"Ye be challenging me?" It was more of a statement than a question. The older male at Foxy's desk was a lynx, in his later years and grey in coat. He'd been among the crew long before Foxy's existance and was often teetering on the edge of loyalty and mutany with Leopold. The new captain had gotten many an eye and earfull of Layton when he was a mere kit and still, it seemed, he wasn't giving up on his ways yet. Foxy's paws were rested upon the desk, his cap tilted towards towards his snout. The red longcoat was draped lazily about his shoulders and tied with a brown leather clasp from his left shoulder to his right hip.

"Please," came the other's growling reply, "Most of the crew challenges your athority and ability to captain this ship."

"And what be it that makes me unfit, mister Layton? Be is me age? Nay, can't be, can it? Ye was snobby towards me pap s'well, weren't ye? Can't be me skill, neither. Me can do three jobs all t'once n' better than the crew. What be the problem then, Layon? Ye wish a quarel wit me? Ye wishes tuh take me on?" Foxy had risen from his seat and was glaring deep into the lynx's bitter pools of orange. Layton's grey ears were flat against his head which was slowly shaking. "Nay? Well, that's what its lookin' like tuh me! Why 'tis it that e'ry capin' a' this ship be unfit to ye? Me father was unfit. Me's unfit. What be ye angle, kitten? Answer me!"

"No one in your family is fit for this ship, Foxy. You are all a group of soft bambies who'd help a homeless dog sooner than you'd rob him. You're no pirates!"

"Bein' a pirate, Layton, be more than jus' pillagin' n' killin' n' robbin' n' rapin'. Me father wasn't in dis fur no ill-will. Me father did this fur his family 'cause he ain't got no other choice. He ain't got no skills, no other roads. But one thin' 'bout me father that none can dispute was that Leopold Fox was a force to be reconed wit and I be his son! He tought me all he e'er knew n' wanted tuh know! He bestowed dis ship 'pon me, not you! I be as fit as any bein' to capin' her! Now, 'less ye really be lookin' for a quarell, ye get the five hells out'a me office!" The lynx swiftly turned tail and came upon the cabin doors. Before he left, though, Foxy stopped him. "n' Mister Layton," Layton turned slowly. "take one sniff in dis direction 'gain, n' I'll skin ye alive..." The door slammed gruffly and Foxy felt a wave of reliefe wash over his very soul. The kit could talk like a rabid hound, but wasn't sure his actions could deliver the same bite. Yes, Leopold had been Foxy's adiquite techer, but... Foxy had never actually used his skills... Sparing with his father was one thing. Leopold held back as to not hurt is kit, but Layton was a different beast. The lynx had been in his father's crew sinse he was a kitten, and even back then, Layton was an untrustowrthy thorn in their sides. He'd be a problem.

From his cabin windows, the sea rolled sleepily in the twilight hours. Breakers were near to nonexistant and the sky had yet to fully brighten. This was one of the better views one saw aboard a ship, so far out at sea. There wasn't an object in sight; not a quarell to be antisipated, besides tensions with one's own crew. Foxy leasurly stared through the weathered glass, his fur puffed and scraggled and his eyes dark from exhaustion. He was already a wreck.

"Captain!" barked a familiar voice from beyond his door.

"Yes?" Foxy called back, simply turning his head partially to meet the sound.

"Ship spotted just on the horizon. She's a small one. What should we do?" Foxy sighed. He hadn't done anything of use or note sinse taking command. He hadn't plundered nor murdered, nor even comitted petty theft. He needed something on his reputation, something small to begin with. Something that wouldn't get too much attention, yet was still note-worthy. He turned to the door, straitening his coat. When he opened it, a shepherd stood there, not much older than Foxy, only three years so.

"Sink her."

"Captain? She's only a small merchant vessel."

"Aye, n' me says sink'er. Take 'ny servivors hostage fer ransome." The dog slowly shook his head and turned reluctantly to the crew.

"Plow her over! She's to hit the ocean floor before noon!" He glanced back at Foxy. "I know what you're doing..."

"s'that so?"

"What Leopold did didn't make him memorable... It wasn't his haul, his body count... Remember that..." Foxy gave a rumbling snarl.

"That'll do, Mister Shmitd... To ye station." Mike snorted, climbing up to the wheel and taking post. Foxy walked over to the rail, between two deck cannons. He counted... one... two... three... four... They erupted, each cannon just lightly rocking the ship with their force. "Little late," Foxy mumbled. He peered into the early dawn and watched as the other ship rolled heavily to the side. "But dead-on. Fire again!" one... two... three... They fired again, this time in three seconds as Foxy wished. They'd work on consistantly later. Again, the small merchant ship rolled over, but this time when she rolled back, she continued to slowly tip. She was already doomed. "Hold fire, mates! Take tuh station! Full sail o'er, let's get'er!" There was a conjoined agreement from the rest of the crew. Sweet honey to his ears.

...

A whispy abyss of darkness, eating him alive within its blue-silk ripples... He lashed at it's soft hold, but nothing could pull him from it's strange vice. His heart raced, his lungs screamed for what they couldn't have, what he couldn't reach. He could see nothing through the blurred haze. He tried to fight harder against it, but to no avail. He was sinking lower and lower and his chest burned like all the fires of the five hells. Shadows pulled at the corners of his crystal eyes, slowly eating them... taking him under to never return... a darkness that could not be escaped... Then... release... His head broke the surface of the water and he gasped greedily. The sounds around him were muffled, like there were cotton swabs in his ears, but he saw it all... He saw the fire burning the same as the rising day-break sun... The Moore Runner was up in smoke and inferno. She slowly began to dip below the glassy surface, moaning in her final moments. There was something in his ear, some loud mumble that he couldn't comprehend... It was become clearer. It came again... almost a word... almost... "Freddy!" The scream was sudden and made him wince. "Freddy! Come on cub, look at me! Wake up!" Freddy slowly turned his head to his right. Gerard was tiredly paddling next to him, shoving some object towards him, a barrel. Weakly, Freddy latched on, digging his claws into the worn wood. "That'a boy. Come on, keep your head up." Freddy rested his jaw against the think of the barrel, staring at his father with salt-stung eyes. Gerard looked equally battered, but was managing better off. Freddy wanted to say something, anything... but his voice was lost to the wind. He setteled for grasping Gerard's paw, the one which steered the barrel. He felt his father understood. "I'm alright, son. Just... Hang in there... Don't let go." He wanted to kick out and help his father with whatever task he was trying to accomplish, but he could hardly move... his body was almost numb.

"Gods..." Gerard's voice was almost lost among the groans from the vanishing Moore Runner. He stared before him in an almost muddled stupor. Freddy turned his head slowly to face that which was ahead of them. Promptly, his ears rotated back and eyes grew vast in perplexity. "It's her..." Gerard managed... Freddy desperatly wanted to asked what his father was enunciating about, but couldn't form a word. All he could do was sit and stare at the behemoth that lumbered passed them.