Final Fantasy VIII 1. Cast Off!

_**A/N:**_ This is thoroughly AU and I really apologise if a few characters seem out of place or out of character, but as you read on, I think you will understand why keeping them in character was a hard thing to do.

I hope you enjoy it anyway, although there is no telling how regular the updates with this thing will be.

Enige-Iets.

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><p>Chapter 1 – Cast off.<p>

The flags of grey waved gently in the breeze, flapping occasionally and gracing the harbour with the quiet sound of dew logged material snapping across damp wood. One of the few quiet anthems of the morning. Right now the seagulls were silent and the soothing sound of the waves seemed to sweep the whole harbour into its calm embrace. Rinoa pulled her hair back behind her ears and put a hand on her hat. The breeze wasn't much, but it was enough to pull playfully on her clothing and dislodge her otherwise perfect hair.

Soon, very soon in fact, she would be leaving this harbour, these shores, this country and she would be transported across the seas to a far away land. There she would live out her days in relative peace and quiet. Far far away from the war that raged here, at home. She sighed and turned her eyes away from the flagpole and instead to the ship she stood beside.

The Balamb Garden towered above her, casting her in shadow. It was a huge wooden galleon with five separate levels – two below deck, the deck and two more above that – fire power of 10 cannons a side and was manned with a small crew of 23 including Captain Leonhart himself. It was painted a bright array of Golds and Blues and the entire crew was decked out in gold and blue uniforms. It was originally an ambassadorial ship from Balamb, but upon the outbreak of the war it became her only mode of safe transport out of the war zone.

A cough behind her had her turn around. There stood her father beside a young man dressed in Balamb's Naval Uniform. This – she assumed – was Captain Squall Leonhart. "Rinoa," He father bid her approach, so she did so with a slight smile. Etiquette dictated that smiling and looking pretty was an integral part of making new acquaintances, but that did not mean that she did it willingly. "This is Captain Leonhart. I have entrusted you to him and he has agreed to take you to Balamb for the duration of the war."

She nodded and held out her hand for him to kiss it – as was only proper for a young man when being introduced to a young lady, particularly one of her stature – but he shook it instead. "Miss Heartily," He said coldly, letting go of her hand as though it had burned him, "For your safety aboard my ship I ask that you remain in your cabin for the duration and follow all orders as are put to you."

She nodded. Her immediate impression of Captain Leonhart had naturally been founded on the image of his face. Hard jaw line, high cheek bones, straight nose, flat brows, cold slate-grey eyes. He was the very image of cool masculinity. She had hoped there might be a warming personality to even him out a little, but unfortunately he seemed to be just as icy as the seas he sailed. Typical bloke.

"Rinny-" Her father clasped her hand once Leonhart had turned away to oversee the last few things being loaded aboard the ship, "-I know you're unhappy about this-" Too damn right she was! Being sent away from everything she knew just because of some national altercation with Balamb's high command! "-But it's very important that you do as Captain Leonhart says. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

She rolled her eyes and gave her father a grudging hug. He heaved a sigh, then brushed some hair from her face. "You look so much like your mother..."

Once again, she rolled her eyes. He was just about to scold her for making such an ugly expression when he was called to by one of the ship's hands. "Admiral, we're waiting on your daughter now."

Admiral Caraway nodded, then turned back to Rinoa, putting his bravest face on. "Now then Rinny, you do exactly as you're told, eat all your greens, speak when you're spoken to-"

"Dad-"

"Play nicely with the other kids-"

"Dad!"

Caraway sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. I just worry about you." His face crinkled into a frown. "You just remind me so much of your mother and I love the both of you so much... I just can't bare to lose you as well."

She knew that. She'd kicked and screamed and run away so many times because he loved her too damn much and all the damn time. It was impossible to get away from her loving father, brusque and abnormal though his methods of displaying affection might have been. But she knew that he loved her. The ship's hand who had called to them came to fetch her now and helped her up the gangway and onto the ship. Caraway waved goodbye to his daughter from the dock side.

At the helm stood Captain Leonhart, shouting out orders and waving his arm in gesture to the crew who scurried like mice to adhere to his command. Rinoa regarded him from where she stood clutching onto the rail. He looked stern and cold and utterly miserable to be leaving the harbour. The uniform he wore also looked very new; she doubted he had been captain for very long. He was standing beside a blonde woman – clearly a woman, there was no man alive who could look so beautiful in a uniform – who was talking quietly to him. For the most part he appeared to be ignoring her words, but occasionally he would turn his head slightly her way and say something back. An answer to a direct question no doubt. It was while she was observing the odd interaction between Leonhart and – who she assumed to be – his first mate that their attention turned to her. A few words passed between them and then the first mate was walking towards her, down the steep steps and onto the deck. The crew parted before her like the waves of the Red Sea.

"Miss Heartily I presume."

"You presume correctly." Rinoa nodded and held out her hand to be shaken. Once again her gesture of acquaintance was swept aside and this time, her hand was ignored completely. The first mate stood with her white-gloved hands clasped behind her back, her eyes dark blue and scathing in the shadow of her hat. It was a big, black, triangular shaped thing with stiff edges and one white feather draping around the back. She wore the crisp, dark blue uniform of the Balamb Navy; white hose tucked into shining black boots, the pressed sleeves of her shirt just visible protruding barely a millimetre from the golden rimmed cuffs of her blue Naval jacket with gleaming golden buttons travelling in two lines down the centre. The coat seemed to fasten more like a pianist's coat and tails than the standard military jackets Rinoa had seen – it had no tails, was slightly shorter at the front than normal and was obviously modified to fit around the woman's bust. A blindingly white tie was fastened around her neck, keeping the collar of her shirt tight to her skin, then disappearing in a ripple under her jacket. If it wasn't for the prejudices of the present day, Rinoa would have called the blonde-haired, caramel-skinned woman in front of her stunning. But as it was, the only words she could find to describe her were 'aloof' or maybe 'prodigal'.

"I am Quistis Trepe, First Mate of Captain Leonhart; it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Here Quistis held out a hand, not for Rinoa to shake, but in the direction of a set of steps that led below deck. It was a gesture that implied Rinoa should go first. She stepped towards the dark set of stairs and peered down. They looked wet and slippery. She glanced back at Quistis, who was looking towards Leonhart instead. He seemed to be signalling her to do something and although Rinoa couldn't understand a word of it, a message seemed to have been conveyed.

"Please." Quistis said, gesturing back down the hole. With a sigh, Rinoa set herself to the task of clambering down the hole without slipping and tumbling arse over teakettle down to a rather soggy looking death. Once at the bottom, with a very red face and Quistis following behind her looking more disappointed than amused – muttering something along the lines of "not very dignified" - they began the trek to her new home.

Her new cabin was on the bottom most level of the ship, in amongst all the food and the animals and what appeared to be gunpowder. The cabin itself was quite nice, built into the ship for the sole purpose of housing her. It was decorated on the inside with a bed, a desk and chair and a small mirror, all draped with fine materials and throw pillows of varying colour. The trunks of her clothing sat in the centre of the room. The crew had apparently not known what to do with those.

Once Rinoa was situated on the chair Quistis bent to help the young lady take her shoes off. Thank god. They were getting quite uncomfortable. "You will not need to dress for balls or regal functions while you are aboard this ship." Quistis said, carefully wrapping the thin laces around two fingers before tucking the little bundle into the shoe and setting it aside, reaching to start on the other one. "The crew will not disturb you at all. They are under strict instructions not to bother you for the duration of the voyage although there will be a guard posted outside your door through night and day. His name is Zell Dincht."

Rinoa cursed inside her head. There went her plans of sneaking about the ship at night. Her shoes neatly put away, it was time for Quistis to leave, but not without one final word of warning. "You will likely be treated as some sort of national treasure." Quistis said, straightening her impeccable cuffs and swiping an invisible bit of lint from her sleeve. "It is not unexpected that we should encounter an adversary of some sort at some point during the voyage and if you are not in your cabin when I come looking for you then I'm afraid it should prove harder to rescue you should the need arise. If you have any qualms please inform Mr. Dincht and I will attend to your needs. But do not wander about the ship as you please. This is not your personal stomping ground, Miss Heartily. Please keep that in mind."

And then she was gone, out of the door, shutting it behind her and locking it as well. Rinoa scurried over and pressed her ear to the door in time to hear Quistis drop the jangling keys into someone's hand and say something to the man who was standing guard outside. Something that sounded a lot like "Don't let her wander around."

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><p>"You shameful opportunist. What you don't understand is that it's better to die on your feet than to live on your knees."<p>

"You're heading backwards, it's better to live on your feet than to die on your knees."

Quistis shook her head as she passed them. The crew was lively today. They'd been well rested in the last few days, in preparation for this long and potentially dangerous mission and it had them all in better spirits. Normally, when the long days of nothing but ocean had gotten them down, they hadn't the energy to bicker and fight amongst themselves, the ship was silent most of the time towards the end of a voyage. Hearing their cheerful arguments made the breaking day seem a little warmer from where she was standing.

She climbed the stairs to stand at the helm beside Squall. "Miss Heartily is safely locked in her cabin, as per your orders, Sir."

"Good."

She looked sideways at him. The ship had barely left the harbour and he already had a look of business painted onto his face. It was the one he wore in times of trouble. Or times when he had no other facial expressions in stock. Either way, it told her that he did not want to be hounded every five minutes by the petty problems of either Miss Heartily or his crew. She sighed. Personally, she had always enjoyed going to sea. There was a peaceful gratitude that came with every harbour – knowing that the sea had not deemed you hindrance enough to sweep you into the gaping abyss of her wide watery mouth – and there was an excitement about each cast off – a challenge to see whether or not you could survive again. The seas were a rough and dangerous place. They bucked and see-sawed and threw their little riders about like they weighted nothing at all. Mother Nature was a rule mistress and she had them all in her grasp. But most captains did not mind. They adored the beauty of her swelling tide, the blue chasm of her depths, their very lives revolved around mastering her temper and riding the waves like they were nothing.

