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Return of the Pirates (M) Jabba x Kreed

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Offline Jabbathejack

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Joe waited with baited breath, watching the Captain's steely calculating gaze as she decided whether he would live or die.

"I will, Captain." He felt like he blurted the words out in relief. It couldn't be too bad, could it? But as he saw the rest of his former crewmates being herded around the deck as prisoners, he knew that he had little choice.

"I appreciate the chance to learn, Captain."


Offline Kreed

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"I like the enthusiasm." She herself seemed devoid of much, preferring instead to exemplify the well-documented British stiff upper lip. She inclined her head lightly in acknowledgement before looking to her quartermaster.

"Browne, I want to see you showing our newest member the ropes. Give the lad a tour. See to it he knows who to go to for what. Then, get him started on the basics. Knot work, ship maintenance, that sort of thing. I'll see to the rest of the rabble."

She turned and left, leaving Browne to visibly grimace as Captain Simon moved to address her prisoners. "Right then. Fulbeck, was it?" She moved forward, lightly touching his back as she escorted him toward the cabins with a friendly, but firm guiding hand. "Best not watch to see what happens to your old mates. That would be for a rough first day out. Let's take a tour, shall we?"



There was little to do in her cell, but she had been afforded plenty of space to work with. As the hours passed she moved about the small space, stretching, pacing, and generally moving about. Come time to be checked on, she was using the top of the cell as a pull-up bar, effortlessly pushing herself up and down by the strength of her arms with more strength than some men, let alone women.  Sweat beaded her brow and she grunted now and again when the exercise proved almost grueling, but with nothing else to do and little space in which to  cure her restlessness, it wouldn't do to stay still.


Offline Jabbathejack

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Best not watch what happens... Joe gave a last look towards the others out on the deck and then he allowed the young woman to guide him along, his expression grim. He had a feeling he knew what was going to happen to them, the poor bastards. Yet he knew that the time for fighting was past; that was a battle that they had lost.

"Aye, sir." He muttered quietly as he followed Browne; he had to think about himself and less about things that he could not change.

***

The next morning, Hunter made his way down to the brig, followed by two others. He paused just inside, watching as their prisoner used the bars to pull her entire body up and down, showing a strength that seemed almost unheard of for a woman.

He stopped in front of the cell door and rapped his knuckles lightly on the bars to get her attention.

"It's time." He spoke quietly, his expression grim as he thought about what was about to happen. "Don't give us any trouble, you hear? Then it'll be over in no time. It'll be easier that way."


Offline Kreed

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Morning had only just begun to break before Browne was doing her rounds,  clanging a hand bell to rouse the sailors from sleep. Her honey, countryside voice became a shrill caw as she walked down the length of the cabin.

"Riggers, on the sails. Swabs, get your tars. Up, or you'll get none of the last of the fresh bread."

Left and right, men and women rolled out from their beds to dress and pull on their boots before seeing to their duties. The boatswain made her way through the bunks, weaving through the sleepy crowd as she found herself before Fulbeck, donning a good natured smile.

"Ah, and there he is. My new cabin boy." There was a hint of some mischief behind her eyes, there and gone in an instant, but - like her shrinking grin - it was warm and seemingly good-intentioned, at least at a first glance. "You ready to learn then, mate?"



She heard Hunter approach but did not acknowledge him until he spoke. She lowered herself and hung, still suspended and held in place only by the strength of her arms, until the first mate had said his piece. Silently, Lucy touched her feet to the floor and brought her arms to her sides. Her face was dewy with the brine and the beginnings of a sweat, and her breath was laboured slightly by her efforts. Yet, her expression was ice cold, and her eyes - like the day prior - revealed nothing but unshakable calm.

"So what's the Captain's weapon of choice, then?"

Her voice was soft but steady when she spoke again, watching Hunter with an almost predatory intensity. It was as though she thought staring him down would burn the whip that waited to strike her. "The cat? Or something else?"

She didn't wait long for an answer, wrapping her plait up in a loose bun atop her head so that it would not obstruct the view of whomever dealt her punishment. A whip cutting flesh in the salty air was bad, but hair tangled in a cat-o-nine-tails and ripped suddenly back in preparation of the next blow...that was another sort of pain.

"Go on then, Hunter. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."


Offline Jabbathejack

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Joe climbed out of his bunk hurriedly the moment that he heard the bell clang, just as he'd been trained to do on the last ship that he had been on. Anyone that was judged to be too slow to move earned themselves a clip around the ear for the privilege.

