The Commander sits at her desk, her thumb and middle finger pressing lightly against her temples. A drum beats steadily behind her eyes, the pressure having built over the course of the day.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Two more signatures. Then patrol. Then you’re done, she repeats in her mind, silently praising whatever greater entity was listening that her office was quiet for the time being. She picks up her quill and scans over the parchments that sit before her. Yet another docking request for the Assembly of Avalon. Complaints from the dockmaster. Reminders for the upcoming tax season… the sky is quite clear today… wonder if she’s set out to fish on the other side of the loch–
She blinks. The fuck was that?
She had unknowingly allowed her eyes to wander to the wide window to her right, the one that overlooks the entire dockyard from above. The sky is clear and bright blue. Gulls glide atop the salty breeze, cawing occasionally over the workers beneath them. Her eyes land on a ship, smaller than the rest– its size purposeful. Fast. Agile. Any sailor worth their hide knows what a ship like that is used for. And instead of feeling disdain or disgust, her heart tugs, like a sopping blanket has been thrown over it.
The image of sparkling brown eyes, coiled hair, and a smug grin rolls to the front of her mind like a heavy fog.
She blinks again, and whips her face back to the papers before her with renewed focus.
“Hardy a spec on ye,” she comments, a sly look curling the corner of her lips as her eyes flicker down to the Commander’s ivory trousers, then back up to her face.
“They must imagine ye’ll stay shiny for ‘em down here at the docks. Yer superiors, I mean.” She runs her tongue over a back tooth.
“That, or you oft keep yer seat warm in yer office.”
The Commander stiffens. Her eyes narrow as she stares back down at the woman, this pirate Captain, standing before her.
The Captain’s smile widens into a grin, delighting at the Commander’s jaw tightening in yet another tell.
“… Our sailor’s rigs are the issued standard from the Queen,” the Commander grunts, adjusting her shoulders to draw herself to her full height. She rests her hand on her holster, feigning a casualness that doesn’t reach the stiffness in her forearm.
“Sailor’s rigs?” The Captain lets out a snort, her own first mate snickering behind her at the Commander’s words.
She turns and gestures widely to her crew.“Lads, how many sailors do ye know tha’ muck about with white breeches and turquoise pea coats?”
They roar in laughter, and the Commander’s shoulders tighten again. A hot streak of embarrassment lashes across her back before she stalks closer to the group. The crew’s laughter dies swiftly before the Captain’s does, and she turns to find the wall of a woman looming over her, eyes like steel. Her next words bite like ice.
“… Your ship has been moored in reserved anchorage for the last time in Brinedeep. Set sail in the morn, or you’ll find you and your crew in shackles.”
She turns on her heel, and stalks away.
A heavy silence fills the open space between vessels in the dockyard before the Captain’s crew begin to grumble behind her, cursing the presence of the Queen’s guard.
The Captain is silent, staring after the broad set of shoulders that soon disappear into the swath of dock workers, her heavy footfalls echoing in her mind. She’s lost for a moment until one of the crew mutters an insult regarding the object of her thoughts. To which she swiftly turns and snaps at them all, bellowing orders as she storms back to her ship and into her quarters.
No thoughts just a period au where a military commander catches the eye of a pirate captain.
She’s a cliche, this pirate. She loves the works— drinking, sex, and gold. The world has been cruel, and she matches its ire with the same level of carelessness. She takes whatever object she pleases from whoever she pleases, her name and crew striking fear into the hearts of fisherman and marauders alike. She takes and takes until her ship groans like a pregnant whale, and then her crew docks in some poor coastal town to spend their spoils on drink and whatever debaucherous services are provided. Which leads us to the moment her eyes land on the Queen’s woman.
She’s a cliche, this Commander. Back ramrod straight, a frown spread across her face. She walks with purpose, her steps heavy as she stalks around the dockyard with her own men. Eyes watching, observing and cataloging other docked vessels with scrutiny. She’s tall. Her legs are long. Large, like her pressed trousers had to be specially made.
The pirate captain has paused, her glove creaking as it tightens around the rope she steadies herself on. Her crew scrambles around her to dock as her own dark eyes stare at this mountain of a woman.