Captain Leonhart – for as long as she had known him – held none of this adoration for the sea. He scowled on every cast off and scowled at the sight of every harbour. He had never once commented on how beautiful the ocean was at noon tide, or passed warning about the jagged rocks to maul his graceful vessel. Many of the crew called him a land-lubber and she was leaning to agree with them. Captain Leonhart was a Landlubber alright, but he was the Captain of this ship and he did not want to be disturbed.

"Tighten those sails!" She barked, pointing at the corner of a flapping sail and watched as a few hands rushed to tighten it. "Secure those cannons!" she shouted as more men ran to complete her command. They were minor changes that needed to be made, but it was better that she gave the orders than Leonhart. He would not go down to check their handiwork later. Quistis would and the crew knew it. They would not be getting away with any sort of sloppy work while she was on board.

She was about to descend the steps to the deck when Leonhart caught her arm. It was a rare thing indeed for the Captain to touch her at all, let alone reach out by his own accord. "What is your judgement of her?"

"My judgement?"

"You have a better judge of character than I do. What was the impression she gave you?" He'd let go of her arm by now and put his hand back on the helm. She watched him carefully adjusting the position of the wheel. Only a few months ago he would not have talked to her at all, prejudices and his own anti-social behaviour demanding that a woman on his ship was an outrage and a sacrilege. Now he had two on board and wanted to know what the other one was like. Lord help her.

"She seems innocent enough, maybe a little fragile even."

He nodded and adjusted their heading a little more. "Trouble maker?"

"Perhaps."

"All hands on deck."

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Quistis cleared her throat and assumed the rigid position of a high-ranking Naval Officer; feet slightly apart, hands behind her back, spine straight and chin pointing straight out. The crew below her scrambled to attention and stood in much the same pose, although not as well practised or perfectly turned out. Leonhart stepped up to the railing and looked down upon his crew.

"We are sailing straight to Balamb taking with us the daughter of Admiral Caraway!" The men exchanged glances, a few looking excited, a few mischievous and all of them nervous. "It's possible that we encounter Pirates or Corsairs and should any harm come to our cargo we will have failed this mission." He fixed all of them with a pointed look, not unlike the look one would give to some very naughty children. Children that you hated to be around. "You are not to enter her cabin. You are not to converse with her. You are to attend to your duties as you are instructed. Your task is to transport the Admiral's daughter to Balamb without injury. These are your first priorities. Anyone who disobeys these orders will be punished."

A few pairs of eyes, including Quistis', turned to the Cat of Nine Tails that hung above the Captain's cabin door. There had been men to die by the flay of those tails before and Quistis wielded it without a qualm. The crew all knew she would have no trouble in wielding it again. (A/N explanation of the Cat of Nine Tails at the bottom.)

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><p>Irvine yawned and stretched his legs down the mast. This was boring. So he might have a good pair of eyes, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be stuck in the Crow's Nest every bloody voyage. He could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he had spent a whole voyage on the deck. Three. Once when his wonderful eyesight remained undiscovered. Once when the Captain in question hadn't heard about his since discovered eyesight. And once when he'd fallen ill with a stomach bug that no one wanted at the top of a very tall pole. Every other voyage he had under his belt had been spent with copious amounts of time lounging about at the top of the mast, coming down occasionally for rests, meals and toilet breaks. But that was it.<p>

He plucked off his hat and rubbed a hand over his eyes. The sun glinting off the water was blindingly bright. At least here he was out of the way of the ocean spray, he didn't know how he would cope with that ruining his eyes too. He tugged his pony tail tight and put his hat back on, peering out into the distance.

He frowned, was that a speck on the horizon or was his eyesight beginning to fail him at last? No, it was definitely a speck. The longer he stared at it the more it began to look like a ship. It wasn't long before the colour was also discernable: Bright red and flying the Black and Gold standard of the Galbadian Navy. At least they were friendlies – relatively.

"Galbadian vessel on the starboard side!" He shouted down, pointing to help the pairs of eyes that looked up at his shout. "At the Prow!"

Down below, Squall left his position at the helm and went to the rail, fiddling his Periscope from his belt as he went. He drew it out and peered down it. Yep, that was definitely a Galbadian Vessel. Damn, that spotter's eyesight was good. He glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky then turned to Quistis, who was squinting out at the Vessel as well. She would probably need some eyeglasses at some point, but her vision wasn't all _that_ bad and besides, eyeglasses were very expensive in this day and age.

"What time is it?" He asked her. She reached into her pocket and took out a silver pocket watch.

"11:43."

Hmm. It was barely midday and yet they were already encountering other ships. It made him uneasy. He peered back down his Periscope and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

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><p>Rinoa giggled and pressed her ear back to the door. "You know," She said lightly, biting her lip between her teeth, "It's always been a dream of mine to go to sea and go sailing off into the sunset."<p>

"Oh, you should see the sunsets!" Zell said happily from the other side of the door, "They're beautiful! All different colours fanning out around the sun! And it reflects off the waves too!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Sometimes when I'm on watch and the sun's going down, I watch the sunset instead of doing my watch!"

"But won't you get in trouble?"

"Nah, I'm never caught."

Rinoa giggled. She liked Zell. When Quistis had said that there was going to be a guard outside her door day and night she expected it to be some gnarly old sea-dog with one eye, a wooden leg and no grasp of basic English. Of course she realised she was over generalising with some of the men she had seen wandering around the port sometimes, but it was good a place to start as any. In any case, she hadn't expected him to be so nice and talkative, if Quistis' attitude was anything to go by.

"Do you think I could see the sunset over the ocean at some point?" She asked tentatively.

"Um," Zell seemed unsure and she could hear him scuffling about for a little while before he called out "Yup, there's a porthole in your cabin there. You should be able to see the sunsets from there."

Rinoa looked around and frowned. She couldn't see anything that even vaguely resembled a port hole. "Where?"

"On the wall. I think it has glass in it." Came Zell's reply.

"Where?" Rinoa asked again, patted the walls down with both hands. There wasn't anything there! Silly man.

She heard the key turn in the lock and then Zell marched in, walking straight to the portside wall. It was covered in drapes of material and Rinoa had put a few of her pictures up to make the place look a little more homely. These all promptly came down when Zell began to search for the port hole as well. He found it after not much looking and revealed Rinoa's first look at the ocean up close. She dropped all the paintings she was trying to gather up when she saw the sea. It was a beautiful endless stretch of blue waters lit up by the sunlight and glittering brightly underneath it.

"There ya go, Miss Heartily." Zell said, smiling proudly, still clutching a silk drape in both hands. "There's your port hole. You can watch all kinds of things from here. Sometimes we even get dolphins chasing the ship!"

"Dolphins? Really?" Rinoa exclaimed, pushing her forehead up against the glass and trying to see out. She wanted to see the dolphins now if there were any. "I've never seen them before!"

"They're really pretty." Zell beamed, but then a shout of his name brought him back to attention and he cleared his throat quickly. "Err, excuse me, I'll not be a minute, Miss." He said, handing her the silk drape and then scurrying back out of the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Rinoa smiled and looked back out of the porthole. It looked like the journey wasn't going to be too terrible if she at least had a view of the sea. She glanced at the state of her room and sighed, beginning to fold the silk drape in her hands. It was pearl pink and deceptively heavy, though it looked quite light. She had put that away in one of the trunks and was just gathering her paintings up in her arms when the ship heaved suddenly to the left and the paintings flew from her hands again. Unused to the motion of the sea anyway, she was thrown with a yelp to her knees.

Muttering an expletive her dear dad would have probably popped an eyeball over, she staggered to her feet and grabbed fold of the door handle. But it didn't hold her up as she had expected. It flung open instead, depositing her on her stomach in the space outside. Zell had already gone and now she could hear shouting coming from above the deck.

Panic – as any young lady was bound to feel in this sort of a situation – began to flood through her as the scenario from 'upstairs' filtered into her mind, courtesy of her wild and woolly imagination. There would be gun fire starting any minute now, the bullets flying into the bodies of the crew and knocking them off their feet, chewing through muscle, bone and organ tissue alike. The enemy would charge on board, blades raised and they'd hack limbs and digits from the men who had been hired to protect her. Blood would soak the deck, mixed with fingers and slithers of flesh, the subcutaneous layer of fat sticking them to the floor and catching like string to the undersides of the shoes that mashed them into the deck.

She heaved herself off the floor and over to the steps that led to the above deck. The shouting was getting louder and now there were footsteps, running all over the place, along with the scrape of heavy objects. She recognised the sound immediately. Cannons.

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><p><em>La Carenza was a busy place at night time, surrounded on all sides by the darkness it provided cover for all manner of nightly things. Women selling themselves for money stood in the light of the murky windows, holding a hand out to any passerby who looked like he might need the distraction. Sometimes there were takers, sometimes there weren't. Inside the place it was a hazy affair of old smoke, candle light and bodies. It was packed most of the time anyway, but at night La Carenza became the lair of the Pirates. It was a well known abode of those who wanted to keep away from the law. Not necessarily for piracy, but for prostitution and the black market as well. The only reason it had been left alone by the authorities was... Well, the fire power. Not only was the bar bristling with battle hardened brutes, but it was also the main cache for the town's supply of dynamite and it was all hidden in the cellar. It was like dancing on a volcano as one exemplary statesman had once said.<em>

_Tonight the majority of the place's patrons belonged to the crew of the Pirate ship the Siren. They were a motley array of men all drinking away their most recent haul. The music was good, the food was passable and the girls were a plenty, what reason was there not to indulge in a little of their fancies? After all, their captain had retired to a 'private' place a little while ago and going by the man's stamina he wouldn't be back to join them for a little while._

_Through the door stooped a huge hulking figure, wrapped in a thick cloak and sopping wet. It was clearly raining quite hard outside. He pulled the hat from his head and let the door swing shut behind him, peering through the fog of smoke. Whoever he was looking for, he clearly couldn't see so he shrugged his cloak from his shoulders and hung it – along with his hat – on the peg on the back of the door. The loss of clothing decreased his size by what must have been a third and now what stood in the doorway was a tall, dark haired man wearing a faded and beaten up uniform of the Galbadian Navy. He smoothed his hands down the front of it and peered once again into the crowd. Somewhere at the back of the bar he spied a head of pale grey hair and he made a bee-line towards it._

