Dwarfdude
Official KMC F*ck Monkey
 Gender: Unspecified
Location: The Last Circle of Hell |
Captain Zathara Danko of H.M.S. Outrunner
Zathara, or Zath as most people called him, looked up at the man who had just walked in. Zath snorted and returned to his rum, ignoring the aristocrat that had just entered the smoke wreathed pub Zath had chosen to drink at that night. Bloody Frog aristos, that Scarlet Pimp fellow is flooding us with them. I say let the buggers die. They decided not to let the poor up on taxes while they get fat like chickens, then let them roast like chickens...They deserve as much, he thought. It was true as well. That blasted French hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, was rescuing French aristocrats from the guillotine of the French peasants and their Revolution, and bringing them to England. Now the people of England were living along side their hated enemy, and they were most displeased with it.
Now, Zath hated the French, or "Frogs" as he called them (and so did every other true Britain), and did so with a viciousness unparalleled to any other being on the planet. Save, perhaps, the monarch at the time. It was his duty, as a Captain in the Royal British Navy, to hate them with all his body, soul, and mind. And he did just that, and more. All of this is the reason for what happened next.
Suddenly infuriated at the thought of another Froggie being in his homeland, the land of his fathers, and their fathers before them, stomping around as if it was their own land, and speaking in there stupid "Fraush Ausaunt, hau hau hau", he let something slip. He yelled over the raucous in the bar, "Did your Pimpy just ship you over with the rats… I'm sorry, your own kind to save your good-for-nothing arse from the peasants? No wonder why you wear yellow pants, you cowards..."
Everything in the bar went silent. The Frenchman looked at Zath, who was still in mid-sip of his rum. The Frenchman was quiet until Zath put the glass down, as was the rest of the room. Zath looked at everyone who was looking at him with an expression of mild surprise. "Why am I being the subject of non-conversation here?" Then his eyes rested on the Frenchman, who was still glaring at him. Zath made a small "Ohh" and hit his head a bit, then turned back to the Frenchman. "That."
The Frenchman spoke for the first time. "Yes, zat." Everything was quiet as the Frenchman raise a finger at the youngest captain in the Royal Navy. "I take zat comment as a personal offenze to my country..."
Zath shrugged and leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. He nodded and smirked at the man. "You French might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but now we know you can tell a compliment from an insult..."
The man was shaking with anger by now, and the whole crowd was watching him turn red with fury. "You will die for zat!"
He drew a dagger from his coat and charged Zath, but in a split second, there was a pistol in Zath's hand, and the Frenchman stopped dead, while the 20 year old sat there, smirking. No one had seen him lay a pistol on the table when he came in. He fired, and the gunshot echoed around the place, and the Frenchman put a hand on his heart, and dropped the dagger. Zath shrugged. "Ladies first."
The Frenchman fell to the floor, dead. A cheer rose up from all the occupants. People started offering to buy him drinks, while a few others took the body out and threw it into the alley to rot. Everything in the bar returned to normal, except there was much whispering thing such as, "Did yeh see the look on the Froggies face?", and, "Oi didn' even know 'e 'ad a gun until 'e 'ad shot!". Also, looks of admiring were thrown Zaths way every now and then, though Zath seemed to not notice. It was just a regular day at the Salty Scupper.
And Zathara Danko, Captain of Her Majesty’s Ship The Outrunner, Youngest Captain in the Royal British Navy, strongest navy in the world, liked regular days...
Captain Danko stumbled out of the pub later on that night, only partially drunk, but still drunk enough to be a bit unsure of his footing. He had only realized that he needed to get back to his ship in the small hours of the morning, and so he had bid his fellow Captains farewell, and stumbling off into the streets of Portsmouth. Danko wasn’t really heading directly to his ship, because he had more business to take care of. There was more to Zathara Danko than the world knew. Not only was he a Captain in the British Royal Navy, he was a smuggler.
