Lightning flashed as a storm rolled into the harbor, fishermen and sailors hurriedly covering or docking their boats. As the rain poured down, a tall figure in a cloak made its way quickly to a busy tavern. The tavern was a dimly lit building with a squeaky door that no one ever heard because of the rabble inside. The cloaked figure carefully opened the door, making sure to avoid the drunks, and stepped inside.
The tavern was as one would expect an establishment in a small town like this one to be: the room was dark, the floor soaked with sweat and ale, and the beverages were expensive but cheaply made. The figure stepped inside and pulled her hood back, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She scanned the room, her onyx eyes locking on a figure hunched over at the bar. Steeling herself, the girl took a deep breath and strode to the bar.
Despite her cat-soft feet, the figure heard or sensed the girl before she even got close enough to sit at the bar.
“What do ye want?” The figure turned, her sea-green eyes seeing through the girl’s bravado. She stilled. A hare caught in the trap of those frozen-jade eyes.
“Do I need ta repeat meself for ya, lass?” The girl started at the rough voice,
“Right, of course not. I apologize,” she lowered her head in submission, “I have a proposition for you.”
“I'm not a mercenary fer hire,” the woman turned back around to face her drink.
“Captain Clarisse, please, hear me out,” she pleaded. Clarisse stiffened at the title.
“I am no cap’n anymore, gurl,” she spat, a dangerous tension in her shoulders, “what's yer name?” The girl froze, unsure how to respond. If she had angered the ex-captain, giving her her name wouldn't end well, but refusing would anger her further. She could lie, but if Clarisse decided to work with her and then found out she'd lied, there was little doubt the pirate would kill her on the spot.
“Jinx,” she mumbled. Clarisse let out a mirthless laugh that had patrons around her looking at her nervously.
“Jinx? Yer parents believe in magic, lass?” She shook her head and sipped from her mug, “so what this here ‘proposition’ ya got fer me.”
“Well, I…,” Jinx stuttered, completely unnerved in the presence of this silent predator, “you see I'm from a village you used to rule, but since the powershift… the new captain is just so cruel and things are so bad so the village decided…”
“Are ye goin’ ta give me a whole bloody speech or are ya gonna get to the point,” Clarisse snapped.
“We want you back,” Jinx blurted. Clarisse raised her brows slightly, the only surprise she'd show.
“People want a lot of things, don't mean we all get ‘em,” she said dismissively but leaned back against the bar, ready to listen.
“We raised money to pay you,” Jinx stuttered, “and we tracked down your crew and have money to pay them too.”
“Money ain't no motivation for me,” Clarisse crossed her arms.
“Please, your crew is the only one that even got close enough to defeating the Ouroboros’ crew,” Jinx begged, desperation finally creeping into her voice. In the span of a second, Clarisse's posture went rigid, her eyes flashed with green fire, and she braced her hands on the barstool to look Jinx in the eyes.
“Ye want me to risk the lives of me crew again?” She hissed, “do ye not realize the risk they chanced last time they fought this here crew, lass? Me, I've seen with me own eyes the horror they went through and I've seen the lives they've built for themselves after. Peaceful lives, lass.” Clarisse released her white-knuckled grip on the stool, her slang lessening and accent fading with her receding anger, “nay, I won't risk them again. Not again.” Jinx took a step back at the uncharacteristic outburst. The guests of the tavern seemed to think it odd too, for it had grown strangely quiet.
“So you really do care,” Jinx murmured.
“Watch yer mouth, gurl,” she snapped, “I'm not doin’ what’ve’ heist yer plannin’, that's final.”
“I can get you your sword back,” Jinx offered, desperate. Something in Clarisse sprung to attention at the mention of her sword. Then she scoffed, her shoulders loosening,
“I wonder sometimes if thet sword was more a curse than the blessin’ it was meant ta be. Keep the damn sword, sell it if you need, I don't bloody care.” Clarisse turned back to her ale, “and tell yer ‘guards’ ta stop bein’ so damn suspicious and find better swords than the pieces of scrap metal they ‘ave at their sides.” Jinx stared at this woman, this pirate that could have been her salvation. Why did she need the most irritable, most vulgar pirate of them all; she didn't even consider her offer. Jinx gave the ex-captain a vulgar gesture to her back, hoping she didn't see it. By the slight shaking of her shoulders and the dark laugh that followed Jinx out the door, she guessed the pirate had seen it.