"_Hey, Fuujin!" He greeted, pulling himself from the tangle of the crowd with a 'pop!' and staggering into the table, sloshing the tankard of beer that Fuujin had just put down. "Have you seen the Captain? I got something to tell 'im, ya know!"_

_Fuujin shook her head, frowning down at the beer sploshes now adorning her sleeve cuff. "PROSTITUTE."_

"_Oh." He scratched the back of his head, "Well it's really important, ya know. Did you see where he went?"_

_Fuujin jerked a thumb to the back door of the bar and took another swig of her beer. He nodded, then set off to drag himself through the knot of bodies that stood between him and the back door. A few more people bumped into Fuujin's table as he walked off, spilling yet more beer and earning themselves several life-threatening glares. There was going to be blood on this floor before the night was done if they weren't careful._

_He pulled himself out of the crowd and clattered into the back door, wrestling it open against the crush of bodies and spilled out of it into the road behind. It was still raining veritable cats and dogs and he had to squint to see the figure – or rather figures – crushed up against the wall of the nearby Cartwright. He called out:_

"_Yo, Captain! I got something really important to tell ya, ya know!"_

_There was a grunt of something and then silence again. Apparently the Captain didn't want to be disturbed. He scratched his head and tried again. "It's super important, ya know! It's about Leonhart and Caraway's daughter, ya know!"_

_The Captain let out a muffled curse, then pushed off the wall and stomped over to hear the rest. "This had better be important, Rai. Because in case you hadn't realised it, I'm sort of busy right now."_

"_I know, I know," Raijin nodded, glancing over the Captain's shoulder at the woman still leant up against the wall with her hips thrust forward. She curled her finger at him in a 'come hither' gesture and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "But it's about Leonhart, ya know! Tomorrow morning he's sailing back to Balamb waters and he's taking the Admiral's daughter with him, ya know!"_

"_So?" Bright green eyes narrowed slightly. "If they wanna get hitched then let 'em. It's none of our business."_

"_No, but he's not marrying her, ya know! He's just transporting her to Balamb! For Caraway, ya know!"_

_One elegant blond eyebrow arched. "Really? So she's still the responsibility of Caraway? Even while under Leonhart's command."_

_Raijin was nodding vigorously. "An' not only that, but they're also taking loads of her shit with them, ya know! All her finest possessions, ya know!"_

"_They're worth a lot of money." The Captain agreed, scratching at a hint of stubble. "We could hold her for ransom and flog all her stuff at the same time." He was considering hard, weighing up the pros and cons even though they both knew he couldn't deny anything that might involve a scrap with either the Navy or Leonhart. The only question was the urgency of the matter. Finally he came to a decision and began to usher Raijin back inside. _

_Behind them, the prostitute called out in protest. "Hey! What about my money!"_

"_Nothing sold nothing bought!" The Blond headed Captain called out behind him, pushing Raijin quickly through the barely open door and narrowly avoiding a shoe._

_The situation inside hadn't sorted itself out at all, in fact it only seemed to have gotten worse. A fight had broken out and amongst the rabble of writhing and struggling bodies Fuujin had half a tankard in her hand and was bashing various patrons over the head with it. Several bottles of beer had been spilt and there was some woman's dress floating about over people's heads, all the while a tenacious little band of men was singing '5 pieces of 8' in the corner as loudly as they could, adding to the general noise._

_Raijin and the Captain fought their way through to where Fuujin was braining a man with her tankard with what could only be described as malicious delight. "We have to make an announcement!" The Captain shouted to her above the din while Raijin fended off an enthusiastic man wielding a fire poker. When she couldn't hear him, he shouted again. "WE NEED TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!"_

_Once again not hearing, Fuujin clambered onto a very rickety old table top anyway and shouted at the top of her lungs:_

"_**QUIET**!"_

_Silence in the hall._

_Raijin cleared his throat and tried to hold the table still as his Captain climbed up beside Fuujin, towering several heads above her. He too cleared his throat._

"_Tonight, we're very fortunate!" He began, sticking both thumbs through the loops of his belt, his sword jangling against his bulging money purse. "Raijin has brought word of the lovely Miss Heartily and the licentious Captain Puberty!" A cheer went up from his crew and a glimmer ran round the pub as weapons were rearranged in preparation. "Tomorrow morning they set sail for Balamb, aboard the Balamb Garden. I've heard there's going to be a lot of booty on that ship tomorrow, and Caraway will surely pay any price for his daughter to be safely returned to him, don'tcha think?"_

_Another cheer went up and several of the patrons, uninvolved in this mixture of pirates and looters, began to filter from the pub. "It would be unfair for Captain Puberty to make off with all the riches, especially when we have tried so very hard to protect the pride and waters of this Nation!"_

_Raijin and Fuujin exchanged grim glances. It was a thorn in their sides every bloody day. "I think it's about time we got some pay back on the ol' Admiral!" The captain announced, heralding more cheers and this time a few brandished cutlasses, swords and more than a few beer bottles. "We cast off tonight!" He shouted amid the cheers. "Tomorrow, we ambush Balamb Garden and steal Caraway's Daughter! We set light to the flags of the Balamb Navy and sink 'em to the depths! To the Siren's call of the ocean!"_

_The roar that erupted onto the street was deafening. The crew of 37 men, not including the Captain and his two faithful friends burst from the pub and charged towards the docks. There was a full night's work ahead of them if they were to be ready for Leonhart when he came._

* * *

><p>The Balamb Garden had started out as nothing more than a speck of black in the distance, but not it was taking the form of a miniature Galleon, bobbing along towards them. The standard procedure for this sort of situation was to pass barely a foot from each other, the entire crew gathered on the starboard side to salute the other ship as it passed. Guns and swords would bristle and hand would shake. It was only natural, they were at war with each other after all. But the Balamb Garden was flying the Ambassadorial Flag so it was protected from combat to some degree. Certainly from any self-respecting Galbadian ship anyway. Unfortunately for the Garden, the Siren was not just any Galbadian ship and – although certainly self-respecting – the promise of protection was certainly not something they considered extending.<p>

"Listen up!" The Captain shouted, capturing the attention of his crew, who were all watching the approach of the Garden with barely concealed excitement. "What we want from that Ship most of all is Rinoa Heartily. The rest goes as normal; paintings, silks, money, whatever holds value. But as soon as we have the woman, we're out of there."

A Mexican wave of nods greeted his command and then attention returned to the approaching vessel. He added one more order to the pile. "Leonhart is mine. Raise the Standard!"

* * *

><p>Irvine frowned as the Galbadian Flag disappeared from the top of the mast of the other ship. What the bloody hell were they doing? Uneasiness began to gather in his stomach as he saw a different flag begin to run up the pole; grey with a flash of red just barely visible on each tug of the runner. His uneasiness was proven not to be unfounded when at last the sea winds unfurled the material completely and he was left staring wide-eyed into the unmistakable image of the Fire Cross. Dread pooled in his being as he looked into that well-known symbol of defiance. Why hadn't it clicked sooner? Of course it couldn't be a genuine Galbadian Galleon; they were all off battling the Trabians in the arctic conditions of World's End. It was an aggravating thing to acknowledge that this was not the first time he'd seen this flag. He cleared his throat, unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and called out in a voice that was slightly reedier than he'd have liked:<p>

"It's the Fire Cross!"

Down below, Leonhart and Quistis, who had previously been engaged in a conversation - admittedly rather one-sided - over the ethics of the Trabio-Galbadian skirmish, rushed to the side.

"Fuck." He swore, slamming his hands down on the wood. Beside him, Quistis adopted her no nonsense frown. He turned to her, "It's Almasy."

She nodded, then spun around, pulling her whip from her belt and cracking it at her side. It left a score mark on the wood at their feet. "Alright, men!" She shouted at the men who were gathering at the side and watching the approach of the ship ahead of them. "Battle positions! I want cannons ready! I want bayonets attached! I want muskets at the ready!" Down on the deck the men hurried to her commands and she cracked her whip again. "Get this ship ready for battle, _now_!"

She turned to the helm's man, "Nida, take us out of their course!"

Nida nodded and spun the wheel, the whole ship tilting suddenly to the Portside as the rudder turned in the water. Quistis jerked a little on her feet, then dashed down the steps to the deck and grabbed a rope that was about to slip free, tying it quickly back into place, then rushing down the steps to the hold.

Leonhart watched her go, then turned his attention back to his enemy. There he was, standing on the very prow of his ship, hanging on to a rope and leaning out with a wolf's grin stretched across his face. He looked damned pleased to see them, that was for sure. Something made Leonhart nervous that maybe this meeting was a little more than pure coincidence. It wasn't even noon yet after all and already they were running into conflict. With 'Captain' Almasy no less. It was too much to be a coincidence. Almasy _had_ to know what it was they were transporting. But how?

He shook his head and turned to spin into his cabin, marching up to the table and grabbing his weapons. He rammed the musket into his belt and snatched up his scimitar. How Almasy knew was not important at the moment. What was important was getting out of this alive and with Rinoa – preferably – still on board and living. He spun back out of his cabin again and looked back to the approaching ship. Damnit, it was gaining on them quickly. Apparently evasive manoeuvres hadn't been taken quickly enough. He looked to Nida. "What's our speed?"

"23 knots, Sir." Nida said, glancing at the dial to his right, along with the compass.

Fairly fast then. He didn't even want to know what tricks Almasy was pulling to mean he could be going even faster than they were. Maybe he had some sort of Voodoo going on. It wouldn't surprise him. Looking over the side, he watched as the Siren's cannon hatches were raised and the noses of several cannons protruded like bristles from the ship. Looking to the men rushing about on the deck, tying ropes and hurriedly passing out weaponry, he shouted out an order: "Prepare for conflict!"

* * *

><p>"Secure that Cannon," Quistis shouted, cracking her whip and pointing at a cannon that rolled slightly as the ship bucked. "There's no room for mistakes people!"<p>

She frowned out of a cannon hole at the red ship approaching. It couldn't have been more than 10 meters away now. Buggeration. "Load the cannons!" She shouted, cracking her whip again. It was a habit born out of nerves, and she had no intentions of trying to amend it.

