Nestled firmly in the middle of the Ancient Isles sat Plunder Outpost. Sprawling out in every direction from it were opportunities. Those looking to make some coin would find plenty; if adventure was more someone's flavour, that could be found, too. Those with the talent to do so could find both on a single outing. On this day, one lone pirate had done just that.

They came from an enormous island along the southern edge of the region. Large and imposing as it was, the waves and wind combined to be even more so. Such conditions required every bit of skill from the sloop's sole crew member. Trailing behind was a galleon that had some edge in the poor conditions thanks to her many sails, regardless of her larger crew's capabilities. The gap between the ships was gradually closing as they barrelled toward the outpost.

The uneasy conditions carried the two ships to the eastern side of the island. Along that side to the northern end was a dilapidated dock that went unused, crumbling from neglect. Though unsightly, it was sufficient enough at keeping seawater out of the man's one boot — for the other leg ended in a pegleg prosthetic — as he leaped off the sloop's deck, plundered chest in hands. The galleon, however, was still too far behind to try to stop him right at that moment and so her crew reefed the sails and turned the ship to point the guns in his direction.

The larger ship's crew was in a panic. Their ship required more coordination than they could muster at the moment, the time they had to retrieve their loot quickly diminishing. Scurrying about the deck, two of them fired themselves from the cannons; one landed in the water, too short to have any hope of stopping their foe, while the other flew too high and went past. The remaining two took a few careful shots at him directly with their cannons; no one wanted to hit any of the island's residents or buildings and start a war with them. When they no longer had clear shots, they turned their rage to his abandoned sloop.

With knowledge of the whereabouts of the entire galleon crew, there should have been no one in the thief's way. Lesser traders and company representatives all knew better than to get in the way of a fight, yet he had run right into someone at the entryway of the tavern. He lost his footing and had to sacrifice some of his grip on the chest to reach for his blunderbuss, ready to fight. The polite voice of a woman greeted him instead.

"Chests such as that one go to the Gold Hoarders."

For a moment he was dumbstruck, genuinely at a loss for what had just transpired. There should have been no other crews here! There was a noise to the western side of the island and both of them turned to look at the sloop that was not his being set on fire. In the skirmish, he had managed to keep the one proper dock at this outpost out of his view the entire time he sailed. Out of sight, out of mind, and he had wrongly assumed that the lack of an obvious, large vessel meant it was vacant of other crews.

"Friends of yours?" she inquired in a tone that he determined to be rhetoric.

If she had meant to, she would have attacked him by now, but this was a very polite pirate — no, with her long, unkempt red hair, even longer dress, the big round hat and all in bright red and gold to contrast his pitch black clothing, he decided that she was no pirate.

With purpose, he brought himself to his feet. One hand never left the chest, the other helping him to yank his pegleg free from a busted plank of the walkway underneath them. "Nope," he responded drily.

The two that had disembarked from the galleon were now both visible — one from the dock and the other coming up the beach — and so close that there was no time to get the chest sold. One stupid moment may have ruined a damned good steal. The only shining light was that, potentially, there was another body to take a hit for him.

One arm came up to brace cutlass against cutlass, then found a moment of weakness and swooped down along that blade's owner. A bullet finished that man off and made everyone's ears ring. Another shot rang out and the second pirate from the galleon chose to lunge forward rather than reload her pistol; she was easily dispatched with a single blast of his trusty blunderbuss.

With a moment to breathe, he reassessed the situation. The docked sloop had quite a little fire stirring on its deck now. Half of the galleon crew was out of the picture, but he saw another leap off the deck of their ship to attempt one last retrieval of their treasure. The woman beside him had pulled the musket that hung on her back into her grip — so it seemed that she had helped. Still, she was in the way.

Certain of himself, he spun around and grabbed the gun at its middle, pressing down on it. His stature was significantly greater than hers so he was stunned by the resistance he was met by. It seemed that this move had not come as a shock to her as she was not manipulated as he had hoped. Would nothing go right today? He was forced to release the chest so that he could introduce her to his sword, or attempt to. He heard a flintlock shot and felt a bullet enter his back, and then his side exploded in pain. Darkness swallowed him before he could consider anything more.

The Sea of the Damned was a fickle thing. Time within it was strange, both slow and fast, there and somehow gone entirely before returning with a vengeance. He glanced about the ship, taking in the familiar, unchanging surroundings as though this time he would find something to clue him into… well, anything at all. What this place or vessel was, how much time had passed this trip — there was a plethora of whispers, but never any certainties to anything.