Clarisse scampered to the top of the mast, her small fingers finding the nooks and crannies in the wood as she hurried to see what caused all the commotion. Being too young to be important and too short to see over the top of the figure head at the front of the ship, she couldn't figure out what was going on and no one bothered to tell her. It infuriated her that the crew disregarded her just because she was a girl. She could prove she was worthy of them.
Upon reaching the crow’s nest, Clarisse squinted her green eyes against the sun and tried to make out the blurry figure in the distance. It was indistinguishable. Clarisse cursed more soundly than an 11-year old should know how to, even for a pirate child. Curiosity squeezed her heart again and she began to search around for a spyglass.
“Lookin’ fer this, Reese?” Clarisse spun and found Rat looking down at her, hanging from a rope, holding out a spyglass.
“Aye, I am,” she made to grab for the object but Rat moved it out of grasp.
“What ye up ‘ere fer anyways, Little Tiger?” Rat smiled grotesquely and Clarisse cringed. She brushed a loose black curl behind her ear, becoming increasingly frustrated with this nosy scout.
“I don't see how it's any of yer business,” Clarisse snapped, eyeing the spyglass. Then, quick as a viper, she cut one of the ropes he was hanging from. Rate jerked downwards, momentarily losing hold of the spyglass, which Clarisse gleefully snatched from the air. Rat swayed for awhile, muttered something about her being too much like her father, and dropped to the deck. Clarisse made a vulgar gesture at his back and unfolded the spyglass.
Peering through the glare of the glass, Clarisse could make out a tall mast with a proud white flag bearing the royal crest.
An admiral’s ship, she thought smugly, they're fools to come here and push their boundaries. This was pirate territory, through and through. Nobody came here unless they were a pirate, hopelessly lost (poor them), or looking for a challenge. Her ship ruled the waters currently and the Royal Navy constantly sent ships to take them down, thinking that their lanky teenage boys would be enough against a pirate ship full of grown men. Even Clarisse herself could beat any man they throw her way. Granted, she had been raised on a ship of the best swordsmen you could find and trained to fight since she could walk. But that was a testament to her childhood, not her training.
Clarisse heard her name being called below and she glanced down to see Captain Steele scowling up at her. She cringed and dropped down out of sight. Her father was a terrifying man who never treated her like his daughter, always like another crew member. The way his drawl rumbled her name still made the hair on her arms stand on end.
“Clarisse! Get down ‘ere,” he bellowed.
“Comin’ ‘father’,” Clarisse rolled her eyes. She grabbed a rope wrapped around the pole, looped it around her hand and gave an experimental tug. Satisfied, she kicked the pole and loosened the other end of the rope as she leaped from the edge of the crow’s nest. She cut smoothly through the air, the muscles in her arms and stomach straining. Clarisse landed on cat-soft feet in front of her father, her small hands braced on her hips.
“What do ye want,” she snarled. Steele’s eyes flared with annoyance.
“Ye got too much of yer mother in ya,” he murmured, eyeing her with disapproval. “I want ye below deck. Bloody scum-suckers comin’ again.” Clarisse perked up at the new curse word, examined it, and tucked it away from later use. She looked into her father’s gray eyes and lifted her chin, defiance turning her eyes as bright as a lighting struck sea.
“I'm fightin’ too,” she announced. Steele gave a little snort that made Clarisse see red,
“Ye ain't doin’ nothin’ little missy. Yer nowhere near ready to fight yet.”
“Aye, I am,” Clarisse protested, “I could beat ev’ryone of them gangly boys they send. I could beat all of them!” Some of the crew member began to notice the squabble. Steele noticed this, nothing escaped him.
“Rat!” He yelled. Rat came swinging down,
“Aye Captain?”
“Take Clarisse down to ‘er quarters. I permit her her sword, but she isn't to leave that room, ya ‘ear?”
“Aye Captain!” Rat dropped to the deck and reached for Clarisse’s shoulder. She didn't let him touch her but turned around and stuck her tongue out at her father’s retreating form. Rat chuckled and pushed her towards the below-deck stairs.

Stuck in her sparsely furnished room with only her sword to keep her company, Clarisse quickly grew bored. She could hear the fighting on the deck above and knew it wouldn't ever reach below-deck. She longed for battle, even a small skirmish such as this. She'd heard stories and seen the wild gleam in the crew’s eyes after a fight. Glory was won in battle, after all. She had to get out there.