Of what? Tobacco, sugar, spices, and, as ridiculous as it sounds, stamps. With the Stamp Act, stamps were a profitable business in these days. Sugar had always been a good back-up, and tobacco was fairly profitable as well. Tobacco, in fact, was the business he was about to settle. A Scottish nobleman, a group of them actually, sold tobacco at high prices to the Irish, higher prices than Danko charged. But Danko didn’t really care. The smuggling part of it was for some extra guineas, and there were other benefits that came with it. Alliances with pirates were a useful thing. When Danko would “defeat” a pirate, collect the prize money, and split it 50-50 with the captain. Quite a profitable business indeed, the smuggling business.
Danko reached the pub, named “The Golden Horizon”, and looked the place over. It seemed to be a well-to-do place, he doubted anyone under First-Lieutenant was let in. Danko snorted, this type of place not being him, but he could be proper and formal if need be. He straightened himself up, and headed in
The pub was rank with the smell of expensive perfume, wine, and pipe-tobacco. Danko sniffed the air and coughed a little, and then spotted his customer, an older looking man, in his 50’s maybe, with gray hair, flirting with a younger woman, supple and red-haired, maybe in her 20’s. Danko straighten himself up some more and made a bee-line for the table, ordering a rum from a French-looking waiter on the way. As he reached the table, the older man spotted him, and waved him in. Danko, appearing as if he had not seen the two, put on a look of mock astonishment and headed over to the table, taking a seat on the other side of the couple. “How are you, Mr. Haggerston?”
The man smiled and replied, “Now, now, Zathara, what did I tell you to call me?”
“Richard, sir,” said Danko with a fake smile.
“And what shall you call me from now on?”
“Richard, sir. Richard, you haven’t introduced me to your ravishing guest?”
Richard glanced at the red-haired woman, who was admiring Danko’s handsome teeth and tied back black hair. He raised an eyebrow, saying, “This is my…friend. Lilly, meet Zathara Danko, Zathara, meet Lilly DiMarco.”
“Italian?”, Danko asked. Lilly nodded, still caught in Danko’s grey eyes. “Quite. Right, Richard, I believe we have some business to discuss?” Business, always business.
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The morning after Danko’s meeting with his customer, the church bells rang in Portsmouth. Danko, in his rented bed, started, sitting up and wide-awake in a flash. He checked around his room, remembered where he was, and moaned from his morning headache. Cursing his own drinking habits, Danko swung his legs out of bed, and stretched. When he stood, he wobbled slightly, just beginning to gain back his balance, and rubbed his temples before making his way to the bathroom. He splashed some of last night’s bath water in his face, before dipping his entire head in. Shaking the water out of his blonde hair, he grabbed a towel, dried himself off, and then got dressed.
The barkeep waved to Danko as he descended into the inn’s pub. “Would the master be preferin’ a nice little cup o’ tea? Oi got the leaves meself this very dawn,” said the barkeep with a toothless grin, “Or may’ap you’d be likin’ somethin’ a bit stronger?”
“No, no…I believe I had enough last night…Some coffee, if any exists?”
The barkeep winced, and then shrugged. “Oi’ve got some Scottish coffee, if that’d do you?” Danko did not flinch, but shook his head. “No…No then, I’ll just be off.” The barkeep nodded, and loped upstairs to retrieve Danko’s baggage. Meanwhile Danko sat at a table, looking around the empty tavern. He guessed the other patrons were all off at church. Danko himself did not believe in a god, but only Miss Fate. They were the only things that had helped him achieve any of his goals, besides his loyal crew and himself. Danko relied only on himself, and his own decisions. Fate could only shove him along every so often. His crew, well, they believed in him. To them, he was a god, albeit a young one. But he had always brought them out of a battle alive, never making rash decisions, but instead having a balance of aggression and caution. He was no Nelson, a bit more cautious than the Admiral, but he was a firm and strong leader none the less.
The barkeep huffed and puffed heavily as he brought down the duffel of clothes and ornaments. Danko stood and took the bag himself, not straining himself as much as the barkeep, but still bending slightly with the weight. He smiled at the man, tossed him a guinea with an air of non-chalance, and walked out the door, heading to the nearby docks, where a row-boat lay in waiting to carry him home. Where was his home? The ship of course.
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"Balance is best in all things." -The Odyssey
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Apr 6th, 2005 10:54 PM
