The High Seas (Safehold and Lemon)

[Safehold]

Captain Nathan Moore folded the fine dress gloves he was wearing over one another as he leaned back in his chair with a pensive expression. The ticking of the grandfather clock was the perfect complement to the constant, soothing roar of the sea as his ship, the U.S.S. Endeavor, rocked back and forth through the water, advancing under minimal sail. He’d just enjoyed a fine meal of tender venison, such that he had come to expect from the flagship’s talented cooks.

It was a tradition that before combat action that a ship’s crew receive a special meal of hot, filling food so that they could focus on fighting and die with at least that much fulfillment. The commanding officer was certainly no exception to the rule and the special attention shown to him caused him to form an appreciative smile. He had the utmost respect for his men as with his duty.

Few things mattered to him more; he’d never been one for relationships, as the involved women could never hope to accompany him in his voyages upon his true mistress, the sea. He had money, but not overmuch, though he expected that when he inevitably retired opportunity to make some might present itself. At this moment more weighty considerations weighed upon his mind as he gently patted his lips with a kerchief.

“Mr. Wallace, I believe that it is time,” he declared, summoning his personal assistant from beyond the finely crafted door way. The seaman who had been positioned at the ready outside opened the door to his captain, and nodded to confirm the order. He turned to the outside, shouting up the various passageways to the combat deck.

“We shall be to quarters!”

The cadence drum began immediately amidst a shrill bosun’s pipe as all hell broke loose. Almost immediately, the wall separating the cabin from the rest of the ship was pulled down, revealing an open interior that was designed for maximum strength and integrity and could not tolerate interior partitions that had the potential to splinter and catch fire independent from the rest of the ship.

Men hurried about in an organized chaos, carrying supplies ranging from packs of food to bags of powder to the associated cannonballs that served as Endeavor’s primary armament. Guns were rung out, loose objects were secured, the decks of the ship were covered in sand to absorb any blood and improve traction. In a matter of less than five minutes Endeavor transitioned from a peaceful, highly decorated and exquisitely maintained galleon to an armed-to-the-teeth man o’war.

Captain Moore proceeded to the combat deck, and took the spyglass offered by one of the ship’s boys, whose sole purpose in life or existence as eventual officers-in-training was to wait on his every requirement while they watched and learned. Spotting his target with a trained eye, Moore raised the glass. He grinned as he realized that the “merchant” schooner Endeavor had been following had chosen to show her true colors.

The black skull and crossed swords fluttered in his view… and Moore chuckled. Fools.

 

[Lemon]

The wind was refreshing, as was the tart, pure wine that currently flowed down the delicate streamline of her throat. It was a moment that she lived for, feeling her young, knowledgeable bones quake with relaxation. While, one could never be truly at ease whilst traversing across the rebellious waters of the ocean, Captain Rosaline of the Inquisition could certainly savor this fleeting instant. It was perfect, and despite the rustling, and callings of her crew behind her, she happily relished in the sweet, sweet aroma of success.

They had recently bartered, by violent means, a nearby trade-ship. The stock down below had served more than they could possibly had hoped for. It glistened with a plentiful supply of food, ammo and other goods that they could do with. Survival was key, and as they had suffered from shortages plenty of times, they were certainly far from that point at the moment. Their stomachs were full of a hearty, homemade stew, and their pallets were quenched with a divine assortment of liquor. A brief celebration had been called for, despite the fact that they were littered with filth and blood. The men saw nothing wrong with the added attire, but Rosaline, she kept herself in pristine shape.

Any man to serve beneath a woman was deemed to be out of their right mind. Yet, if one was smart, they certainly wouldn't judge her by appearance. She had been trained by the sorely best, and as her father's resentment for receiving a young girl, instead of a lad, often made show, he hadn't shunned her. His criticism had strengthened the bonds of her love for the sea, and made her quite the captivating leader.