"Morning, sir." He didn't argue with being labelled as the cabin boy, despite being considerably taller than his new boss was.

He had no idea if that was the right way to address her, but he supposed she'd steer him right if he ended up messing it up.

"Aye." He nodded. "I'm quick to learn, honest."

He was determined not to earn the same fate as his old shipmates had done. He would have to learn, otherwise he might be unceremoniously thrown overboard.

***

"The cat, aye." Hunter nodded grimly. "Two dozen lashes."

He unlocked the cell and opened the door, standing back to allow her to walk out. He escorted her out of the brig and up the narrow stairs to the deck. The crew had already been assembled, with the Captain standing on the steps outside his cabin, looking down. Predictably, the young man did not look pleased.

The grate had already been brought up, rope loops ready to catch her wrists and stretch her out. The Captain nodded silently and two men stepped forwards to take the prisoner by the elbows and bind her ready. They pulled the back of her shirt up and over her head, keeping her front still covered.


Offline Kreed

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If Browne took any issue with being called “sir”, she chose to hide it behind a small smile and a short chuckle in amusement. Beyond that, the matter remained untouched.

“Good to hear, but a true testament to that will be in your actions, not your words.”

It might have been the natural kindness portrayed in her voice, but the pragmatic skepticism of her voice was betrayed by a tone that made her words sound conversational and damn near friendly.

She stepped aside, allowing her newest recruit time and space to set himself to rights before getting his bearings.

“Your primary duties today - and perhaps for the next several days - will be to follow me about at my beck and call.” A ghost of a smirk played at her lips and was gone shortly thereafter. “But worry not. The rest of the crew think I’m soft. Truth of the matter is, you’re no good to me if you ain’t got any skills, and you ain’t gonna learn if no one is willing to teach.”

“Essentially, I’m going to be showing you different members of the crew and their duties. Think of it as a sort of first day round of introductions and orientation. Odds are, something will resonate with you and you might find you have transferable skills. It’s as good a jumping off point as any. Do you have anything you want to add to that before we see to the galley?”



Ah, twenty four lashes by the cat o’ nine tails. Akuma wished she could say the Captain was being creative with her punishment, but then again, the naval officer sorts hardly ever were.

“I suppose I should give the man some credit,” she said as she dropped to the floor. “He said I’d receive equal treatment. Let’s see if he intends to continue to make good on that promise.”

Any fear she might have felt on that deceptively short walk to the decks was imperceptible to the keenest eye. Even presented before an onlooking crowd of angry men, uncertain whether or not she would be forced to reveal herself to them and take the sting of the whip before a hungry audience, she met the stares of the crew with cold, blue eyes and a posture of power that made it seem as though she were the predator, surveying a sea of potential kills, and not a young woman in the hands of strange men keen to put her to blood.

Her shirt came up and a quiet ripple of gasps skirted through the onlooking crew behind her. In the murmurous collective that followed suit, one phrase was repeated in almost every set of teeth: “a map”.

She knew not of what they spoke, for her back was, of course, always behind her and she had no pleasure in surveying the many scars and burns which surely decorated her back even through the veil of dark ink that spread over her skin in elaborate displays of koi, peonies, nandina, and swallows. Yet what the crew could see that she could not was the etchings of a map, raw and pink in a perpetually unfinished scar as though she had been branded merely a month before.



Offline Jabbathejack

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"I don't expect an easy road." Joe held her gaze steadily. He wouldn't be making the mistake of assuming that she was soft, not when she held the balance of life and death over him. One word from her to the Captain would spell his undoing.

"I'll prove my worth."

He would be her new shadow. He would learn. His life depended on it.

***

Beckett's expression was grim as he watched the prisoner make her way across the deck, led by Hunter; she was watched by every single pair of eyes on the entire ship.

As Beckett watched, she was tied onto the grate and made ready for the punishment. Whether it would do any good was yet to be seen, but it needed to be done.

Beckett's frown intensified at the collective murmur that ran around the crew watching. Map?
"What's the bloody hold up?" He snapped, already irritable.

"Captain, you should come and see this."

Anyone else and he would have just ordered them to commence regardless, yet this was Hunter looking up at him and there was no mistaking the concern that Beckett could see written all over his face. Beckett muttered a curse and stalked down the steps, the crowd making way for him until he stood beside the prisoner.

The first thing that he saw was the tattoos, hardly rare for a sailor, yet to see it on the flesh of a woman was rare indeed. Immediately after that, he noticed the myriad of scars, a worrying amount for a woman of that age; Beckett wondered if the tattoos were an attempt to cover them up.