The Siren was approaching with alarming speed now and the last ball had barely been loaded before she snapped her whip down again and shouted, her voice breaking a little in the middle:

"Fire!"

* * *

><p>Rinoa shrieked as the first volley of cannon fire sounded over head and she threw herself flat on the floor, burying her head in her arms. Shouting erupted then too and the sounds of scrambling feet before the deafening <em>whumpf<em> of splitting wood and displaced air sounded up there as well. A vaguely inhuman cry brought her head out of her arms and she looked up to the stairs. She couldn't see anything but dust and flying wood chips and she could barely hear anything above the crash of the waves - seeming so much more magnified - and the shout of men. But over the din, she could just about hear the crack of a whip and a feminine shout, commanding: "Reload!"

She squinted at her hands for a second, the palms a little scuffed from her fall and a few beads of blood were beginning to form. This was the first taste of combat she'd gotten. It was one of the few times she'd seen her own blood on her hands. It reminded her a lot of a day a few years ago, when it was not _her_ blood on her hands, but someone else's, the blood of someone very important to her. She frowned and set her jaw. Back then she had been little more than a slip of a girl, unable to stop the blood from spilling. But this time, she'd be blowed if she let her blood run through her fingers by virtue of simple mistake or idiocy or pathetic habit.

She struggled to her feet and looked around for inspiration. It was clear that the first thing she needed to do was to get off this ship. It was clearly too dangerous and although she knew she'd been given orders to stay in her cabin and wait for death to find her, she didn't much like the idea. When the Crew lost, she was liable for a killing and she didn't like the idea of that. Either that or she'd be captured. Whatever. Neither was particularly preferable. She picked the front of her dress up in both hands and rushed back into her room, looking first at the porthole and then around at the things that littered the room. A brass vase stood on the dresser and she grabbed it, turning round and fixing the porthole with a look. Right. It was time to get messy.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ Cat of Nine Tails was a whip with nine 'tail's on it. These frequently had metal spikes and other such things knotted into them that would flay a man down to the bone. It wasn't uncommon to receive a punishment of 40 lashes with it, although most of the time the cries for mercy would come around the 5th or 6th lash mark. By the time number 40 came around, there'd be little left on your back to stand you up straight and screaming for mercy was a moot point anyway. Lost of men died under the Cat of Nine Tails.

Anyway, I hope you liked that, if anyone bothers to review at all, it would be nice. I like to think that my work is appreciated, even though it seems like I'm just starting another fic again for the hell of it, if you've read my profile you can see that I fully intend to finish every fic that I start.

As I'm sure you know, any reviews are welcome, pointing out speeling (intentional mistake while trying to be funny :/) errors, or just giving me inspiration for the plot.

I don't feel like I need to write a disclaimer for this as we are currently on a FANFICTION website and therefore you will all have to assume that this is based off another persons work - or in this case, several people's work :)

Anyway, another plot bunny just struck with little (I won't say _any_ because that would be lying) warning, so I must leave you to hit the review button ;) and stick this to your story alert. Also, my dinner is done so I have to go anyway xD Spaghetti Bolognese yum yum! Err, I mean Yo Ho!

-Iets.


	2. Pirates! Arr!

**_A/N:_** Here we are! The Second Chapter! Chapter 2! Parti Deux! Deel Twee! Whatever you wanna call it, here it is! I know this seems a little like I'm blowing my own trumpette, but I really think that this might be my greatest creation... Just saying ;)

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><p><span>Pirates! Arr!<span>

The world around her rocked with the comfortingly familiar motion of the sea, rolling in black waves all around her, dulling all sound, pressure and pain. All she could focus on was the slightly uneven rise and swell that swayed her from top to toe, pressing her gently onto her back, flattening her to the cool surface behind her. Soft light began to find its way behind her eyelids and turned her world into the dusky array of sunset reds and yellows that was sunlight behind skin.

Sound began to filter through her senses too, beginning with the steady drum beat of her heart in her head, then broadening out to the deep bass of an indiscernible voice.

"-Wrong bloody woman!"

Fuck her head hurt. This was like that time in Guatamoka when she got attacked by that tribe of pigmy Moomba and ended up being trussed from head to toe in lemon leaves. Only this time she wasn't sat stewing in a pot of boiling water.

"-Blonde hair. Heartily-"

She blinked against the sunlight, blindingly bright as it was. She needed to assess her situation, and that meant having her eyes open. But they'd tied her up facing the sky – subsequently the sun – and she was unable to move herself over.

"-Wanted his dog I would've-"

She groaned as the sun's rays burned themselves onto the back of her retina and she tried to flip herself onto her stomach for some reprieve. The voices went quiet around her and then a pair of hands was pulling her up and landing her on her feet. Her head swam with the movement.

The burning in her retinas subsided quickly and she was able to glare at the man who bent down to her level. He was dressed in the Black and Gold over coat of the Galbadian Navy – albeit a little faded and salt-crusted – with a faded brown triangular hat complete with large Crimson feather and salt-crusted leather boots. He had replaced the standard gold coloured shirt with a white one, untucked and buckled with a loose belt around his hips. Around his neck hung a thin gold chain and to this clung his emblem – the fire cross. This was Almasy.

"What do you have to say for yourself then, Trepe?"

She groaned and shut her eyes. It was just her luck to be stuck staring up into the face of Captain Almasy, deserter of the Galbadian Navy, killer of women and children, lover and leaver of lords and ladies alike – a horrible tale of the 9 Lords of Centra and a stick of celery – and the Captain of the pirate ship, the Siren.

"Fuck 'm I doing here?" She groaned, peering about at the crew standing behind him, most of whom were looking mildly sheepish.

"Where's Heartily?" He asked, narrowing his eyes and caressing the pommel of his cutlass very deliberately. A threat.

"You tell me." She muttered, shutting her eyes again. All she wanted was some dark, cover of night perhaps and the bright midday sun was hurting her head. "What's the time?"

"Where's Heartily?"

"What time is it?"

"12:56, why?"

It was the middle of the day. Blimey, how long had she been unconscious for? How long had the battle been over? Had Captain Leonhart won? She let herself sag against whoever was holding her. She wished they would just put her down already; surely the floor was the safest place for her, particularly as nausea was beginning to make itself known. The soft pounding she'd been aware of before at the back of her head had turned itself into a raging headache.

"Why in the hell am I on this ship?"

"An excellent question!" Almasy said, straightening up and turning to face his crew. "Why do I have Leonhart's bloody lapdog on my fucking ship?"

* * *

><p><em>He drew Lionheart from his belt and cut the rope of a man swinging across to his right, then took out his pistol and fired at another flying man. "Shoot them out of the air!" He called, glancing along his ship as several other men began to follow his example. But they were a mere few and the majority of his crew was tangled up in firing cannons and battling the enemy by hand. He saw Dincht come tearing out of the hold and put a palm thrust straight into the cartilage of someone's nose. The man's face seemed to fold around Dincht's fist for a second before he hit the deck with a squawk of pain, clutching his face – bleeding profusely of course - and Squall could place a fairly safe bet that the man wouldn't be returning to the battle anytime soon.<em>

_A little further along the deck, Almasy was tearing his way through a line of men trying to aim their cannons. He punched and kicked with what appeared to be wild abandon, but the blows never missed their mark. By the time he got to the end of the line, the last two men had decided to take cover and had abandoned their cannon. Almasy threw them a perfect salute, then bent and aimed their cannon at the others back along the row. The boom and following clang of metal on metal was deafening and every sailor in the immediate vicinity dove for safety as sawn off bits of iron flew everywhere. The cannons at the other end of the row were merely knocked from their shocks, but it was enough. They wouldn't be put right anytime this battle. They were out of action and out of the Pirates' way for now._

_Squall scowled and turned to plant a fist into the torso of a man leaping at him from the top of his cabin. He felt the tip of the man's sternum snap off as he folded around his fist. Bloody barbarians, jumping a ship like this was unheard of from anyone other than Almasy and his bloody Siren! Squall threw the body off and turned to descend the stairs to the deck, taking them two at a time. Almasy was a traitor and a turn coat and a bloody sneak to boot. Fancy sneaking up, disguising himself as a ship of the Galbadian Navy, then raising his standard at the last minute! It would be less insulting – he thought as he parried the strike of an enemy before shoving him over board – if the colours had been the Jolly Roger (__**A/N**__ at the end) after all, but they weren't, they were different and he rather felt like he was staring into the face of another breed of pirate itself!_

_Almasy straightened from examining his handiwork and gave Squall his toothiest grin. He was clearly enjoying this. Bloody Pirate!_

* * *

><p><em>Lumps of wood showered over her as Quistis cracked her whip and barked commands. She spat woodchips from her mouth and cracked her whip again. Her men scurried around, firing their cannons with enthusiasm akin to panic. This wasn't the first time these men had seem combat, but it might very well be their last. Many of their comrades had been killed, had their stomachs blown out and sprayed the surroundings in stomach acid and half-digested food, or been shot and stabbed by the enemy approaching unseen down the stairs at their backs. It wasn't so unlikely that it might happen to them today.<em>

_The ship bucked on the waves and threw them all to the ground, including a pirate who had just appeared at the top of the stairs. His foot slipped on the first step and he tumbled to the ground, falling face first and knocking out a number of teeth. Quistis struggled to her feet and drew her scimitar, running it through the back of the man now sprawled on the floor. The less troublesome pirates there were running about the better._

* * *

><p><em>Rinoa whimpered as the ship gave a great shudder, accompanied by the blast of cannon fire and a chorus of screams. That last shot had been quite loud; she really hoped they hadn't broken anything vital on the ship. And this window wouldn't budge! She hit it again with the vase. Now that Zell was gone she felt more in danger than ever, especially with the sounds of battle getting increasingly distressing. It was only a matter of time before they got through the defences and found her.<em>

_She hit the window one more time before deciding to give up, but to her surprise and delight the glass moved. It shot about a millimetre away from her. She sucked in breath and tried again. It moved again and she hit it again. Slowly, the more she hit it, the greater the distance it would move. It went from millimetres to centimetres until finally it fell out and into the sea with a soft plop._

