't hard to guess, haha) and a son of a whore. Pardon her Italian, but she was obviously very distraught.
I apologize for the delay in getting this out. I've been a little distracted by another project (It's a Naruto one-shot, explaining the tragic tale of Sasori-kun's first and only girlfriend.) that I am gifting to my dear friend nish0 (If you're into Bleach, I implore you to read her works. There's a lot of really comical stuff. She's much better with comedy than I am.) Anyway, that's been taking up the bulk of my time, because I wanted to offer a degree of excellence that she deserves.
I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the people who read this and have reviewed. It is truly humbling and I can't begin to express my gratitude to those of you who would take your precious time to offer praise, and the fact that you're reading this is incredibly meaningful. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Shout-outs!
Fox Kit Princess: Thanks for the kind words. I am glad that you've liked the chapters so far, and I hope that the newest update is up to your expectations! And SHHHH! That's a secret! (But I'll see what I can do about pairing her up.)
Breanna: Here's your update! Sorry it took so long! And I'm so touched that you liked it.
Our dear friend, "Guest": Thanks for the praise! And I would be totally lost without my precious Google Translate. My years in Spanish only take me so far, and so are only a limited resource to draw. In fact, through writing this fic. I've been surprised with how similar the two languages are. I guess it's probably obvious to some people, but I'm not exactly clever when it comes to things like this.