Yet it was neither the tattoos nor those scars that held Hunter's attention. On the arch of her lower back, there was a scar with a deliberate outline. Frowning, Beckett took a step forwards, leaning in for a closer look. A map, carved into the flesh with a red hot knife. He reached out, touching it gently, as if he were checking that it was actually what it appeared to be.

There was a restless mutter from the crew, snapping Beckett back to the matter at hand. He was inclined to simply step back and demand that the punishment carry on regardless, yet he had heard the story of the whore who had been carved with the map that supposedly lead to a treasure; they had all heard the story. Having her flogged might damage the map irretrievably.

"Cut her down." He muttered, scowling.

That order also, caused a mutter amongst the crew and Beckett's scowl deepened. He was damned if he did and damned if he did not. He paused a moment, then the decision was made.

"Tie her over the rail there, britches down and arse up."

There was a murmur of surprise at the order, but they obeyed. Beckett ignored them; he had said when they signed the contract that she would be given no special treatment and if there was some reason so a man should not be flogged across his back, then the captain was well within his rights to order that the punishment be delivered across the arse, just like they would a boy.

There was a mutter from the crew as the prisoner was moved, a curse from one and a jeer from another.
"Be silent." Beckett snapped, his glare daring anyone else to speak out of turn. "Crew punishment will be witnessed in silence."

He might not like it any more than they did, but she was a member of his crew and, by hell, he would ensure that she was treated like one, down to the letter.
« Last Edit: July 18, 2020, 06:28:14 PM by Jabbathejack »


Offline Kreed

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"Aye."

Not that the poor sod had much choice. If he didn't prove his worth, they'd be keeping him around to swab the decks and run supplies back and forth. They went through enough frail and pale cabin boys that a man with a little bit more substance would be a welcome change of pace. As long as he could hold his own in a fight - and Tawny suspected he could - he'd be a little less temporary than some of his predecessors.

"Well. Come on. We've got a hell of a lead and we're heading down to Nassau. Sails won't hoist themselves."



The minute Hunter summoned the Captain, Akuma stiffened and struggled to turn her head. She knew she wouldn't be able to be look down at her own back, but the faces of the crew would give her some insight, surely.

"What's this about a map, then?" She murmured. "Don't be ridiculous. It's just scars. Don't mean a thing."

As Captain Beckett approached, the young woman shifted to meet the man's gaze with an icy stare, but while he met her gaze briefly, it was clear he was far more focused on the etches emblazoned in her hide. A sharp, nearly undetectable gasp escaped her lips as the man's fingers touched her skin, and she pushed herself flat against the grate to avoid his hand. Her eyes narrowed, bright with a blue flame of anger and - perhaps fleetingly - fear.

When the man made the order to tie her over the rail, she tested her bonds with all her strength, shaking the grate and causing it to groan with the efforts of her struggle. "Excuse me?" She snapped. "You will not!"

The grate might have been well-maintained, but she knew that with the salt and wind of the sea, over time, it surely must have thinned. She tried once more, but it mattered little, as the crew was closing in. Soon, they would cut her down. Soon, she would be exposed for what she was, before a dozen eyes and hands.

"No!" Her voice was firm, authoritative, and dark, but she could not conceal the panic rising from the pit of her gut and shaking in her throat like a feral dog, cornered and clubbed. "There is no map. It's not real. Strike my back -- strike me anywhere else. Don't bloody bare my arse to your crew, you bastard."


Offline Jabbathejack

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The outburst was not unexpected and Beckett was ready. He gave a flick of his wrist and immediately, men stepped forwards to take the prisoner by the arms, holding her still against the grate as they cut the ropes that bound her. She struggled, possessing a strength that Beckett was amazed at, but he was determined not to show it.

"Hold her." He snapped angrily, gesturing for more to assist. In the end, it took more than four men to drag her over to the rail, with two pinning her down as the others tied her still.

It was a humiliating position to be in, especially for a woman surrounded by a ship full of men, there against her will. When she was finally tied, Beckett nodded grimly.

"Britches down. We've wasted far too much time as it is." He growled angrily. "Get it done."


Offline Kreed

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A woman who had seemed, up to this point, the definition of poise and composure, was rapidly transforming into a feral and impulsive animal. Like a spooked horse, the whites of her eyes flashed as she struggled against her bonds, her milk-blue irises frosted over strangely like a fog was rolling in from with inside them.

