> [!important] Author's Notes >This-here piece is a one-shot written for Sco's new "Weekly Prompt" in Solo Tabletop RPGs. Challenge says to write a single scene, given a randomly-rolled prompt. > >He's also nice enough to provide an optional theme, which I'll make use of. > >Naturally, don't expect Shakespeare from this glorified scrawling. It's all in good spirits, and I look forward to readin' y'all's APs later. Good luck, and have fun. (✗╹◡╹)ﾉ > > \- Axi, 2025-01-12 > [!quote] Scohui > ### Today's Prompt: > ##### Prompt > **Free, Misfortune** > ##### Optional Theme > Pirates and Seafaring The familiar aromas of sea spray and gunpowder welcomed Evelyn as she climbed the ladder to the top deck. Their modest ship - a "brigantine", as seamen called it - drifted steadily in the gentle breeze, sails unfurled down every mast. As usual, Captain Stokes barked orders in a coarse tongue, hurling invective at every imperfection that caught his eye. When he saw Evelyn, he'd stomp over and take her by the collar. "Where in blazes have you been?!" he growled, "It's already [[Telling time on a sailing ship|Forenoon Watch]]!" The ends of his long beard stung Evelyn's face. A drop of spit hit her in her eye. "Why, forgive me, *cap-tain*. Perhaps if I'd a smidgen of grog the last few days, I'd be less-inclined to stay in my bunk!" The commotion caught the attention of nearby deckhands. Soon, a small circle had formed of those in between crucial tasks. Staring right in Evelyn's eyes, Captain Stokes bared the rotten ruin that was his teeth. The stench of his breath made her do the same. "You've got bad timing, ye wee runt. If you had *any idea* what I've given up for this, you'd batten yer hatch faster than a Spaniard at Trafalgar." With an eventual sigh of acceptance, he'd let her go, and gesture one of the deckhands to grab her cleaning supplies. "Fine. If you're gonna stow away on *my* ship, you'll hafta earn your keep. I want the deck so pristine, ye can see your pretty face 'pon the teak... Ah. And one thing? Wear yer dandiest garb later tonight. We might have a guest." With that, Captain Stokes resumed his place near the mast, leaving a frazzled, frustrated Evelyn with her mop and pail. She'd eye him sharply, imagining he'd spontneously combust. Failing that, she hung her head in a sigh, and got to work. Damn that English mongrel. What could he possibly bring to bear against her circumstance? Born to a philandering father and some woman she barely knew, working like a dog beside hard-worn Africans whisked away from their peaceful homes. The slightest mistake, the slightest upset to her damned father, and she'd be beaten half-senseless. And now in spite of escaping Kingston, she still found herself kicked around and worked to the bone. Talk about a black joke! Part of her missed those long, painful nights sobbing in her fine mattress. But at least the portions here were generous, and the people grateful for her hard work. She'd bitterly resolved to never look back, and embrace this painful freedom. As Evelyn swept away the dirt and dried vomit beside the ship's wheel, she noted something peculiar. The shadows of deckhands, the capstan, the towering masts and their sails, had performed a broad sweep as she worked. The sun, as well, had oppressed her fair skin from different angles by the minute. And every so often, the wind would blow crosswise to the sails, leaving them loudly fluttering till furled. They were going in circles. Putting together the pieces, Evelyn touched her chin in thought. A quick glance revealed no trace of the Captain. She'd hazard to approach the helm, and address the First Mate. > [!fail] Diceroll > **Taunt:** 2 - *Failure.* O'Donnel was his name. A balding, sun-kissed, rum-reeking man, but a fellow Irishman nonetheless. She gave him a shout, and received a stern glare in turn. Not the friendlest, it seemed. After some hours, the deck was spotless as could be. Evelyn retired to her cramped quarters, and savored the primitive comfort of her hammock. Her feet were sore as hell. She hadn't drank a spirit in weeks. But at least she had food and a deck over her head. Perhaps in time, she'd have something better than weevil-ridden hardtack.