Long, flowing auburn hair blew about in a reign of confidence, tickling at the delicate features of the woman's face. She was beautiful. Not hardened, and weathered by the rough environment around her. Oh, no. She was soft, supple, and honorably desired by many men, and a few women. Rosaline used her beauty as an advantage, given that it had often produced, a means of empowerment. Not only was she a cold, direct killer, but charmingly seducing. She could smile the buckle off of a man's trousers with little trouble, and manage to ease him of his pocket change, too.

"Oui! Cap'n, we got some company!"

The call was one she yearned not to hear, and slowly, she turned about, swiveling on the heels of her boots. Over yonder, she could see a ship nearing them, and without having to give a guess, she let her plump, reddened lips curl into a sweet, expecting smile. "Seems we do have company, Barles. I do say, get her ready for combat. We'll need all the hands we can get," she murmured, and soon enough, the stoic, pudgy man was shouting off commands, leaving the woman to size up her opponent. How long had they been following? That was quite the curious case, and feeling a bit cheated, she tossed away her flask of wine, and made her way to her quarters. She needed to suit up, and now.

 

[Safehold]

Old Glory, resplendent here as a massive battle ensign, flew from the mainmast in the increased wind, a perfect blessing. Moore’s trap was sprung. This pirate was in for the long-drop, there was no doubt about that now, lest in that schooner the bastard had managed to squirrel away about thirty more cannon than he was obviously capable of hosting. Running wasn’t an option either. Endeavor was herself a fast corvette, and she’d have no problem making an intercept here. He guessed the pirate to be headed at a speed of about 15 knots, and with this wind he was going to pull 18, maybe even 20. He smiled as the cannon on the port side was run out in preparation for the fight. Gun captains barked orders at their well-trained crew and, with a signal relayed up from below, the ship was ready for combat.

A few moments passed as Moore considered what this latest catch would mean. The third “pirate” on this tour, he’d made the mistake of fighting. All that would do was kill some of his men with gunpowder and splinters, instead of a few days of decent meals before the inevitable appointment with the rope. Moore wondered what the captain was thinking. Surely he did not think he could actually win. But the black skull and crossbones banner flying proudly from the yardarm showed that maybe he did. Foolish. Perhaps, somehow, he did not realize he was up against a warship of the United States Navy? Or had not realized it until it was too late, and simply resolved to go down fighting? Moore neither knew or, really, cared. Once battle was joined, reason, and all real plans, went out the bilge.

“At the ready, boys! Stand fast!” He peered through the spyglass. As expected, the pirate was not unarmed. While some true amateurs of the Caribbean plied their trade with sword alone, and sometimes that was good enough for the average unarmed merchantman, the more successful of the buccaneering business made sure that all but a full-on-warship could be subdued, because the most valuable cargoes were often protected by a fair bit of gun. Well, my fine piratical friend, Moore thought, grinning as he peered over her fairly heavily-gunned main deck, noting about twelve sizable cannon that would probably mean this fight wouldn’t be settled immediately, now you are up against a full-on warship. You are up against Endeavor, and if you know what’s good for, that black flag is going to get hauled down faster than you and your friends will, God willing, drop when the hangman pulls the lever.

It was then that Moore felt his stomach turn. Not over the now-visible amount of blood that was present on the pirate’s decks, or over the clear not-inconsiderable armament he possessed, but over the presence of one person. A woman. He could see her now, as prepared for battle as any of her comrades, but with her sex as clear as the black flag fluttering in the wind. This was problematic. He lowered the glass and adopted a pensive naked-eye gaze. There were all kinds of new considerations now. While she would surely hang like the rest, if inevitable events came to pass, Moore fully intended to transport his prisoners in humane condition to the rope. Rape was now a threat, on the part of his men and this woman. He would have to account for that… in addition to guilt over potentially killing her.

Silly girl. Damned pirates. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

 

[Lemon]

"She's lookin' like a bit o' a problem, Cap'n. That's one big vessel..."

