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Jacqueline lets out a grunt as she fits herself into her binder. The tight material doing it's job, but never quite pleasant to initially put on.
"If it is not comfortable to you, why do you wear it?" Her first mate, Subodai asks from the doorway. "Pardon my intrusion."
Jackie isn't surprised by the interruption. She knows that she was already running late from her usual schedule and that the horse was probably just checking on her. She rolls her shoulders as she gets acclimated to the pressure, already moving on to putting on the undershirt of her attire for the day.
"It's not uncomfortable, it's just the initial putting it on." She hums over to him. "The same as your armor, you wear it often but I know for a fact it is not always comfortable."
"My armor is protection." Subodai responds, furrowing his brows as he tries to understand the compression shirt is comparable to armor.
They go silent as they pause the routine of getting dressed. "And so is this." She can hear the others' confusion in the silence and they elaborate.
"The spiral is not always kind to captains who aren't men. Having a bust only makes me a target to some." They let out a slightly bitter huff.
Her first mate gives a snort. "Tch. Anyone who discriminates upon such menial things has no honor."
"There's no honor among thieves." Jackie retorts instantly, the poison in her tone audible. She lets out a sigh and finishes buttoning up their shirt.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that, Subodai... I appreciate your concern." She speaks in a measured manner, keeping her tone calm and words thought about.
There's a moment of silence before Subodai speaks again. "If there is no such honor among thieves, then I will kill any who have dishonored you, Captain."
Jackie goes quiet for a moment before laughing, unable to help it. She shakes her head and pulls on their captain's coat. "This is why you're my first mate, Subodai. You'll be the first to know, I promise."
The horse gives a slight bow in thanks, and while she is not looking she knows that is what he does. That armor is audible enough on its own anyways.
"We'll be setting sail soon. Go ahead and get the crew ready, and point us towards Monquista. I hear they are throwing a lovely coronation for the new monarch for the week." The commands leave her lips easily, and Jackie shoos her first mate away who gladly gallops off to do so.
She finally turns, shutting the doors behind him and lets the façade drop for a moment. They rest their head on the cool wood of the doors as a woeful sigh escapes, eyes closing for a brief moment of solitude.
Parties were different. With parties, they were making a statement of showing up. A matter of control. She was the one making the choice to wear fancy clothes or reveal any form of skin. She was the one to invite herself to a party, not the host. Pirating was so much more different than a party. Far less was in her control, and at least a binder provided some form of security; some form of control. She could control how she looked, and that was as far as she could really count on. The winds, the strategies, all of it was constantly changing at the whims of others or of no one at all.
They fold their arms over their flattened chest and shudder as the feeling of uninvited hands caress up her sides, drifting in front of her... She shakes her head and fights the memory away as their nails dig into the soft palms of her hands. The stinging of the pressure brings Jackie back to her cabin. HER cabin. Not the poorly lit corner of a tavern. She stands up, hardly aware that she had changed positions. No longer was she resting her forehead on the door, but she had crumpled to the floor with her back against the sturdy oak. Cautiously, she stands and narrows their eyes as they look around their room. She had to focus if she wanted to remain in control. She wipes her palms off on her coat to dust away not only the aching from her nails digging into them earlier, but to metaphorically sweep the thoughts away. She had to get ready for the day, and she had yet to even put on her multitudes of rings. Finally, she pulls their hair up in a tight ponytail, letting it tug at her scalp to a near headache inducing tautness.
No, she was in control, and she was going to keep it that way. The final ring slips onto her fingers and she turns with a flourish to exit the cabin and head up to the wheel of the ship. She stands straighter, slightly heeled boots clicking on the wooden floors of the ship as she strides across it. The past was dead, and she wasn't going to revive it.