_It would be a waste of the glass, but that was currently the least of her troubles. She stuck her head out and looked up. There was a knot of wood a couple of feet above her that would make a wonderful hand hold and not far above that was a cannon hole. She might be able to get out of here before it was too late after all, just a wiggle and a pull and maybe a few flailing leg kicks and she'd have squeezed out of this porthole and be home free. Nearly._

_She had little time to lose._

* * *

><p>"<em>Reload those cannons, quickly!" Quistis barked, grabbing her hat from where it had been blown from her head by a cannon ball that had missed her by mere inches. She had the wood chips in her hair to show for it. She dusted the hat off and crammed it back onto her head before reaching for her whip.<em>

_The deck she was on was awash with blood, entrails and wood. The damage was alarmingly little, only 3 men out of her 10 had been killed and one more injured, but it was still enough to paint the place red. Still the cannon fire came in volleys and she slipped on spilt guts as she struggled to aim a cannon by herself. Three of the 6 remaining men were gathered around the injured man – one of his legs was now nothing but a bloody, mangled stump, blown off by an unfortunately accurate cannon ball, and the other was missing a sizable chunk from the thigh – trying to calm him and stop the bleeding. It wouldn't work, he was going to die fairly soon and then she would be left with few sailors to her command. The other three of her group were diligently firing away._

_She stuffed a ball down the nose of her cannon, then rammed some gunpowder down the end and aimed, pulling and pushing and tugging with all her might just to get it to point where she wanted. She planned on taking out some of those bastards' fire power. She lit the powder and held on tight._

_The recoil threw her backwards, knocked her hat from her head again and landed her on her back. She struggling to sitting, winced and coughed a little blood into her palm and wiped it on her trousers. That recoil was going to have left a bruise on her chest and she'd have to be careful not to damage her lungs any more, but luckily for her the three men still firing their cannon seemed to have caught on to what she wanted._

_She peered out of her cannon hole at the damage she'd inflicted on the other ship. She hadn't hit the cannon like she'd hoped she might have, but she did blow a hole in the side near it. Her cannon ball had just clipped the edge of the hole and now there was most of a half moon missing from its edge._

_The endeavours of her men proved more successful and two of the enemy's cannons were misshapen and broken by the time Quistis decided it was time to find Miss Heartily and deal with her safety._

_The two ships were close together, so close they were almost touching. Quistis rushed to the stairs that led her down to the hold proper and took them two at a time. The situation was becoming too dangerous to allow Miss Heartily to be alone. She'd seen Dincht go tearing up the stairs long ago anyway, howling out battle cries and bowling people right over with his fists. Which meant that there was no-one currently guarding the cargo. It would be easy pickings for anyone she'd let slip by._

"_Miss Heartily, I must apologise but-" She began, rushing into the specially made cabin and slamming the door, locking it quickly. It was only when she turned to the room that she realised it was empty. She cursed at the sight of the broken window and struggled over to it, tossing a few wayward trunks out of her way. She looked out of it, sticking her head out all the way and rotating it this way and that. Miss Heartily was nowhere to be seen. She sure as shit hadn't fallen in the water either because there was no stupid feathery hats floating about. She'd hated that hat from the second she'd seen it. The girl wasn't bloody nobility and she was meant to be running for her life, there was no need to strut about the ship wearing a bloody ball gown and a stupid, bright blue, glittery hat for pity's sake, plume of feathers and all!_

_She pulled her head back in through the window and turned around quickly, digging through the throw pillows and discarded pictures, drapes and even more hats in a last attempt at hope. Perhaps the stupid girl had decided to hide amongst her unnecessary effects? No such luck._

_She stormed to the door and fumbled with the key, jamming it in the door and wrenching it round so hard that it bent in the lock. Oh well, no time to fix that now, she had to inform Captain Leonhart about their little – ahem – problem. She went to pull the door open, but it was forced open by the other side, the flat of it slamming into her jaw, spinning her like a top. One of the hats got under her feet and she went down with a crack, crashing her head into something hard and pointy. Her world went dark in one moment._

* * *

><p><em>Rinoa crouched low behind a barrel of something – she hoped it wasn't gunpowder, that would be an awful place to hide – clutching her skirts to her and peering out. She could see Leonhart fighting with a blond headed man wearing a battered and faded Galbadian uniform, the battle raging on around them as they traded blows and sword swings. Her heart leapt as she got a proper look at the man he was fighting; the blond hair and the green eyes were familiar. Very familiar in fact. Familiar enough that last summer – a time her father had solidly told her to forget – came flooding back, in infinite detail. There was a time she would have professed to being in love with that man, namely last summer, but right now she had other things in her sights. Like the row boat that she could see just beyond them.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Squall snarled, swinging Lionheart wide, catching another man in the face, but not Almasy. Damnit, he was slippery as hell. There had been a few moments then when he'd had his hand on the sleeve of that damn coat and he was mere seconds away from pulling him in, following through with a slice to the abdomen that would spill the man's guts faster than you could say "oh bugger". But before he had time to so much as move his sword, Almasy had pulled him in, twisting his wrist viciously and bringing his knee up against the bones, slamming squalls wrist down and breaking his hold. Damn dirty trickster.<em>

_Almasy grinned at him and gestured he come forward and try again. It was coupled with that smirk again. Tch._

"_Come forth and try your luck," He laughed, crooking one finger and smiling like a Cheshire cat. Squall scowled. How many times had he been faced with that infuriating grin? Too many, that's how many. It felt an awful lot like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and he didn't like it at all._

_He stuck out his own hand and – knowing that this was rather a lot like inviting the devil to dinner – crooked his own finger in retaliation. 'No, you come to me'._

* * *

><p><em>Almasy's grin widened. Now this was more like it, it had been a little while since he'd seen his equal on the battle field and up till now he'd been going easy on his pretty little arse. Pssh, it was time for some proper battling and on a decent scale too – he'd just been invited after all. Besides, he could see out of the corner of his eye some of his men grappling with a load of trunks, each with the letters R.H. engraved on the sides in elegant curling writing. Pretty soon the girl herself was going to follow them, unconscious most likely or struggling if she wasn't. He turned his eyes back to Captain Puberty. Well, let's not beat about the bush.<em>

_He rushed him, slamming his blade into Lionheart when Pubes brought it up to defend himself, and forcing his opponent back onto the cannons behind him. Squall staggered, the cannons stopping his feet while his body kept going, he fell back onto them and rolled to the side, narrowly missing the swipe of Hyperion that scratched a groove in the cast iron he had been lying on only moments ago. _

_Almasy slammed his foot down on Squall's coat tail, stopping his escape. This was fun, he decided, slashing at his rival – who only narrowly avoided it, minus the back of his jacket. He watched as Squall rolled out of the way, coming up with Lionheart clutched in both hands. He rolled his eyes as the perfectly executed upper-cut followed through with a diagonal slice from left to right. Both attacks missed him by a mile. They were too predictable. He slashed at Leonhart's back as he passed, leaving a tear in the material of his clothing and a red, angry line in his skin. Far too predictable._

* * *

><p><em>Rinoa edged along the deck, next to the railing, dodging flying bodies and warding off rolling cannons, her destination getting ever closer. She had decided to ignore the enigmatic young enemy-Captain battling with Captain Leonhart for the time being on the grounds that she would have plenty of time to dwell on him later, once she was safely off this ship, on her little row boat and floating merrily away, leaving this carnage of death and destruction behind her.<em>

_She slipped on her belly underneath the wrestling bodies of two men, propped up by little more than a few ropes. They were too engrossed in their battle and didn't see her. Luckily. The buck and dive of the ship helped her greatly along on her way, sending her skidding along on her stomach from one side of the deck to the other, right underneath her little row boat. Oh good._

_She was just about to scurry out when a body fell to the ground beside her, bleeding profusely from a head wound. The ear had been battered into the side of the head, splitting the cartilage, the same blow had also cracked along the man's cheek bone, caving it in somewhat and splitting the skin there too. She shrieked and jerked away as the eyes fell to her momentarily, entirely glazed over and rolling in their sockets, before the body was hauled up by someone and hurled overboard. The only thing she could see of the killer was their legs and those quickly moved on. To make fish chow out of someone else's face no doubt._

_Her hands shaking from the sudden fear and shock of what she'd seen, Rinoa pulled herself out from under her boat and up onto her feet. The battle around her was moving with the ship and currently, many of the combatants were at the other end of the deck. It gave Rinoa the chance she needed to untie the rowboat and cast it from the Garden. It didn't go quite as she'd intended and the little boat fell into the water far below her with a splash. Damn, it was so far away now. She glanced over her shoulder to check that no one was watching, then climbed over the railing and fell head first into the sea._

_She hit the water with a crash, landing mostly on her back and immediately being churned over by the waves. She struggled to get to the surface before her dress could drag her down. Salty water was in her eyes and stung them, it got up her nose, in her ears and in her mouth when she opened it to try and breathe. She choked on the blue that swamped her systems and thrashed as she was twisted by the sea. She was drowning. The realisation hit her with all the subtlety of a 200 lb sledge hammer. No wait, that was a boat. She spun around, grabbing for the boat, clinging on like a drowning cat when she had it under her fingers, her nails scratching along the wood as she struggled for purchase. The dress was still dragging her down as she hauled herself over the side, gasping like a beached carp. Bloody hell. It was almost more than her trouble was worth. Her hair was flat to her head and threads of it were wrapped round her neck and sticking to her clothing. The little boat was slowly being swept away by the waves, away from the two battling galleons and Rinoa had no intentions of stopping the gravitation._

* * *

><p><em>Squall hissed out through his teeth and arched his back. Shit, that stung. He knew Almasy had never been one for the standard attack sequences, but that was what made him such a loose cannon. It was what had gotten him kicked out of the Balamb Navy in the first place. Galbadia had only accepted him because he could kill unscrupulously, but it would have seemed that even they got tired of his defiance in the end. He turned round, trying to get a punch in, but Almasy caught him in the face with his boot, right under the chin, snapping his head back, smashing his teeth together and up-ending his world. He fell to his knees as someone somewhere shouted:<em>

"_Captain, Cat's in the bag and she's all a-go!"_

"_Perfect." Almasy purred, sheathing his weapon as Squall tried to pick himself from the ground, his head still ringing and his teeth screaming in protest._