While Barles was merely speaking the truth, Rosaline didn't much approve of his doubt. Certainly they had fought plenty of well-sized, and readied ships. They had often trudged away by the skin of their teeth, but never, had she met her match. This was impressive, given that most men were often thrown for a loop after years of sea work. This woman, however, had sailed the seven seas with utmost importance, for nearly twenty six years. Her father had met his demise on land, and thus forced her, to take the wheel. At the young age of sixteen, she was surrounded by men who could have willingly overpowered her. Yet, out of respect for their late Captain, and belief in his teachings, they allowed for the youngling to make her stand.

"Though she is large...and most certainly holds an impressive amount of gander, she can very well fail at holding her load. Our lovely Inquisition is very wise, and we know her movements like a lover. I dare say your negativity is putting the others on edge," she quipped, folding sinewy arms across her plump chest. She stood, about a foot shorter than Barles, looking every bit the proper lady. However, her garbs were anything but lacy.

She wore a flowing, loose tunic. The neckline, plunging down towards the valley of her breasts. Fitted, sinfully tight black trousers covered her lower half, which was decorated in a leather holster, sheath and clumsy belt. Boots, which rose up to her knees and above, were glistening, not with oil, but rather, a sticky essence of life. She hadn't bothered in cleaning off the leather just yet, and found no point in doing it presently, given their current situation. She would deal with the mess along her deck, as it comforted them all, in knowing that they were very much able to shed blood.

"Do we have the canons ready, the masts high, the guns loaded and our dicks in place, boys," she crooned, giggling as the gruff crew gave her a joyous rumble in response. Yes. Let the glorious legion of Naval Officers flood her cabin and take her down. If anything, this death will be one well fought for. They certainly weren't going to be brought down as easily as the vessel before them, would hope so. They were pirates. Ruthless, greedy bastards who thrived on the torture and misfortune of others. They were intelligent, fearsome, and played the game with the instincts of a true fighter. Rosaline, however, wondered what the Captain over yonder, would think, when faced with her wrath.

Perhaps he would lose his footing like most.

"Turn her around, gentleman, we must face our offenders with pride and glory. They're obviously determined in taking us for a run, so, let us give them a dance they will never forget," she exclaimed, and soon enough, the creaking of masts resounded, cries were heard, and she began to meet the progressing enemy with confidence.

 

[Safehold]

She’s mad.

Moore didn’t quite know whether he was thinking of the pirate ship as a she because that was the traditional means of referring to vessels, or if it was because of the clearly attractive, buxom woman who appeared to be in command over there. At this particular moment, he didn’t really care. Battle was joined, and it would only come sooner versus later as the pirate schooner spun around in his direction and bared her fangs. He looked through the glass one final time at the female captain.

She really was a sight to behold, and clearly she had zero compunction about hiding her qualities beneath anything so modest as proper clothing. Moore supposed that made sense, considering the harsh realities of sea life, but the degree to which this hen was showing her feathers was practically embarrassing. Would be shameful, if there weren’t matters of far greater import afoot.

“Right lads, she’s coming down our throat! Make ready the jaws!” He roared, and his men returned the call with a furious battle cry as they manned guns and prepared their personal weapons for the inevitable boarding action. The pirate schooner kept on coming, and he glanced at his stopwatch. Wait for it… wait for it… now. “Port broadside, fire as you bear!” Twenty five thundering war guns unleashed their fury almost as one in the direction of the pirate.

 

[Lemon]

She could easily detect him from afar, and while she would have preferred to have gotten a better, closer look at her admirer, Rosaline didn't quite care for fetching her scope. No, it wouldn't make a difference. She could only assume that one way or another, they would come face to face. This little bit made her smile - those sparkling, pearly whites glistening with a brief bout of excitement. She always had enjoyed close combat, especially when her opponent was one of standing. They often underestimated her, and while they all had good reason to, Rosaline made certain of making them eat their words.