The Ferry's deck was empty this visit. Everything looked about the same green colour as always, the ghastly hue resonating through everything that was once living, even her captain — he offered a small smile and salute to the Ferryman, neither of which were reciprocated, before stopping at the ship's main-mast and leaning against it, waiting.

The chest! Painful realisation filled him like a days-old meal. Surely he had lost it. Now he wondered if the woman had been toying with him so she could claim it herself or if the galleon had reclaimed it. He looked to the helm, considered pressing a conversation with the skipper. They could discuss the subject of the chest or anything, anything to help pass the time, but that man was never one for conversation. He wondered if he would ever know. The man above him would never tell, of course; he never told anyone anything.

Underneath the helm, the door of the captain's cabin swung open. It seemed that nothing was wanted of him and he was thankful for that. He backtracked to the Well of Fate, dipped his lantern in it for his pink Flame, and then stepped forward through the portal.

Anyone who said they were used to those trips was a liar. He took a few seconds to recover and then glance about his sloop. The little ship had seen better days, better fights, yet he felt no strong allegiance to it and thus no need to tend to its wounds. It was on the way so he bailed a bucket's worth of water as he stepped back up to the deck to better see what had happened in his absence.

Mere minutes had passed. The galleon had drifted to the other side of the island, its tall masts barely visible through the island foliage. Cannon fire caught his ear and though he felt certain that it was the galleon cleaning up the other sloop, he still felt the need to investigate. He went below deck for what was surely the last time to stuff his pockets with the best supplies he had, bail another bucket of water, and then he hopped off the deck of this sloop for the last time.

To his great surprise, the chest that had started this whole incident sat not too far from where he had fallen. He stopped and stared at it, glanced to the nearby Gold Hoarders tent — the representative seemed as confused as he was, eyes darting between him and the chest — and then decided to grab it. How it was still there was a grand question, though not one he cared to find the answer to quite yet. He dashed through the tavern's door and into the shadows uncontested, something he was grateful for, and exchanged the chest for a heavy purse of gold coins.

A little calmer now and satisfied with the outcome of today, he focused on the sounds of fighting at the main dock. That explained why no one had hidden away into the corners of the bar or sold the chest themselves. With this chore taken care of, he coolly made his way down the boardwalk to see what was happening.

The fire that had threatened to ravage the other sloop had been controlled and put out. The ropes had been cut from the dock so that it could defend itself, turned so that a cannon could fire upon the larger ship. With all the fighting it had been doing, whoever was still aboard the battered galleon knew it was in their best interest to limp away or risk their ship at this point.

The sloop remained something of a concern; he had no way of knowing how many people made up its crew. Surely such a well-dressed and fine-speaking woman was not alone. Yet he saw that it was her on the cannon, dress-skirt shaken for the freedom of under-shirt and trousers. Very briefly he froze when she turned to face him, then slowly, confidently, finished that footfall to gauge her reaction. It seemed she had not expected to see him again so soon, alarm flashing across her figure before she shot downstairs. He couldn't help sprinting down the remainder of the dock and onto the sloop after her, predator chasing prey.

Why she had been on the other side of the map table of all places, he didn't bother wondering. Her technique for avoiding his blade — sliding under the table and through his legs — was impressive. Chasing her down the second set of stairs was a bad idea if he wanted to win the fight, but he had found his day's success and cared not what the outcome of this scuffle was. In his respite, he had missed some of the bigger fight; he could make up for that now.

Down in the lowest portion of the ship, his cutlass sloppily bounced off another. The matter remained that he was bigger in all directions than she was and certainly stronger; with her cornered down here, he would employ those facts until they bit him in the ass. That time came far quicker than he expected. Cutlasses came together again, his arm was then twisted, annoying but not a problem. It was the pain in his half-leg that got him, pain that far exceeded its usual complaints. He wasn't sure what happened exactly, just that it led to losing his footing. Ending up on the floor wouldn't have been such a problem if the back of his head hadn't slammed into the stove on the way down.

Consciousness had not been lost entirely, but Z found himself quite dazed. He leaned forward before assessing the situation and a harsh burning sensation crept along his upper arm. With a glance he saw his own sword stood on its tip, keeping that arm hostage — stay still or slice it open. The weight keeping him down was his adversary knelt on his chest. There was a thought to just shove her off until he noticed there was a smaller blade pressed against the side of his neck. Continuing to fight would simply lead to another trip to the Ferry and while that wasn't a problem, the look on her face gave him another idea.