"_Well then, Captain Puberty." Almasy gave him a sweeping bow, taking the hat from his head and holding it against his chest with a flourish. A perfect gentlemen's bow. "Adieu."_

* * *

><p><em>The Siren pulled away, leaving its grappling hooks attached to the Garden, the last few pirates making flying leaps across the gap. Leonhart's crew looked only too happy to be rid of them, tossing the hooks from their ship and shaking their fists in the air. They were so natively Balamb it was almost amusing. The man in the Crow's nest had been firing a musket down on them with painful accuracy and was now peeing at them, with equally painful accuracy.<em>

_Almasy grinned as Leonhart appeared at the rail, one hand gripping tightly to the bottom of his bloody chin. Really got him then. It was a credit to his own good shot. He gave his rival a cheery wave as the distance between them grew. Ah, he enjoyed a good spar every now and then, but nothing quite compared to getting on Leonhart's back and giving him a good metaphorical thrashing._

_He turned from the side, "Well, who's got me beautiful lady then?" He asked the ship at large, many of whom were sprawled on the deck taking a well earned breather. Even if Leonhart's crew was small, it was effective and more than enough to take on the Siren's untrained rag-tag team._

_Fuujin's head appeared from below deck and she beckoned him over, her face was solemn. "WRONG ONE."_

_His expression fell. What did she mean, 'wrong one'? He strode over and followed her quickly down the steps into the hold. When his eyes adjusted to the dark he could see a few men gathered around a pair of boots. As he approached the pair of boots became a pair of legs as well, and then a body and then a head. He stood and stared for a few moments at the woman laying across some coils of rope. It was the wrong bloody one too. The softly tanned caramel skin, slightly tangled golden hair and surprisingly clean blue uniform was not at all what he'd expected when he told them to bring in Rinoa Heartily._

"_Here's your beautiful lady." A sailor to his right beamed, fiddling with a line of rope that coiled all the way around the woman, starting from the boots and trussing her up like a shoulder of lamb. "I caught her myself, lying in her cabin."_

"_In whose cabin?" He asked calmly, watching the fiddling from the corner of his eye. The man was shredding the end of the rope slowly and meticulously. He had apparently not been in the presence of such a 'beautiful lady' before; neither had the men gathered around them if their expressions of awe and wonder were any indication._

"_Miss Heartily's cabin sir, she was stretched out among her possessions. Lying on her face she was."_

_He snatched the rope from the man's hand and tossed it to the ground to halt that infernal fiddling. Yes this was a beautiful lady. Yes, she might have been in Rinoa Heartily's cabin. But this was not Rinoa Heartily! This was Quistis Trepe and that was a huge problem!_

_Beside him, Fuujin was shaking her head in disappointment. "WRONG WOMAN."_

"_Yes, it is the wrong bloody woman, isn't it." He snapped, bending to scoop Trepe up in the most intimate fashion he would ever condone to extending towards her. Thank Hyne she was out of it right now or he'd find his face being bent into all sorts of odd shapes. "And I'm gonna fucking toss her over board if someone can't bloody tell me why I have Leonhart's bloody lapdog on my fucking ship!"_

_He carried her up onto the deck and over to the side, seating her on it and putting one hand on her shoulder. The men who had followed him up from the hold murmured between themselves. The man who had claimed to have captured 'Heartily' went a little red and shuffled his feet. By now the rest of the crew had decided they wanted to know about what was going on. He was kicking up a heck of a stink anyway._

"_Who can tell me what Heartily looks like?" He asked the crew, looking around as the sailors exchanged glances and a few of them shook their heads. Good grief, did none of them actually know what she looked like? One of them pointed to the woman Almasy had under his hand and he resisted the urge to just let her go._

"_No," he ground out through gritted teeth, "This is not Rinoa Heartily. Let's assume for now that what you have brought me is the wrong bloody woman."_

_They exchanged glances again and at the back of the crowd Raijin offered helpfully; "She's a brunette, ya know."_

"_Exactly!" Almasy growled, "This woman," He shook her shoulder, swaying her dangerously over the edge, "is a blonde. Heartily is a brunette. Next difference?"_

"_UNIFORM."_

"_The uniform!" He glared at the men who were beginning to cotton on. "I asked you for a woman in a dress with long brown hair and big brown eyes and a fucking pedigree! Not Quistis Trepe! If I had wanted his dog I would have asked for her!"_

_He took hold of the ropes that bound her and pushed her out over the edge, holding up a hand to ward off the men who rushed forward to save their golden beauty. True, she was a Siren no doubt, but just because she was on the bloody ship, it didn't mean they all had to start acting like love-struck morons. Hyne knew he'd gotten over his infatuation pretty damn quick once she'd punched him in the guts; the transition from potent to impotent was going to be just as quick and painful for them too._

"_One good reason why I shouldn't toss her overboard right now?"_

"_Because she's important, ya know!" Almasy rolled his eyes as Raijin pushed to the front of the crowd. Poor, poor Raijin, he had yet to be kneed in the bollocks by this lovely lady and so had yet to be cured of his affection. Naturally it would be he to offer up a reason._

"_I said a 'good reason' Raijin, not just any old reason."_

"_It is a good reason! We could use her, ya know!" Well well well, maybe his ol' buddy wasn't as innocent as he seemed. "A bargaining chip or sumin. Could use her to get Rinoa, ya know!" Nope, scratch that, he was as innocent as ever._

"_Alright fine, that's a good enough reason. But if she tries to kick me in the teeth I'm putting her out of her misery." He grumbled, hauling her back over the side and dumping her non-too-gently on the floor. Sometimes he was just too nice for his own good._

* * *

><p>But here they now were, and here he was looking sceptically at his crew and the offering they had brought him. Maybe it <em>was<em> sort of silly of him to assume they knew what the Admiral's flipping daughter looked like, but then if they'd had no idea they should have said something!

"Yo boss, I think she needs to lie down, ya know." Raijin said, struggling to keep Trepe from sinking to the ground. "There's loads of blood on the back of her head too, ya know."

Seifer sighed and consented to look at the back of Quistis' head. He sifted through her hair to where the blood was coming from. It was a small cut and had partially crusted over, but it had obviously been bleeding quite heavily and a trickle was still seeping through to add to the growing patch of matted blood in her hair. He turned to the man who claimed to have found her. "Did you hit her with something?"

"No Sir, she fell and hit her head on the corner of a trunk. Knocked her out cold."

He turned back to look at the cut. She'd most likely have a pounding headache and she'd be grouchy and gnarly until he managed to get rid of her. Raijin grunted as he tried to rearrange his hands, tucking them under her arms and holding her up like that. She'd blacked out again.

Seifer scratched at the back of his head, they were going to have to go back and get Heartily at some point, soon preferably. But he couldn't be dealing with a dead First Mate right now; it would add more trouble to the pile of shit he was getting himself into. At least most of _that_ was planned. The trick to a happy life was making everyone else your bitch. He gave Trepe once last look, then said, "Untie her legs and put her in my cabin." Then as an afterthought, "Get Fuujin to take a look at that cut, it doesn't look serious, but in any case we don't want her snuffing it. She'll be useful when we confront Leonhart again."

Raijin nodded and began to shuffle in the direction of Seifer's cabin, holding Trepe by the arms and dragging her feet along the ground. The woman wasn't nearly as light as she looked.

Seifer turned to his crew once the two had disappeared. He suppressed a sigh, but couldn't stop from rubbing at his scar. "Turn us around; we're going back for Heartily."

Bustle began slowly, the previous excitement gone now they faced the prospect of a second fight in the space of an hour with the same group of sailors who had nearly knocked the stuffing out of them the first time. It wasn't something to be looked forwards to.

Seifer walked up to the prow of the ship and sat down, waiting calmly for the arrival of Balamb Garden. No doubt Leonhart had discovered his darling First Mate to be missing and would be absolutely distraught. Not. The last time he had seen those two interact it had been Leonhart shouting at Trepe to follow his orders when he was clearly wrong and in terms of experience and brains she clearly outranked him. She was obviously smitten and he was obviously an arsehole. But arsehole or not, he could recognise a good companion and he would sorely miss his second in command if she died. He hoped.

He ran a hand down his face and let his head rest against the rigging at his back. If they had just managed to capture Heartily the first time and then escaped quickly like he'd intended, then things would be going brilliantly from here. But as it was all he had to show for his trouble was a group of injured pirates, a ship shot full of holes and an unconscious moody bitch in his cabin while Leonhart sailed merrily on with Heartily still cached away somewhere. He probably hid her down his breeches, forced mind you. If he knew Leonhart he'd rather cut his own throat than sleep with a woman. He just hoped the ornery old sourpuss would have enough heart to rescue one.

The Siren had by now completely its corner and was travelling back the way it had come, turning the speck on the horizon into a miniature figurine. The sea breeze was cooling, although the heat of the sun had turned cloying and it was only the spray of the ocean that kept him cool. How come none of his plans ever went the right way? How come it was barely passed midday and already he was scrambling about trying to right his mistakes? Somehow it didn't seem fair. Not fucking fair at all.

* * *

><p>"I want a body count." Squall said, checking his teeth in the mirror and wiping away the dribble of blood that continued to appear on his chin. Almasy's boot had cut into the skin on his chin, splitting it. The sailor he'd spoken to exited his cabin in silence. They'd lost a lot of men and would most likely have to stock up on crew again in a port town. It only depended on how long they could go on the man power they currently had and how many sailors he had left at his command. Quistis' forces were most likely to have been annihilated in the battle, he'd only given her command of 10 anyway.<p>

A sniffling at the door turned his gaze. Zell was nearly in tears at the door, having just returned from his search for Miss Heartily and coming up empty handed. It was a big blow to the young sailor, having only sailed from Balamb once before, this was to be his first real assignment and he'd already botched it. Miss Heartily may as well be dead because of him.

"Stop snivelling, Dincht." He said, sucking more blood from his gums and turning to face him. The young man's hands were covered in blood all the way up to the elbows, some of it his but most of it belonging to those unhappy bodies he had spent the last hour pulverising. "If you hadn't left your post-"

"My name was called!" Zell whined, his mouth contorting in his efforts to control his emotions. He was deeply unhappy and clearly knew that Miss Heartily's disappearance was his fault.