A pucker of the lips, and she raised a hand, signaling for Barles to continue on with his commands. They would allow for the first fire to ascend, while they made great distance. They would board, and they would surely lose men. Yet, it would be foolish to stay a good distance, and constantly be maimed with canon after canon.

They were well equipped with their own firepower, yet, they weren't foolish enough to believe that they could bring the opposing warfare down, with just that. They needed to take action, and now. Her body slithered across the deck with ease, and hearing the oncoming guns, the splintering of wood, the groans of a few hit with debris, she unsheathed her sword, gripping the ivory clad handle with remembrance. It had belonged to her father, and she wielded it with much pride. Her pistols, were a last resort. Rosaline's true power and triumphant lay within her gracious gift of sword fighting.

"C'mon boys, give her a taste of her own elixir!! Get those ropes ready and keep the pace up!" They gave off their first round, and while the winds were picking up, and the bodies of their wooden ladies were nearly touching, Rosaline kept at her station, watching, and waiting.

 

[Safehold]

Moore quickly realized the woman’s plan, and took a bit of time to admire her gall while he still had the opportunity. True, it was her only chance, else the broadside would annihilate her, a fact made clear as the deck beneath his feet rumbled as another round of cannon unleashed its fury into the pirate. But to attempt a boarding action, outnumbered and likely out-matched man for man, against a warship?!? She was the boldest, craziest pirate he’d ever thought could possibly live. Much as his ideology told him that was impossible, for she was a woman, his instinct rebutted with the fact that crossing swords with a skilled and bold fighter was a matter irrelevant to plumbing. And with even forces, he definitely would not want to cross swords with this Amazon of the sea. Thankfully, the combat situation was far from even.

“All hands, repel boarders!” He gestured to the uniformed rifle armed men that stood at the ready on the gun deck. “Marines, with me!” He drew his prized golden-hilt sabre and took the lead towards the encroaching marauders as they swung across.

 

[Lemon]

A small giggle, and she finally made her way down towards her men, watching keenly, as they prepared for boarding. Already, within dirty hands, they began to light up an array of empty bottles, which stung the eyes, as alcohol violently sloshed within. Hanging from the openings, were rope, moist and ready to be touched by the burning, flickering caress of a flame. Certainly, jumping upon the deck of this ship was suicide. Thus, they needed a distraction. Molotov's were a prime tool, and as Rosaline had always been a fan of the unexpected, she nodded her head, and gave the go.

Arms leered, the bottles were ignited, tossed with much power, and soon enough, the deck of her enemy blared up in anger. The men aboard, were surely thrown for a loop, and quickly, as Barles exclaimed, her men began to fling themselves overboard, just as they had their makeshift bombs of illumination. Swords met flesh, metal and wood. The array of anger that blossomed between the opposing forces, was beautiful. If anything, impressive.

The young woman smirked, and soon, stepped up onto the railing of her beloved vessel. Immediately, she narrowed in on her pick of the evening. The one who had so brazenly watched her from afar. Well, certainly a proper introduction was called for. She hopped over with grace, and immediately, drew her sword into the chest of a rushing man. He was kicked away, forced off of her blade, and she stepped upon him with little to no dismay. Using him as a plank, flames licking in random locations about her, she began to close the distance, licking her lips with anticipation.

 

[Safehold]

As the pirates came, Moore grinned with anticipation. A proper boarding action was one of the Navy’s prime recruitment tools. Swashbuckling and swordfighting were the big myths about sea life. It managed to get a few silly-stupid lads to sign on only to find that their lot in life mostly consisted of cleaning a ship and performing one of the hundreds of other tasks that were required for basic navigation. For once, though, the stories that were posted in churches and told in taverns with much slathering of hype and exaggeration were no myth. The melee was joined, and it was fierce. More violent than Moore had ever before witnessed, and he was an accomplished warship commander. Crewmen, Marines, and Pirates churned each other to bloody messes after the initial wave of crafty and highly destructive firebombs struck his line. For a while, Moore stared on, wandering if the contest was in doubt. But his mind re-focused as he sensed her coming. The Amazon.