"Didn't expect t' see me again so soon?" His amusement tapered some when her leg pressed against his throat, unable to help a small choke. He grabbed her ankle with his free hand, moved her leg so that he didn't struggle to breathe. The fine dagger pressed against his neck threateningly; why she hadn't opened him up already, he wasn't sure.

"You took a bullet to the back and a blade to the stomach." He could see her raise a brow in the ship's dimly lit hold, her head tilting slightly. "So, no."

There was something more to this than her being annoyed at the chaos he had brought upon the outpost this morning. The Ferryman was rarely so generous and efficient at returning pirates to their ship after fishing them out of the Sea. Sometimes it took so long that crews joked that they would never see their friends again. Sometimes it wasn't a joke. Other times, one would come through the door so fast they would joke that they had been kicked off the Ferry. The way she spoke, he didn't feel like any of these ideas were the case.

Decisively, his hand snapped from her ankle to her wrist. Both blades cut at him as they twisted about, his own quite a lot more. The knife she wielded was tossed far out of anyone's reach, towards the ship's stern. She had been so prepared earlier on the outpost that he was surprised by how easily he manipulated her this time. He might have made a point to show how annoying she was by lifting her by the neck until he realised his leg was missing. He settled for pinning arms down instead.

"Alright," he started, taking a moment to breath and stretch his neck and shoulders out, the burning of his wounds aggravating. He paused; blood dripped down his arm and yet this ship's hold was otherwise dry. He was impressed. "Alright. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Y' can tell me where my foot is and I'll let you up and we can have a nice little talk." He paused for a moment for effect. "Or I can choke you t' death with one hand a few times over 'til I find it meself. Or longer." He paused, then shrugged as much as he could with his arm in its condition. "Yer choice."

For someone in her position, she was very calm. When he first slammed her down, he had spotted some sort of shock, brief as it was, a tiny gasp, but now it was all exchanged for disdain. The situation was perplexing; most pirates he came across did not have this amount of control over themselves. He wondered if she was even taking the time to actually consider the options he had presented. Then, just before he could make good on his threat, she drew a long breath and motioned slightly to her left. "Under the bed."

He looked and rose a brow. This was a very homely little sloop. He quickly glanced about the rest of the hold and found nothing that really stuck out to him except for the previously discarded dagger. Should their understanding not be clear, he could free his cutlass from its position far sooner than she would be able to get past him and grab the blade, so he released her arms and sat himself against the water barrel. She slid past him and went up the stairs, giving him time to collect his belongings.

Early as it was still, the day had been a long and hard one; his leg complained quite a lot as he secured the prosthetic. From the day he lost it, it had given him trouble, but infection seemed to be taking hold as of recent. He had been doing too much. Some medicine would be a good purchase if he could find a doctor to supply it, and if he could remember to save a bit of coin. For now, he'd have to continue soothing himself as needed with drink.

On his feet now, he felt as good as he could. His sword was plucked from the ship's hull and placed back on his belt. Up the stairs he went, figuring he should finally join the sloop's crew member and have that talk. Curiously, she was stood about the middle of the main-deck, staring out to sea. When he came to her side and followed her gaze, he understood.

"Is that wreck yours?" she asked, referring to the battered sloop that was currently drifting past and slowly sinking.

He scowled slightly at himself. "Uh, it was."

"I see." She gave him a look that he could only determine to be one of disappointment before she turned, heading back down to the captain's table and seating herself, one leg crossed over a knee. Despite not looking very impressive anymore, she still sat as though she were of great importance, ready to listen. He wasted no time.

"So, now it seems now that I am in need of a ship, and you need a shipmate. I see a clear solution to both our problems right here!" He knew he made a good enough point, and while that would be enough for the average pirate, she seemed to be anything but average. He wasn't sure if he was bluffing himself. If she already had a shipmate and they had been slain in the fight, he'd have to argue why he ought to take their position before they were back from the Ferry. His trip had been so fast that he felt as though he were working with borrowed time.

"Excuse me? You were not invited onto my ship and you certainly have not been invited to be part of her crew."

"No, no, y're right, y' didn't invite me, but y' won't last much longer out here on yer own." He grinned haughtily, desperate to hide his desperation.