Her breath was shaky and deep through her unstill lips, bouncing between a nervous twitch and a fruitless bearing of her teeth rife for biting any wayward hands though she did not act on her threat. Every muscle in her small body was tensed, and with her movements, the sinews rippled beneath her skin as though she had the power to rip her bonds apart with a determined flex and pull. In the end, she did not, and fought though she did, when her breeches were pulled free, it was though the spirits of power which possessed her fled her body, like a flame blown from the lamp.

Thighs clamped shut and she went silent, bending her knees to tuck her body against her like a dog pinning its tail to its belly. Her head lowered and the muscles of her shoulders pulled together to draw herself inward as best she could, like a white prawn, trying to shield her body from the eyes of her male audience.

"I will take my punishment, Captain," she hissed, voice low and gravelly with the remnants of whatever wild demon had sought to protect her from her fate. "But surely...it could be done without such spectacle."


Offline Jabbathejack

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Predictably, there was a murmur of amusement as her arse was bared. No doubt a fair few in the crew would be thinking about this moment later on when they made it to their bunks. Beckett scowled.

"I said be silent. The next man that speaks out of turn will find himself on report. Understood?"

He turned back to the prisoner, the scowl still in place. In truth, it was all about the spectacle; the humilliation of a public flogging, so that every man present could hear their cries of pain as an example to all.

"You will be given no special treatment. I suggest you mend your ways and ensure that this not happen again."

He took a step back, giving the bosun room to work. Beckett nodded, signalling for the punishment to begin.


Offline Kreed

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When Beckett denied her what he called "special treatment", Akuma's eyes settled on his face and lingered unwavering. It was hard to discern precisely what she was feeling, but the storminess of her expression was dark and heavy so that it clouded and betrayed the paleness of her face, even as her eyes flashed with unnatural fire, fear or anger uncertain.

She bit her tongue and raised her head, meeting his stare without turning away as she pulled herself up right, stretching her spine to stand proudly with the railing as her support, her posture only altered by the stiffness of her legs, which she kept clamped close to prevent any curious sailor from looking too closely. The first blow made a wave through her body, and caused her to rock smoothly forward as though the deck tipped beneath her. Yet, just as readily, she kept her form, and rocked neatly back into place as though she was attached to the boat. Her eyes did not leave the Captain's face, and she stared him down with a glare too cold to be called simmering, but it might have resulted in billows of smoke all the same for its intensity - some sort of silent challenge, perhaps, on the man's authority.

For every strike dealt to her skin, while it was done with a strength to visibly shift every joint in her body, she made no sound, and she did not look away.


Offline Jabbathejack

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Beckett held her gaze steadily, with the distinct feeling that the first to look away would be as if they were admtting defeat to the other and Beckett was not going to allow that to happen. To his surprise, she made no sound, right up until the last stroke of the cat landed across her bare arse.

Beckett gave her a final nod before turning to the bosun's mate.
"Cut her down."

He took a couple of steps forward, standing by the prisoner as the bosun's mate sawed at the ropes holding her still.
"I will expect you to report to my office tomorrow morning, at eight o'clock sharp. Then we will put you to work."

He held her gaze for a moment, then he turned to address the crowd.
"Punishment detail dismissed."


Offline Kreed

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Even as she was cut from her web and stumbled down to the deck on trembling legs, Akuma resumed a posture that exuded pride and cold acceptance of her punishment. She hoisted up her breeches in a single movement and hissed quietly as the fabric scraped over the open, bleeding strikes which radiated a great, hot pain from her buttocks. Her gaze turned upon the Captain once more, eyes blazing and lips trembling with a turbulent concoction of fear, rage, and shame. Yet, her voice came clear, soft, and remarkably level.

"You presume I will survive the night in the cabins with your men after that display."

It was this that had been her true fear. She cared not about the pain; whether it was on her back or her behind was inconsequential in her mind, had it been solely the sensation. Nay, it was the aftermath - the threat she faced sleeping on her belly, back to a group of men which had not only decided she was their enemy, but now perhaps their prey.


Offline Jabbathejack

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Beckett turned back to the newest member of his crew, watching as she covered herself. He could see her rage, but it was not something that was unexpected. It seemed that the punishment had had the desired effect; hopefully, she would take lengths in order to avoid it happening again.

"I know you will." He replied immediately, with the absolute conviction of a man who both knew and trusted his crew; she was the only one amongst them that he was not sure of.

"It will not be easy for you, but you will not be harmed. If you wish to avoid that happening again, then I suggest that you follow your orders and work hard. We will be free of each other in no time."

That was the hope, at least.