Only a trained swordsman such as he could recognize an opponents’ bead in this manner and he adopted his guard. Yes, any moment now. One of his Marines thrust a bayonet into the woman’s sole companion as she advanced with rapid speed, before he in turn was cut down by the fierce piratess. Moore himself only had enough time to bring up his own blade to deflect her incredibly fast slash at his chest as men on both sides continued to die around them. Moore thought maybe he could see the tide begin to turn in his men's favor as Marines to his left fired a devastating volley into the second rank of pirates, but he couldn't really tell. He had other things to focus on right now.

No initial words were exchanged as their swords repeatedly clanged off one another. He managed to get through her guard and strike her on the head with his pommel, trying to knock her out, but he groaned as her blade sliced through his tunic and sliced a shallow cut down his chest in turn, a strike followed up by her own beat onto his head. He found himself on the ground just as his men definitively, slowly, began to gain the upper hand.

 

[Lemon]

It was exhilarating. The pain which flooded her head was welcomed, and while she blinked away the trickle of blood which stained her sun kissed flesh, dribbling down across the delicately chiseled features of her face, she remained in her posture. She fought, with the intensity of any man on this deck, if not more. Her limbs, though considerably smaller, were wielding with ease. Her speed was her advantage, as was the knowledge of her opponent's next move. She anticipated it all, her father's strict and vicious treatment shining through her feminine exterior.

Soon enough, he was on the ground, and while she was worried for the safety of her men, and the ability to fight against this monsoon of Officers, she did not once, look away from the man sprawled on the wood before her. Sand crunched beneath her boots as she walked to him, quick to pounce, and send the tip of her blade into the palm of his hand. This, served to distract him, and as she struggled atop of his muscled frame, she excelled at disarming him. Easily, would she be able to reach for her pistol and put a bullet between his eyes, yet, she yearned to give this man an honorable death.

It was of no use, and just as his blade was nearly eased from his grasp, she found herself on her back, panting hard, and struggling for power. Pain riddled her side, and it was then, she realized she had been struck by something. Her ribs ached, and blood, quickly sullied her white tunic, staining the opaque material a vibrant red. Wild, crystalline eyes of blue looked up and she gazed towards him, curious as to what he was planning.

 

[Safehold]

Nathan groaned in agony as the tip of her sword sliced into his palm, and his eyes grew wide as he realized that he was probably done for. Well, there is no better than a death such as this, at the hands of someone so skilled, he reflected. It was a shame that they found themselves in these circumstances. Someone with such natural ability deserved to live and be put to a higher purpose. But today both of them would die. She would kill him and once the battle had been won by his superior numbers and better organization, she would be surely be killed for the act and then they’d probably hang her body for posterity. He closed his eyes just as he sensed that she was about to deliver the death blow… thinking of the sea, his first and only true love.

Crack.

A Marine fired his rifle just as the woman was about to bring her sword down onto the Captain, and the effect was immediate. Though the bullet had grazed her side, it still tore open her toned abdomen’s flesh, and the young lad had just enough time to privately celebrate his saving the Captain’s life before he himself was cut down by a pirate who had been thought eliminated but had lain doggo to strike at whatever he could before his ultimate death. The fierce battle continued amidst a total bloodbath… dozens of Crew, Pirates, and Marines lay dead all around the scene. A handful of pirates were standing but a final charge from below decks produced their inevitable end. The two ships, between them now having less than a dozen individuals aboard, floated aimlessly. The pirate ship had begun a dangerous list, the legacy of the grave damage which the cannon had inflicted upon it prior to the boarding action. Moore opened his eyes and looked around, and realized the situation.