"When did I say that I was new to this place?" He couldn't help feeling a tad foolish. "Or that I was alone?" Surely he looked the part, too, now, but he couldn't fold that easily.

"Y' didn't; y' show it. You and yer ship are too nice t' have been here very long. Y' dress too nice. Yer ship still looks pretty. You have too many other nice things y' don't need and not enough supplies on the decks."

They stared at each other for a very long moment, neither willing to call the other's bluff. It was terribly uncomfortable. Then she rolled her shoulders and seemed to relax a little, yielding.

"What might you suggest then?" She held her hand up before he spoke. "Really. What do each of us get out of being shipmates to each other?"

"Excellent. Then y're on board with it!"

She raised her hand higher. "I am willing to listen to your crazy ideas first."

Close enough, he decided. "I need a ship." He motioned to the wreckage of his earlier endeavour before leaning against the table. "And y' need a crewmate if y're goin' t' make it out here. I've been here a while. Y're getting the better end of the deal here."

"I have also been here a while," she said. The way she enunciated the words was definitely to spite him, he decided, and so was the way she spoke in general. "I think I am doing quite all right for myself." He blinked, then mentally kicked himself when she smirked. "What could you possibly share with me that I could not overhear in a crowded tavern?"

"Experience. Those guys - y're just listenin' t' 'em peacock 'round the place, tell each other crazy tales that never happened at all. I'd show you, teach you, not just sway yer opinion of me with honeyed words."

"Practical examples, then?"

"Exactly. I'd…" He struggled to think of an example, then made a small flourish with a hand. "I'd teach you to fish rather than tell you to eat fish!"

She stared at him for a long moment before looking away, expression indecipherable. "Fair enough. You make a good argument. Albeit, a one-sided argument."

"Like I said, it's a better deal fer you." He stood and took a step, holding a gloved hand to her. She hesitated before they shook. "Then it's settled, we're one crew. Partners." He stood proper, perhaps a little too much so, unable to help his excitement.

She made a small, unimpressed noise. She must have been tired from fighting the galleon. No other excuse would explain her moodiness, he decided.

"Well, partner, if we are one crew, then I suppose we should know each other's names." She brought her hand to her chest. "I am Blue. And you?"

"Z."

She made a face, wrinkling her nose. He couldn't help being annoyed with her annoyance.

"That is… not a name?" They looked at each other with a great deal of uncertainty.

"Well, it's my name."

"It is a letter."

"And blue is a colour."

"A true statement, but not the only one to be made of that one word as it is one of descriptiveness."

Z stared at her, at a loss for words. He shook his head. "Jus'… just call me Z."

Blue looked like she couldn't help being amused with herself but nodded nonetheless. Perhaps they would come back to this name game some other time.

"Well, before my day was quite horribly and loudly interrupted, I had planned to take a look at this after lunch." She held out a still rolled up voyage request for him to look at. Z needn't open it to know what it was, and he knew that it would more or less keep them in this region if he did.

"Uh." He made a face, unsure what he wanted to say before recollecting his thoughts a moment later. "We shouldn't stay in this area unless we wanna fight." Z motioned to the galleon just beyond the island's calm waters. The movement had hurt and he flinched, hand coming to grasp the cut in his arm. He could feel the sleeve was soaked with blood; he wasn't keen to fight again so soon. "We should head t' the Wilds; that's far from here."

Having followed his gaze and then his train of thought, his new company only shrugged her shoulders. "Very well. We will head east first. You came from that direction, yes?" Not exactly, but he nodded anyway. "That way is clear. We will retrace those steps, stop as needed, and then turn northerly just before the Devil's Roar." He must have been making a face for she rose a brow and clarified herself. "We will stop as needed. I know of a little island nearby with recent wreckage that we can scavenge. We will also stop to clean up." Blue paused, looking him up and down. "We will… leave once you buy yourself a new shirt and a few changes of clothes, I suppose."

This shirt had seen better days. His purse had as well, but as far as most days went, this was a damned good one. Plunder Outpost was a good place as any to stock up. Clothes, ammunition, a bit of food would be nice. He grabbed a pinch of gold and forced it into his new shipmate's hand, ignoring the noise she made. "Buy yerself somethin' useful while we're here. The next outpost is a ways out." Z ignored her continued noises of complaints and made his up the stairs and vaulted off his sleek new ship to supply it.