Post by Captain Gwen Grey on Jun 20, 2011 5:12:51 GMT -8
The Royal Anchor was a far nicer place than Gwen was used to frequenting. She was not overly particular about where she guzzled her ale, but for the most part there was a lot to be said for the kind of dingy, filth-crusted shanties of Tortuga where people had to pay a price just to learn your name. Here in Port Royal things were different, like. You were expected to keep your nose clean and your hands empty, unless you also had a hankering for a pretty little scarf made of stout rope belonging to His Majesty the King.
But just as Port Royal was more respectable than Tortuga didn't mean that it didn't also have its vices. There was gambling to be had for those who expressed a penchant for 'polite' wagering, and wenching and all other manner of fun that one could engage in all prettied up and tarted around under more civilised names. The Royal Anchor was just such an establishment as played to the baser side of human nature while maintaining an outward appearance that would appeal to a more genteel clientele.
Gwen was in awe of Josie McCreedy, the tavern-keep. Finding that delicate and fragile balance between disgusting habits and lawful entertainment was surely a wonderful ability to possess in such a business as this! It was not unheard of for Navy men to drink at the Anchor and that was definitely saying something! Of course on those nights the scallywags were pointedly shunted away from the door before they entered or, if they had business with Josie, sent to the back where they could make good on their accords.
Fortunately for Gwen tonight the tavern was open to all and sundry. She'd been having a bad time of it finding the money to pay for the space The Star was taking up on the beach here and also getting coin enough to pay for the timber needed to repair her hull. It had her in a foul mood and she had downed her tools at sunset, deciding that as she had a dog's leg of work to do the next day a little bit of recreational swindling would help her with the rest of her problem.
The card table was heavily in her favour. A pile of coins and a gold watch sat in a jolly heap by her left elbow and the redhead had one eye surreptitiously on her loot and the other on the game. When she smirked and laid down her latest hand only to a chorus of groans from the other players, it was evident that they were beginning to lose their patience with her 'Lady's luck'. She leaned over the table and prepared to scoop the new addition to her winnings toward herself but was stopped in her tracks by a large dagger being plunged into the wood of the table.
“Shark,” said the poor loser, a thick-set man with small pig-like eyes as he spat to his left to ward off further bad luck by calling Gwen out on her treachery.
“Wha'?” she replied in a quiet voice, glaring at him as she defiantly collected her winnings. “'You callin' me a cheat there, mate?”
“Aye,” the man replied, gaining support from the others who started nodding emphatically. “Yer a filthy cheat.” He smirked and looked her up and down slowly. Gwen didn't need to be a mind reader to know what was going through his head. She rolled her eyes and lifted her tankard of ale, taking long gulps of the amber liquid as though it were nothing more than air. It spilled from the corners of the large mug that was too big for her mouth, streaming down her neck only to be sopped up by the simple and horribly stained calico shirt she wore. Having finished her drink, she set the empty tankard down.
She knew were this was heading.
“I ain't a cheat,” she said slowly, hoping that the man would take the warning. He laughed, elbowing the skinny man to his right.
“'Ear that, Dart? 'Reckon's she ain't no cheat.” He lost his smile as quickly as he had shown it. “Well I says yer wrong. I says yer a cheat and a liar, just like yer worthless cur of a father!” He barked a laugh. “And yer look like yer father as well! Man enough, like!”
Gwen's eyes were flat. She didn't take kindly to being reminded of her father, a man she had once idolised and who had taken his adoring daughter for granted. “Aye?” she asked, her temper flaring white-hot as she looked around the assembled company, wanting to remember each and every one of their faces.
“Aye!” the skinny man chimed in, laughing himself.
“Well I fight like me da' as well!” she spat, lunging across the table for the large man and cracking him in the nose with a ready fist. One good punch was all it took to rile up all the other scallywags that loitered in the Anchor, pretending to be on their best behaviour. Bedlam broke out in short order, Gwen laying into the larger man while the others were all soon engaged with other people inclined to have a little fight and warm their blood. She punched the man again in the jaw before she scrambled around to stand behind him, threading her fingers into his greasy hair and smashing his head down onto the table. The coins – her winnings – jingled merrily.
She lifted his head back again, noticing the way his eyes were glazed over with no small amount of satisfaction. “I reckon yer'll be takin' after yer mother after this loss,” she smirked into his ear, before letting his head drop to the table with an audible thud. “If yer be takin' me meanin'.” Sneering and glad for the distraction that the rest of the brawl provided, Gwen quickly moved back to where she had been sitting, flipped open a leather satchel she had brought with her and scooped all of her winnings into it before preparing to take her leave.
“There she is!” came a voice that rang out above the din. “She's the one that started the fight. Get her!” Wild-eyed, Gwen tried to see where the source of the command had come from but was at a complete loss. Not wanting to run straight into the arms of a Naval Officer, she stood still for moment as she waited for her adrenaline to properly kick in.