Just as he had been knocked to his feet with crippling wounds, so had the Amazon, and now they were amidst the closest thing to a draw that a boarding action might possibly be. He looked to her bloodied but mostly intact form, and despite everything, smiled. Can’t do anything else, he realized.

 

[Lemon]

The world was quickly becoming diminished around her, and as she lay there, gazing up towards her foe, she couldn't quite think of anywhere else she would like to be. She had fought to her death, and while her injury was far from fatal, it certainly crippled her to the degree of immobility. Frustrated, she groaned, feeling her lungs clench up painfully, with each breath. Blood continued to be pumped in and out of her prone chest, and she cursed the bastard who had shot her.

More specifically, she cursed the one above her.

Rosaline listened to the dying sounds of the men around her, and while there were still some alive, more than not, all of her crew lay abandoned and cold. They had given it their all, and were merely outnumbered. There was nothing more they could have done. They did not die in vain, but rather, they had passed as warriors of their own kind.

Shaded, she squinted towards the weighted body which kept her pinned, and frankly, was wonderfully surprised to see him smiling. This made her laugh, and quickly, curse out as pain flitted up her side. "I have to say," she began, her voice husked, "You have a wonderful smile." One to compliment? Why, yes, she was. Rosaline spoke her mind, despite everything. Perhaps that was the reason for her being admired, and hated.

 

[Safehold]

“What else am I going to do?” Moore asked, glancing once at the sword which was too far away from him to grasp, and realizing that he was too tired, too wounded in every way to retrieve it. “Not die, it seems, like so many others…” he looked around the scene. “At least not right now. So, I smile. A few moments of life even here is still life, and I may as well enjoy it. But…” he closed his eyes as they rolled skyward, “thank you… for the compliment.” He laid his head back on the decking. “I’ll take it as a reason to call a truce. No more killing today. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not today. If any more die…” he couldn’t tell how many remained alive, but there was no way that there was enough crew to sufficiently man one ship, never mind two. “None of us will survive.” Despite everything, he managed to waddle his prone body over towards her, and extended his hand. “So Truce. Okay.” He groaned with pain as the wrong spot of a wound rested on the decking.

 

[Lemon]

"Understandable," she quipped, wanting nothing more than to lodge the bullet out of her side, patch it up, and go to sleep. It was exhausting, truly. The effort put into war was the longest, most toiling bout of exercise she knew. Rosaline was far from defeated, and even as she was given the invitation to draw a truce, a part of her flinched away at the thought. She was in no shape to continue on, neither of them were. They had finally met the end of their demise, and, smart enough to know that his kindness was not in vain, she reached out. Her hand slipped into his own, and firmly, she shook upon their agreement.

"Alright...but, I'm curious to know," she began, a slender brow arching. "What in the world do you plan on doing with me? Am I to be maimed? Hung in front of cheering onlookers?" Rosaline could only hope that her death would come swiftly, even now, as she was still aching horribly.

 

[Safehold]

“Maybe someday. I will go out on a limb and imagine some of the blood on your clothes isn’t from this fight.” He released her hand and relaxed on the decking. “For now though, none of us will get to see what happens to you without… cooperation.” He sighed. He really wasn’t about to suggest this. It was inconceivable. Him? Work with a pirate? A sure murderess, brigand of the sea, the kind of person he had signed up to fight? They’d take his command if they ever found out… and maybe, just maybe, a voice in the back of his head said, that was kind of the point. Perhaps in this grave fire of battle, which had massacred dozens of fighting men like so much cattle at the slaughter, a new page in the book of his life was being turned. He didn’t want to think about that. But he looked around again, and there was only a handful of his men remaining. All were wounded in some fashion, all completely unable to fight. He had no way to compel her cooperation, not that he could take such a stain on his honor in the first place. He grunted to himself. Honor. What meaning had honor, anyway, in this place?