"Don't interrupt me!" Squall raised his voice, then pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to control his temper. "If you hadn't left your post Miss Heartily would still safely be with us and not at the lecherous hands of that pirate - Almasy."

A few fat tears managed to make their way through Zell's defences and he scrubbed them away with a muttered: "Yes, Sir."

Squall sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose harder. This was a bundle of trouble he really didn't need. He turned away from the crying man in his doorway. "Do you think you can manage to send Trepe to me without any mistakes?"

"Yes..."

"Then see it done."

"Yes, Sir..."

The sound of retreating footsteps was met with his sigh. Dincht was a good-hearted fellow with strong arms and one hell of a left-hook, but it didn't mean that he wasn't a complete bumbling idiot and moron. He was forever jumping about, getting his feet caught in the ropes and the rigging and then flailing and thrashing when he fell over it all. He'd get tangled up like a little puppy and then someone else would have to come and untie him. It was like having a child on the ship. Squall had thought that by leaving him on guard duty, when all he had to do was stand still, he could keep out of trouble. But apparently he was wrong.

He had previously thought that it was Zell's obedience that endeared him to him. He could ask him to do anything, haul anchor, dress like a woman, _eat shit_ and the guy would do it. He even came when he was called. Of course he wouldn't think twice about leaving his post when he was called. Squall should have known that. But he didn't.

* * *

><p>Zell was back on the prowl, searching through the bodies before they were tossed out to sea, looking for forms of identification before he dismissed them as unimportant. He hadn't seen Officer Trepe for a little while, not since he'd dashed past her on the Cannon Deck on his way to the battle. But he'd already searched that deck thoroughly and found no trace of her. He looked up at the crow's nest to where Irvine was presently cleaning his musket – Excalibur.<p>

"Irvine!" He called and Irvine leant a little to look down at him over the edge of his nest. "Have you seen Officer Trepe at all?"

Irvine gave the nest a 360, but returned and shook his head. "Not since the start of the battle, mate! Why?"

"Captain wants to see her." He called back. "He's pretty pissed at me for losing Heartily. I guess he wants to stragise or sumin'."

"It's strategise, Dincht." Irvine laughed and shielded his eyes from the sunlight. It was reflecting horribly off the sea and was apparently getting a little much for the spotter. "And if I see her I'll let her know."

"Thanks man." Zell called up, then went to re-investigate the hold. No he hadn't seen anything before, but she had to be somewhere. He dreaded to think of the reaction he would get from Captain Leonhart if he returned without Trepe. She wasn't _that_ hard to find for crying out loud! Busty blonde Naval Officer carrying a whip and shouting out orders; there were surprisingly few of those floating about and even less of them on this ship.

He paused after just having ducked through the hole to the hold. There were _very_ few of those on this ship at the minute. What if... What if Trepe wasn't _on_ the ship at all? What if she was one of the few who had fallen into the waves in the struggle? What if she was floating about calling for them to come back and get her? What if she'd drowned?

He shook his head and carried on his way, a little less confident than before. Trepe was nigh on indestructible, there's no way she'd have let a little dip in the ocean stop her. But then again... What if she was lying dead on the ship somewhere right now? Run through by a sword? Blown apart by cannon fire? She could have been shot, bleeding slowly from the small puncture wound, hands pushing desperately to stop the blood from flowing. She might have been shot in the face! He would find her body lying awkwardly in a corner, twisted around as she writhed in pain, fingers trying desperately to hold together the two severed bits of her face, nails scrabbling over exposed teeth and jaw bones, flapping bits of skin screaming in protest at the lead shot that ripped through the muscle and poured blood down her spotless uniform.

He hastened to a jog, descending the last set of stairs to Miss Heartily's cabin two at a time; there were only 6 of them. The room looked no different from the last time he'd been in here – discovering in dismay that his charge was no longer inside – but he took to his search with a newfound will.

Trepe must have been in here at some point, her hat was sat on the floor at his feet and he picked it up, although where she was now was anyone's guess. He stepped a little into the room and closed the door – something he'd neglected to do before – peering at the back of it carefully. The wood was painted in a dark varnish anyway, but if he looked closely there was a slightly darker patch along the edge. It looked like blood and when he touched it, it was sticky. Yes, this was blood. Trepe's? He rubbed his fingers together and sniffed them but got nothing – then again he'd only ever _read_ about people doing that, and generally speaking they were geniuses beforehand anyway.

In any case, if this was Trepe's blood then she was either dead or injured somewhere, which meant he needed to check the rest of the room. There was very little by way of furnishings left, only a brass vase and a few paintings that were obviously too big and heavy to be carried quickly through a battle. He lifted them up carefully, checking the frames carefully for more signs of blood. He amazed himself sometimes with how meticulous he could be, but leaving anything unchecked could lead to him missing something important.

After a good long time of searching he had found nothing more than two small patches of blood on the floor, he sat back defeated. As far as he could tell, Officer Trepe – he shook his head – no, Quisty was injured and no longer on the ship. That meant one of two things, 1) She was on the Siren with Almasy and Rinoa, or 2) She was sinking to the bottom of the ocean without a hope of rescue or survival. He knew which one he would prefer.

He got up and dusted off his hands.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck do you mean 'she's not on the ship'?" Squall snapped, fingers going white against his desk where he gripped it. He hadn't even bothered to turn around to acknowledge Dincht's arrival.<p>

"I can't find her." Zell said, scratching at the back of his head, "I found her hat and her blood but I can't find her anywhere. Irvine says he hasn't seen her either."

Squall glanced over his shoulder and took in the sight of the hat hanging in Dincht's limp hand. It was covered in dust and splinters clung to it making it look like a hat-shaped hedgehog. He turned his eyes back to the map he'd previously been staring at. He glared at it. Tortuga, that was where he had been considering. It was a small trading port on the Centran coast and would provide him with enough men to fill the posts of the 15 he lost in the battle. But he needed Trepe here to help him. Like he'd said before, he was a terrible judge of character, if he wasn't careful he was going to end up recruiting a load of mutineers.

"Fine." He said and straightened from the table, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Blood hell his mouth hurt. "How are you on judging character?"

* * *

><p>Quistis scowled as Fuujin approached her with a bowl of sea water and a cloth. Trust Almasy to be the noble one and assign her a caretaker. Her hands were still tied and she was lying on her side in what appeared to be his bed, still feeling groggy, but this time feeling less sick. Fuujin set the bowl down and dunked the cloth in it, wringing it out and repeating the action before gesturing for Raijin to move out of the way.<p>

"STILL." She ordered and Raijin's hands descended on her legs tightened in preparation.

"You know," She said, shutting her eyes as the cloth made contact with the cut; it was painful enough to wake her from her half-conscious state more thoroughly. "You don't have to hold me still; I won't squirm like a child." The water was extremely cold and initially the back of her head – which had been worryingly cold to begin with – complained loudly. She winced.

"Sorry," Raijin apologised, removing his hands and scratching sheepishly at the back of his head, "The boss struggles all the time, ya know. It's just a habit to have to pin him down now, ya know."

Quistis smirked at that information. It wasn't particularly surprising; he had always seemed quite childish anyway. It was what had gotten him kicked out of the Navy in the first place wasn't it. The inability to follow orders. She held him in contempt.

"CHILD." Fuujin confirmed, pushing Quistis' hair out of the way and dipping the cloth in the water again, returning to dab gently at the cut. The salt would likely stop it from going septic and the water was just, well, water. It washed away the blood sticking to her hair and made it easier for Fuujin to see what she was doing.

"So," Raijin swung his arms back and forth, feeling a little surplus to requirements. "Why were you in Miss Heartily's cabin?"

"I went to fetch her to move her to a different spot." She muttered, staring at the wood she was facing. Almasy's cabin was almost bare, painfully so compared to Captain Leonhart's. There were no pictures on the walls, only the huge set of bay windows adding any colour to the dark painted wood of the walls, floor and ceiling. As for furniture, there was a desk, a large chair, the bed she was lying on and an open trunk of disorganised looking clothes, weapons and unidentifiable objects. The desk was strewn with maps and on the chair perched a red and yellow parrot. It squawked at her and whistled. "It was too dangerous to leave her there and the sailor I put to guard her had left long before."

"Then why'd they pick you up and not her?" Raijin wondered aloud. "If the both of yous was in there, ya know. Even I'm not stupid enough to pick up the wrong girl. They're idiots most of 'em, ya know."

"She wasn't in there." Quistis explained, "She wasn't in the room when I got there; the door was wide open and the porthole had been knocked out, but that silly girl had gone."

"GONE?"

"I think so. I don't think she was on the ship, although I couldn't see her in the water anywhere so I dunno how she disappeared."

Over her head, Raijin and Fuujin exchanged glances. This was annoying news to say the least, if Trepe was to be believed – and she had never been known for her lying abilities – then they were about to be heading into a pointless engagement.

"WARN HIM." Fuujin said sharply, dropping the cloth back into the bowl with a scowl and grabbing Quistis' bonds to pull her into a sitting position. Raijin nodded quickly then left. Quistis swung herself so her feet were on the ground.

"I guess that poses a problem for you lot then?" She smirked, testing the ropes on her hands, even though there was no way she'd be strong enough to break them. Her head was still throbbing gently and the cabin had spun when she sat up. This was not the time for anything heroic.

* * *

><p>"Yo, Boss..." Raijin's voice drew him out of his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder at him. The big man was standing with his hands behind his back and was looking vaguely sheepish. "We got some bad news, ya know."<p>

"You haven't killed 'er have you?" Seifer asked in a bored voice. He didn't really care if she died from that injury, but it sure would throw a wrench in his works.

"No," Raijin said quietly and shuffled his feet, he was clearly struggling with how to phrase this 'bad news' and Seifer was fast running out of patience.

"Look," He said, turning his gaze back to the Garden, which was growing in the distance, "If she's not dead, you're not pregnant, Fuujin hasn't just recited an essay, or Captain Puberty hasn't just announced his undying love for me, I don't want to know. So stop stalling and get out of here."

