Work Text:
Somewhere on the high seas in the 1730's
Chief knuckles are white as she grabs onto the ship's railing. She can feel the ship tilt ever so slightly with the waves; the steady thump as the water hits the hull. She can feel herself heave over the edge and hear the splat as it connects with the water.
Chief doesn't know why she was chosen. She is the last person that should be out here in the water. Her legs definitely prefer the solid ground in comparison to the death vehicle she is currently on. But a job is a job. Catching the feared pirate captain would certainly prove to her superiors that she is worth keeping around.
A sudden wave crashes high on the ship and soaks the hands gripping the railing. A promotion they said this was.
This is not a promotion.
This is a floating coffin. Surely they meant a premonition. A premonition of death. An albatross squeaks overhead and it's droppings nearly hit her hands.
Not a premonition, rather a bright red flag flying overhead on a vessel destined for death. Back to her cabin she goes. Not like this crew needs her anyways. They work just fine without her. Chief peels herself away from the railing and carefully crosses the rocking deck. Every step demands her full attention, lest she trip and fall.
Several of her sailors pause to watch as she passes. She recognizes them by name. The short, curly, blue haired woman is Eureka, their repair woman. The stern eyed woman whose uniform is always polished is Matilda, their cannoneer expert. She knew her whole crew and yet none of that matters if she can't stand on a moving ship.
Their conversation halts as she walks by, none of them meeting her eyes. No one wants to point out the obvious.
She is not fit as a captain.
By the time she reaches the captain's cabin, sweat soaks her outfit. Chief shuts the door behind her and collapses face-first onto the bed. Time ticks by as she waits for the room to stop spinning. They need to make something that fixes this sea sickness.
She stumbles around her quarters, the swaying of the ship not helping her balance at all. Tripping over her own feet, she sits down in the chair to her desk. The wooden table is covered in maps, requests, and information from Her Royal Majesty. Chief had been going through every scrap of information available to her.
She was sent out (along with half the Royal Navy) to catch the infamous pirate Zoya. Her attacks against the shores of the British Empire have left noble coffers empty. The aristocratic members of society have been more than unhappy at this 'Robin Hood' popping up.
The wooden seat groans beneath her as if mimicking her own exasperation. There hasn't been any sighting of those purple colored fabrics of that notorious ship, The Legion. Chief stares at the map in front of her. She can't see any pattern in the recent attacks. Maybe she could have if she isn't aboard floating wood.
Knock.
Knock.
The quick knocks at the door snap her attention away from the parchment in front of her. The sudden motion of her head turning only amplified the nausea.
"Come in," Chief says, her voice strained.
The door swings open to her second in command, Lysandra. Former treasure hunter turned Navy sailor when Her Royal Majesty gave her an ultimatum: prison for life for robbing Royal coffers or serve in her Royal Navy.
Lysandra shifts back and forth on her feet.
"There is talk among the crew about you Chief."
"There always is chatter."
"They speak of your incompetence…"
"They're not exactly wro—"
"…and of mutiny."
Chief stands up and trips over herself. Mutiny? Sure she is a incompetent Captain that doesn't have her sea legs, but she can't be that bad. The sick feeling only amplifies when she stands up to face her second in command. She takes a deep breath to steady herself.
"I will…plan a speech or something. Extra big rations tonight then."
It is a poor plan. She knows it. Lysandra knows it.
Lysandra sighs, "Aye aye, Captain."
She turns around and walks out of Chief's quarters. The second the door clicks shut she all but collapses on the bed. She needs a nap. Her world is spinning and she can't think straight.
Heat.
That is the first thing she notices. Not the usual cold air of an open sea night, but suffocating warmth. The smell of wood burning like back at home fills her nose.
Smoke.
Chief's eyes snap open.
A dark haze drifts across the ceiling. Somewhere below, someone screams. It's Eureka, Chief thinks.
The crash that followed shook the entire cabin. She was moving before she is awake. Her crew is in danger. As much of a poor Captain she is, she isn't going to let her crew fall for her mistakes.
The door bursts open in front of her. There is nothing but chaos.
Sailors rush across the deck through clouds of smoke. Cannon fire thunders somewhere beyond the hull. Steel rang against steel. Flames climb the rigging, throwing long orange shadows across the deck.
As she tumbles down the stairs she can see another ship that has run into her own. Royal colors meet her eyes. So why is there so much chaos? Then she sees the uniforms. A silver wolf embroidered on stolen purple fabric. This is no Royal vessel, she has been tricked.
The clang of swords drew her back. Chief reaches instinctively for the saber at her hip. She grips air. Looking behind her she can faintly make out the glint of steel besides her bed.
There isn't time to go back. She watches as Matilda falls near by, her grip loosening on her sword and it skitters across the deck. Chief quickly closes the distance and grabs the cutlass. She positions herself in front of Matilda. The unfamiliar weight in her hands means she isn't able to maneuver it as quickly as she needs to.
A sting of pain blooms across her shoulder and she can feel liquid run down her arm. She brings the sword in front of her, parrying killing blow. A shot rings out as Chief can feel the musket shot whizz past her. It misses her opponent but hits the fraying rope than causes the mast to crash down, the dark figure vanishing behind the mast. The crashing of wood causes a loud ringing to fill her ears.
The mast blocks Chief's view of the enemy ship and the fire begins to spread across the large lumber pole. She turns to check on Matilda, claw marks decorating her uniform and blood oozing out of the wounds. The musket in Matilda's hands drops as Chief tends to her wounds.
Matilda looks behind Chief and being to mouth something. The warning comes too late however, as a kick sends her flying. A sickening thud rings out as she hits the deck hard. Her vision wavers from the heat and she blacks out.
She gasps for air as she pries her eyes open. How long has she been out? Chief immediately scrambles for her weapon, but only finds herself tied by rope. Her ship is burning around her. The crew she had been entrusted with nowhere in sight.
A clawed hand grabs her hair and painfully causes her to look up at the person in front of her. A second hand wraps around her throat, the thumb piercing her chin painfully.
Her burning ship deck illuminates the tall woman's figure. Wearing dark leather and highlighted with stolen purple fabric, a white haired woman with blue eyes stare down at her. The tattoos that peek under the torn jacket as well as the various scared hands are a dead give away.
"Didn't know they had cute Captains in the Navy, or are those Royal bastards running out of options?"
She might not have seen her in person, but her appearance matched perfectly with the numerous eye witness and wanted posters.
Zoya or better known as the Syndican Scourge.
And damn, was she hotter scarier than Chief could have imagined. Chief has failed. Her crew is either dead or a prisoner. If she were to return to her Royal Majesty, she would certainly be punished. Something far worse than death. Maybe she can bargin for her crew's freedom. At least then they could live. She might as well make a 'cannon' shot with Zoya. The 'Syndican Scourge' seems enamored with her anyways.
"Both, but they didn't tell me that the Scourge herself has good tastes."
Laughter bellows out from the woman. Her deep husky voice makes Chief shiver. The grip on her throat loosens. This is good progress.
"With an attitude as well, are you sure you're not a gift for me?"
The smirk on Zoya's face becomes even more prominent. Chief has to be imagining the glint of teasing appearing in Zoya's blue eyes.
"Say then, Captain, why don't you jump ship and join my crew," Zoya says her voice low, "I guarantee we have more benefits."
Chief has this negotiation tied down now, "Only if my crew goes free."
Zoya pauses. Chief looks Zoya in the eyes, an emotion of mutual understanding entering Zoya's features. "We have a deal then. Welcome aboard my ship, Chief."