He looked to the Amazon once more and nodded. Perhaps it had enough. He groaned out loud as he rose from his prone position, but his legs, despite fatigue, despite all the wounds, despite the mental scars this terrible gauntlet would leave forever upon his mind, he was able to rise. He grit his teeth together, both in effort and residual shame for what he was now about, as he offered his hand to her. “Come on.” It was then that he felt, however slight it was, a pang of attraction to her. She was seemingly helpless, though part of his instinct told him that it was folly to assume that. The fascination he’d had with her appearance and her style prior to the battle returned, just then, as he looked upon her clothes that were covered with the essence that (mostly) had belonged to others. Her supple chest rose and fell as she looked back to him, the loose stained tunic still leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes, even now, were rather entrancing. Her powerful toned legs were splayed out on the deck, and he wondered what it would feel like to have them…

Madness. All madness. This is a complete disaster, and you’re thinking about sex. He was perturbed, but it returned. So what? He shook it off and reached out to her.

 

[Lemon]

"Cooperation isn't my forte," she muttered truthfully, feeling a bit weary of his actions. What in the world was this man doing? Surely, he couldn't be serious. He wanted to work with her? On what terms, Rosaline didn't know, but, her interest was shamelessly piqued, despite her natural paranoia coming in to play. They were both tired, and the thought of leaving this battle behind her, was welcomed. Her beloved ship had met her end, as well as her crew. It was depressing, but, such was the life of a renowned pirate. At least oxygen still filled her lungs, and she was spared from the depths of death. Rosaline wondered if there were any others, who continued to clasp upon the last strings of life. If there were, she wouldn't know it. Her attention remained perpetually on the one beginning to rise beside her.

Ughs, she wished not to move. Yet, the sand was sticking to her blood stained form, her wound was growing irritated, and the hardened wood of the deck was anything but comfortable. Thus, after she managed to give him a quick inspection, her arm lifted, and her hand, shaking, grasped his own.

His eyes were practically burning holes into her flesh, just as the bullet still lodged in her side, had done. Flattery was a playing emotion, but Rosaline was amused, more than anything else. He seemed to be a bit ashamed of his attraction towards her, as if he was participating in an inner tussle. Truly, was it so bad? Even if they were from different ends of the spectrum, certainly, they could appreciate an attractive person without much fault.

Groaning, she got to her feet then, her knees weak and her side throbbing irately. "By gods, this hurts like a mother fucker," she spat, gripping at her side. "You need to tell me how deep it is," Rosaline suddenly urged, turning a little, and lifting up her tunic. "Hopefully the bullet isn't between my ribs...now, how much damage has been done," she questioned, blinking somewhat innocently towards him. It was revealed then, that she was far from the assumed image of a woman who lived on the sea. Her skin was soft, without blemish, and supple to the senses. Curves, feminine and pronounced, were shamelessly revealed in her exposure.

 

[Safehold]

Nathan realized that the woman’s actions could not have been incidental, in revealing herself to such an extent only to prompt examination of a wound. Had she no shame? Apparently, the answer to that question was no. And, strangely, in a way that Nathan did not want to begin to try to understand for fear of where such thoughts may lead him, he did not mind the fact. In fact, he realized as his eyes traced up and down her luscious curves, he appreciated it. Perhaps it was because she had proven herself to be his equal as well as his complete opposite in the realm that he had thought he knew better than any man. Perhaps he still did, if he could say that he knew it better than any man. He didn’t know, and at this moment, didn’t rightly care. He advanced almost automatically to her to “inspect the wound.” He came to his knees to look upon the bruised, but mostly intact, tissue. He decided he had best serve the purpose to which he had been directed. It would be most embarrassing for his uncontrolled feelings and desires to be called out or otherwise noted even in these desperate circumstances, though the irrational side of Nathan’s mind truly didn’t give a damn.

“Ah, it is a minor flesh wound,” he said, pressing his finger to the soft skin around the cut of where the bullet had passed cleanly through. “You will heal quickly.”