Clarisse looked around. There was a porthole that she could crawl through, but the chances of her falling into the water while climbing up were pretty high. She looked around again. The window was her only option. Clarisse hooked her small sword to her belt and gently eased the window open. The wind outside wasn't too bad but for a girl her size, it was bad enough. She carefully climbed up and out of the window, her small fingers clinging desperately to any hold she could find. As Clarisse scooted across the side of the ship, great gusts of wind taunted and teased her until one huge gust of wind knocked her feet out from under her. She was left with her fingers barely holding on to the wood and the waves biting at her heels. As she struggled, a massive wave soaked Clarisse, the spray of it on her face almost like a kiss and the slap of it hitting the ship sounded as if the ocean said, “go!” At that command, Clarisse discovered a newfound strength in her arms as she pulled herself up and onto the deck.
The deck was piled with bodies. For a brief moment, Clarisse just froze and stared at them. She relaxed when she didn't see any of the crew members among the dead. She heard a yell behind her and found a boy not much older than herself charging at her with his sword over his head. Clarisse pulled her sword silently from its sheath and frowned. He has such poor form, does he even know how to fight? The boy neared her and swung his sword down. She blocked it easily, holding him in that position so she could study him. Clarisse saw nothing but hatred in his eyes, hatred and a bit of surprise, then terror as he saw the hardening of her eyes. She ducked and moved to the left, her blade spinning beneath his to slice his throat. She rose, her blade still holding his up, as he began choking on his own blood. Clarisse let the boy fall and looked around. Right in front of her, her father was fighting two boys at once. But Clarisse could see a third boy coming up behind him, sword raised. She hesitated for a brief second, debating whether he was worth saving.
“No!” Clarisse shrieked. Her legs began moving with a speed she didn't know she possessed as she rocketed herself across the deck to stop the boy who was about to kill her father. Clarisse threw herself in between the two, her sword raised to block the strike.
“Move, Steele,” she screamed. The captain started in surprise but made room for her. The boy had gotten over his shock and began to push down with his sword. This boy wasn't the green youth of a boy who had charged Clarisse, this was a man-child of a boy. She tried to push back but she was no match for his strength. Clarisse let go and jumped back, but not before the edge of his sword drew a thin line from the top of her right cheek bone to the edge of her lips. She howled in pain but let the blood run down her face as she charged the boy.
The boy may have been strong, but she was much faster than he was strong. He swung again and again at her but she dodged, cutting his legs, arm, and chest. When their blades finally connected, Clarisse used his momentum against him and hit the bottom of his blade, making him lose hold of it. The sword dropped to the deck with a clatter and Clarisse didn't even give the boy time to beg for mercy before she slit his throat with a flick of her wrist. Behind her she heard a voice whisper,
“Ye really did that, didn't ya.” Clarisse turned, breathing heavily, to find Captain Steele staring at her.
“Killin’ isn't too hard,” she shrugged.
“Nay, not that. Ye saved me, and yer swordsmanship…” he shook his head, “I thought I told ye to stay below.”
“I couldn't just stay there…”
“I know,” he shook his head again, “ye start trainin’ on the morrow, double time.”
“What?”
“If yer goin’ to fight, yer goin’ to know how to. And if I'm goin’ to teach ye, I'll make sure yer the best swords woman out there.” Clarisse beamed.

A faint smile ghosted Clarisse’s lips. That memory was one of her favorites, the start of her journey to the top. The next day, Steele had kept his word and began her brutal training. It had been the hardest two years of her life, but well worth it. She was the best swordswoman, the best fighter even, the world had ever seen, defeating everyone who wanted to challenge her. Everyone except the one person who put her in this cesspit. Clarisse reached up to her face a traced the twin scars from her cheekbones to the edges of her lips; one an amateur cut, one a reminder of what happens when she loses.
Clarisse looked towards the door the girl, Jinx, just walked out of. Her offer had only been tempting when she'd mentioned her sword. Despite herself, Clarisse missed the weapon, felt its absence like a hole in her chest. She frowned down at her almost-empty mug, at the alcohol that now filled that hole and signaled for the bartender to bring her another. I have no answer yet, she told herself as she downed the new mug in one swig, I have no answer yet, but it may take a lot of thought, alcohol, and…, Clarisse thought cruelly as she rose and pulled her current sword from its sheath, its make simple compared to her beloved Neptune’s Bane, …, hopefully, a whole lot of blood… And so Clarisse stepped outside to face the a waiting thugs… and smiled.