Threats and Intimidation

Before dawn I emerged from a cat-like snooze and stretched until every joint in my body popped like a bowl of Rice Crispy's.

Damn it... Why must I always awaken before the "crack of sparrow fart"?

A Pirate Queen's work is never done. Besides, I am a firm believer that laziness is a sign of weakness... Unless of course we are talking about house cleaning, in which case I'm all for laziness.

But that's beside the point. Back to the narrative flow...

I carelessly tossed on some black clothing, strapped my cutlass to my waist, slipped black boots upon my feet, and shoved my damp hair under a jaunty blue bandana. I was out of the room in minutes and click-clacking up to the deck with a slight jangle of silver buckles.

Screw that "girlie-taking-forever-to-get-dressed-routine," that's so NOT me.

At this hour just before dawn, about half the crew was awake and sleepily looking to minor chores like swabbing the deck, or moving necessary supplies about. Cook was engaged in shouting obscenities at one of his hapless assistants, and the smell of coffee almost drew me to the galley.

Again, I restrained myself. The primary order of business was to begin a long day of questioning with the prisoner, Mr. Congeniality, and if possible I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he opened his bleary and bloodshot eyes.

I approached the mast with measured steps, wanting to make a point that I had all the time in the world to question him. Also, wanting to project the most menacing figure possible, I set my face in a scowl, and drew my dagger from my boot.

The sight that met my eyes was one of epically pathetic proportions. Congeniality was tied to the mast, stripped down to nothing, and he sagged limply in his bonds, head hanging forward, ropes digging into his exhausted form.

I sneered again, (just for practice this time, as he appeared to be sleeping/passed out) stepped to within inches, grabbed a hank of his hair, and shoved his head back against the mast, jarring his skull in the same place where my blow had fallen the evening prior.

He came to with a yelp, followed closely by a groan. For a moment he seemed to focus on my face with great difficulty, and I let go of his hair. Without my support, his head once again dropped to half mast and then he lifted it, looked into my irritated face, and said,

"Hey. How are ya this morning Queenie?" So saying, he lifted his brow and did that "guy nod" thing. For a fraction of an instant I actually found myself on the cusp of either a blush or a laugh.

WTF.

This REALLY pissed me off.

Instead of answering, I drew back my hand and slapped him across the face hard enough to make his head snap sideways and strike the mast again.

I tell you what... No one hits on me first thing in the morning without my express written consent, signed in triplicate, and stamped by the seal of a notary public.

No one...with the possible exception of Batman.

But, I digress.

I followed the slap by stepping in even closer, so close that I could see each and every follicle of stubble on his face, and said in my very best tone of menace,

"Shall we begin again? You see, this is how it works, I will ask you questions. You will answer those questions, or I will start hurting you. Or better yet, I'll just leave you here to broil under the hot sun for a day or two until you beg me to kill you. Do you understand?"

As I had spoken, his head had begun to drop forward again, but at the conclusion of my "Dirty Harry" impression, he raised it, and looked at me through one green eye. There was a second's pause before he finally answered.

He said, "Wow Queenie... Love that badass thing. I think I'll just... Hang out, for a while."

And then?

He laughed.

Damn... Maybe he really was insane. Well, I guess that would make two of us then.

Disgusted at what I could now see was going to be a long ass day, I stepped back and slowly shook my head. Why can't I ever get the easy ones? Why do my foes always fight with such ferocity when surely they know that it is their fate to either join me or die?

*sigh*

I slowly eyed him, going all the way from stem to stern (so to speak), and before I turned away, I said in a perfectly reasonable voice... "Cosgrove... You'd better cut some of those ropes away a bit... I wouldn't want our guest to end the day with too many unsightly tan lines..."

Behind me, "Brisket" Cosgrove laughed heartily and responded with a jaunty "Aye-aye, Captain!"

There was a swift intake of breath from the prisoner when Cosgrove's knife drew just a drop of blood as it slid beneath one of the ropes, and then he said, "Hey Queenie, could you bring me a coffee? Cream and sugar. Just one spoonful, I don't want it too sweet. Thanks, babe."

My spine tingled, and I could feel myself wanting to straighten up like a fireplace poker had shot straight up through my nether-regions and come out through the top of my head.

But I'm nothing if not a good actor; I faked a laugh of good cheer into the brightening dawn and slowly strode away, not once looking back or rising to the bait.

I found my way to the galley, got a nice steaming mug of coffee for myself, and then took a turn around the deck, never looking at or otherwise acknowledging my "guest."


Christ on a cracker... This was going to be an interesting day...