 

[Lemon]

Of course, she was shameless. There was no reason for her to lay dormant, and remain covered by the heady layers of clothes that most women wore in these days. The weather wouldn't agree to that, and would serve as a nasty cause of heatstroke. Along with the fact that she needed mobility to fight, and, perhaps Rosaline enjoyed the ability of dressing a bit scandalously. Her crew, naturally, never complained. It was obvious why this man would be startled, as he, was more than likely surrounded by women of utmost respect, those who became accustomed to chastity belts, and daily tea parties. She was anything but that, and while she allowed her body to be delightfully on display to the naked eye, her own personal endeavors for sleeping around, were few and far between. She had only bothered with two lovers in the past years, and planned to keep it that way. Picky, and far too busy at times to find something of her taste, she was able to hold a strange air of respect for herself, if one knew her.

Standing, she listened to his verdict, and was pleased to know that the bullet wasn't even lodged inside of her still. Good, that would serve to be far less messy. She sighed in brief relief, even if her movement was a sudden twitch, when his fingertip pressed against the soft skin around her wound. "It still hurts horribly," Rosaline quipped, "But...I'm curious, how's your hand? I hope that wasn't your primary..." And, if it was, good for her in guessing correctly. Their fight had been a brutal, tiring one, and even the most skilled fighter could lose all common sense, in the midst of battle.

 

[Safehold]

Nathan had probed the Amazon (he smirked as he realized he still did not know her name, or how to go about acquiring it) with his right hand as his left hand, the one he favored, had been pretty badly damaged by her sword piercing. It would heal, but it would take some time. “Well,” he answered at first with a little bit of hesitation, wondering as to the wisdom of divulging such details to someone who had been doing her utmost to kill him only a few moments before, “you did nick my sword hand pretty good. But I think it shall heal in time. I’ve got it bound up.” He touched the makeshift bandage that he had ripped from his bloodied and surely unsalvageable blue uniform tunic and winced as the spike of pain from the wound travelled up his arm. “I think we’re essentially both fine, I think we should probably see to the other survivors…” He turned away from her, his eyes departing from her appealing body for the first time since they had both fallen in combat. “I’m afraid that your ship isn’t going to make it…” he declared, looking over to the pirate schooner, which was beginning to sink after being holed by cannon below the water line. He shrugged. At least now she essentially did not have a choice but to work with him. He didn’t really know where that would lead but he could not contain his curiosity. He lowered his head as he thought on that. Was it curiosity, or fascination?

 

[Lemon]

Most could heal, but it certainly wasn't a welcomed process. Rosaline had had her fair share of injuries, and while this was merely one that would be more of an annoyance, than anything else, she couldn't quite help but despise the thought of being crippled to an extent, whilst in the 'care' of those she had dubbed to be foes for years. The captain managed to swallow down her pride, however, and take the situation for what it was. She was at an ultimate loss, and while she had suffered more than he, at least, her men had been able to strike quite the hole in his defenses.

Mention of her ship immediately drew her out of her thoughts, and instantly, she turned to look towards her ship. It was sinking. She felt a strange mixture of sadness and relief begin to envelope her young bones. Biting into her bottom lip, she wondered if her father would be proud, or disappointed. Perhaps both. Considering, she was freely standing beside the man who had forced her men to endure early deaths. That didn't matter now, did it? No, it didn't. She breathed in, the heavy scent of smoke and blood tinging the air around them. Stepping over a few bodies, she came to the railing, gripping it tightly. Within moments, her wooden lover would be under-siege by the unforgiving ocean. It had her frowning, the first example of her ability to actually feel emotion, like anyone else. What a pity, she thought...her heart breaking a smidgen, as her childhood disappeared without a trace.

Right...survivors... Rosaline turned to look across the deck, and was pleased to see that perhaps two, three of her men weren't completely dismantled. They were in critical condition, but still conscious.