((Sorry for the length – please don't feel the need to try and match it! I sometimes get carried away with myself if I have a particular scene in mind!! <3))
But just as Port Royal was more respectable than Tortuga didn't mean that it didn't also have its vices. There was gambling to be had for those who expressed a penchant for 'polite' wagering, and wenching and all other manner of fun that one could engage in all prettied up and tarted around under more civilised names. The Royal Anchor was just such an establishment as played to the baser side of human nature while maintaining an outward appearance that would appeal to a more genteel clientele.
Gwen was in awe of Josie McCreedy, the tavern-keep. Finding that delicate and fragile balance between disgusting habits and lawful entertainment was surely a wonderful ability to possess in such a business as this! It was not unheard of for Navy men to drink at the Anchor and that was definitely saying something! Of course on those nights the scallywags were pointedly shunted away from the door before they entered or, if they had business with Josie, sent to the back where they could make good on their accords.
Fortunately for Gwen tonight the tavern was open to all and sundry. She'd been having a bad time of it finding the money to pay for the space The Star was taking up on the beach here and also getting coin enough to pay for the timber needed to repair her hull. It had her in a foul mood and she had downed her tools at sunset, deciding that as she had a dog's leg of work to do the next day a little bit of recreational swindling would help her with the rest of her problem.
The card table was heavily in her favour. A pile of coins and a gold watch sat in a jolly heap by her left elbow and the redhead had one eye surreptitiously on her loot and the other on the game. When she smirked and laid down her latest hand only to a chorus of groans from the other players, it was evident that they were beginning to lose their patience with her 'Lady's luck'. She leaned over the table and prepared to scoop the new addition to her winnings toward herself but was stopped in her tracks by a large dagger being plunged into the wood of the table.
“Shark,” said the poor loser, a thick-set man with small pig-like eyes as he spat to his left to ward off further bad luck by calling Gwen out on her treachery.
“Wha'?” she replied in a quiet voice, glaring at him as she defiantly collected her winnings. “'You callin' me a cheat there, mate?”
“Aye,” the man replied, gaining support from the others who started nodding emphatically. “Yer a filthy cheat.” He smirked and looked her up and down slowly. Gwen didn't need to be a mind reader to know what was going through his head. She rolled her eyes and lifted her tankard of ale, taking long gulps of the amber liquid as though it were nothing more than air. It spilled from the corners of the large mug that was too big for her mouth, streaming down her neck only to be sopped up by the simple and horribly stained calico shirt she wore. Having finished her drink, she set the empty tankard down.
She knew were this was heading.
“I ain't a cheat,” she said slowly, hoping that the man would take the warning. He laughed, elbowing the skinny man to his right.
“'Ear that, Dart? 'Reckon's she ain't no cheat.” He lost his smile as quickly as he had shown it. “Well I says yer wrong. I says yer a cheat and a liar, just like yer worthless cur of a father!” He barked a laugh. “And yer look like yer father as well! Man enough, like!”
Gwen's eyes were flat. She didn't take kindly to being reminded of her father, a man she had once idolised and who had taken his adoring daughter for granted. “Aye?” she asked, her temper flaring white-hot as she looked around the assembled company, wanting to remember each and every one of their faces.
“Aye!” the skinny man chimed in, laughing himself.
“Well I fight like me da' as well!” she spat, lunging across the table for the large man and cracking him in the nose with a ready fist. One good punch was all it took to rile up all the other scallywags that loitered in the Anchor, pretending to be on their best behaviour. Bedlam broke out in short order, Gwen laying into the larger man while the others were all soon engaged with other people inclined to have a little fight and warm their blood. She punched the man again in the jaw before she scrambled around to stand behind him, threading her fingers into his greasy hair and smashing his head down onto the table. The coins – her winnings – jingled merrily.
She lifted his head back again, noticing the way his eyes were glazed over with no small amount of satisfaction. “I reckon yer'll be takin' after yer mother after this loss,” she smirked into his ear, before letting his head drop to the table with an audible thud. “If yer be takin' me meanin'.” Sneering and glad for the distraction that the rest of the brawl provided, Gwen quickly moved back to where she had been sitting, flipped open a leather satchel she had brought with her and scooped all of her winnings into it before preparing to take her leave.
“There she is!” came a voice that rang out above the din. “She's the one that started the fight. Get her!” Wild-eyed, Gwen tried to see where the source of the command had come from but was at a complete loss. Not wanting to run straight into the arms of a Naval Officer, she stood still for moment as she waited for her adrenaline to properly kick in.
((Sorry for the length – please don't feel the need to try and match it! I sometimes get carried away with myself if I have a particular scene in mind!! <3))