Raijin lingered for another couple of seconds, apparently weighing up the option of actually telling him the 'bad news' against doing as he was told and keeping his nut sack.

"LEAVE!" Seifer shouted, twisting round to chuck a stray piece of rope at his friend's head. He was in a _bad mood_! A _fucking_ bad mood! He didn't want to be interrupted and annoyed by some bumbling, fumbling idiot. Even if said idiot was one of his oldest and greatest friends.

* * *

><p>Squall left his Cabin to shouts and cries of dismay. It was the racket that had drawn him from his room in the first place. Zell trailed behind him, Trepe's hat still clutched in his hands.<p>

"What the hell is going on?" He shouted above the din silencing everyone and turning their attention towards him. No one on the deck answered him, they all just exchanged glances in silence, but Irvine had no such qualms about answering; it was a direct question after all:

"Almasy's coming back to finish us off!"

Squall felt himself go cold and his stomach seemed to have dropped out of his body completely. He strode to the side of the ship and looked out to the prow. Sure enough, the red ship was approaching them again. He pulled out his periscope and scowled down it. Almasy was picking himself off the front of his ship, dusting his coat off and putting his hat back on his head, the blood red feather blew softly in the breeze and under the sunlight, seemed to glow. Bloody pirate.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ The Jolly Roger is the Pirate Flag. It's decorated with the skull and cross bones and was the internationally recognised flag to signal a pirate ship.

Well, I hope you liked that, it took me a little longer to write than I thought it would as I kept getting interrupted by plot bunnies... :( Oh well, more's the pity. It was quite long though so I really hope that makes up for the wait. Who knows, I may even be able to post another chapter next monday too to make up for the wait xD

Anyway, if you liked it, please review and tell me, point out mistakes, give me suggestions, you know the drill. Cheers!

-Iets.

P.S. My favourite bit of this chapter has got to be at the very top when Q is relfecting on her time in Guatamoka, being captured and stewed by the pigmy Moomba xD

What are your favourite parts?


	3. To Tortuga!

**_A/N:_** I realised while reading this back that sometimes the name changes aren't all that clear. For example at times I call Dickhead 'Squall' or 'Leonhart' and at other times I'll have Quisty address him or think of him as 'Captain Leonhart'. This is all relevant to how the person holding the POV thinks of the person. Similarly, when Zell thinks of Quisty as being 'Officer Trepe', it's because he doesn't think of her in any other way. I apologise if this has come across as confusing before, but I hope this cleared it up for people. Or on the other hand if no one actually noticed my subtle name changing *sniff sniff* then I hope this brings my genius into lightJ.

By the way, you can tell whose POV it is by whose names I use. In the case of Raijin and Fuujin, it is very rarely from their POV so you'll have to assume it is the POV of the other named person in the room.

Also, the mentions ofTortugaare not plagiarism; they're called corporate borrowing ;).

Another Also. I have noticed that for this fiction to work, I need to change the ages. Not to the point of being some washed-up old fogies ready to pass the responsibility onto the next generation, but old enough to actually have a foot hold in the Navy. I can't imagine a bunch of teenagers rising to the position of Commodore and Captain. So their new ages are as follows:

Seifer: 26

Quisty: 25

Dickhead: 23

Rinoa: 18 (I see no need to change her age as having her young also makes her stupid).

Xu: 29

Zell and Irvy: 24

Selphie: 23

The rest pretty much follow along in the same vein as the game.

Well, that pretty much sums up my explaining, so, now I leave you to the rather late instalment of Drink up my Hearties! Yo Ho!

* * *

><p>"He wants her up on deck and he wants you up in the crow's nest with a musket." Raijin said, poking his head through the door and looking to where Fuujin was busily tying a bandage round Quistis' head. She turned to look at him, raising her eyebrow and giving him a harsh glare.<p>

"HEARTILY?"

He shook his head, "Nah, he wouldn't listen to me, ya know. He was in quite a bad mood, told me to piss off, ya know."

Fuujin's single eye rolled and she finished tying the bandage. Quistis winced. Fuujin looked back at Raijin, then jabbed her thumb at Quistis. He got the message and went to get her while Fuujin tidied up her 'first aid' kit and ferreted about under the desk, coming up with a long barrelled musket in her hands.

"It's probably best if you don't say anything..." Raijin said as he stood Quistis up, unsteadily on her feet. "The boss is in a pretty bad mood, ya know, so if you're quiet he'll probably not kill ya or anything."

Quistis rolled her eyes, well _that_ was encouraging...

* * *

><p>Seifer brushed himself off and readjusted his hat. He had had some time to consider his options and had decided he was just going to wing it. He had a basic idea of what he wanted, he knew where to look for it and he knew how to keep his life should Leonhart decide he wanted to part him from it. All that remained now was for his crew to stay out of the way. If they could do that, then he had a reasonable chance of pulling this off. Of course the better part of it relied on Leonhart and his crew being too tired and beaten up to fight back, but that was a mere bug on the windscreen of his almighty plan.<p>

He took a breath and fixed his gathering crew with a look. "No one is to leave this ship besides myself and the captive. Understood?"

They nodded. Good. They might be bumbling idiots, but at least if they didn't go anywhere there was only so much shit they could get themselves into. Raijin pushed through the crowd, half dragging half carrying Trepe. She did _not_ look happy to see him.

They were pulling up beside the Garden again by now and he picked up a grappling hook, one of the few they'd not used in the first assault, and held it up for Leonhart to see. "Permission to board?"

* * *

><p>Squall frowned, permission to board? What? Since when did Almasy ever ask permission? Never as far as he could tell. He looked over his shoulder at Zell, but the sailor was staring at Almasy with a look of hatred that belittled even Squall's dislike for the guy. He turned back to the pirate in front of him. "Permission denied."<p>

Almasy seemed to sigh in disappointment for a second, before he took the pistol from his belt and aimed it at the head of a woman Squall hadn't noticed before. But he noticed her now and his heart froze in his chest. "Permission to board." Almasy repeated, pulling the hammer back with his thumb. Squall looked at Trepe in near shock and something tasting a little like panic climbed at the back of his throat.

Trepe glared first at the barrel pointed at her head, then at Almasy, then at Squall. But she held her tongue. A wise move in any other situation he supposed, but this wasn't any other situation and he was greatly in need of her fast talking when it came to situations like these. He swallowed thickly and made a split second decision. He nodded, then waved Almasy forwards onto his ship. Behind him, Dincht was shaking from suppressed rage and was mangling the hat now gripped tightly in both his hands.

Almasy tossed the grappling hook over, effectively shackling the two ships together and swapped his pistol to the hand furthest from Trepe, taking hold of the bonds Raijin had previously been holding. Between the two of them, the men managed to get her across the gap and the moment she had landed unsteadily in Almasy's grip, the barrel was back against her temple. She scowled, but still didn't say anything. Squall frowned at her strange behaviour; ordinarily there would have been a million and one complaints about how she could get _herself_ across the gap – thank you very much – and perhaps Almasy would have received an elbow or a thumb in the eye – it was fairly safe ground at the minute as he was unlikely to kill her by virtue of her own belligerence, the gun was only pointed at her head for Squall's benefit after all – but there was not so much as a peep from the First Mate. Perhaps the head wound concealed by that grubby bandage was more serious than he'd thought...

Upon boarding the Garden, Almasy reached out and snatched the hat from Dincht's hands, handing it to Quistis without so much as glancing at her. She took it and held it down by her side, there was very little else she could do with it, tied as she was with her hands by her sides.

"We've come to do you a trade," Almasy said, grinning wolfishly. "Trepe for Heartily."

"We haven't got her!" Dincht spat, taking a step forwards before Squall landed a hand on his chest, keeping him at bay.

"No?" Almasy didn't seem to be buying it. "Then who has?"

"You have!" Dincht snapped, trying to walk forwards again only to be stopped – once again – by Squall's hand on his chest. He turned to him.

"Shut up before you do any more damage, Dincht. Don't forget whose fault this is in the first place." Dincht's cheeks coloured up, but he didn't rest his gaze from Almasy. Squall gave him a shove backwards and turned to face Almasy again. "Miss Heartily is no longer aboard this ship."

Almasy raised an eyebrow and glanced to the gun he held pressed against Trepe's head. "You know, if you're lying to me, I'll blow her brains all over this ship. Then I'll ask you again and if you lie again I'll smash all your heads." He pointed the gun at Dincht's head, "Starting with the chocobo. Savvy?"

"I realise." Squall growled, exerting more pressure on Dincht's chest to keep him from lunging headlong into his tormentor, "But I am _not _a liar, Almasy-"

"That's Captain Almasy – to you." (Refer to the **_A/N_** at the top of this page for further explanation.)

"You're welcome to look for Miss Heartily yourself, if you think you can find her, but I assure you you'll be wasting your time."

"And what do I get when I find her?" Almasy asked, narrowing his eyes, "You going to crown me king or something? Christen me 'Seifer Holmes'?"

Squall rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Then I'll happily search your ship." Almasy said, pointing his pistol back at Trepe's head. He glared down at her and she stared sullenly back. "The way to Miss Heartily, if you please, Officer."

* * *

><p>Quistis considered. It wasn't as though he was being particularly rude, he even said please; it wasn't so often that anyone said their 'please's and 'thank you's anymore, least of all a pirate. But then he'd put that name on the end; Officer. He said it as though it was a bad thing, as though her making it to officer status was something insulting to him. Well the very fact that he managed to make it into the <em>Navy<em> at all was insulting to her and quite belied the point of the Navy itself – 'that' being discipline and a sense of decorum. She glowered, but started to lead the way through the crowd to the hold.

She picked her way around a pile of bodies that had not yet been disposed of. It was shocking. From what she could see, there only appeared to be 15 or so of their previous crew left alive. (A/N: At the bottom) She had thought at first that there would have been some men scrubbing at the decks, maybe working to sort the mess below deck and that was why there were so few men out to see her arrival. But now, looking at the sheer amount of the dead that still lay on the deck, she was beginning to rethink her opinion. She had – after all – never seen the battle on the deck and her little group of sailors had gotten themselves royally fucked in the cannon fight, the battle above deck had to have been even worse. She had no idea of how many men the Siren had lost, but they certainly didn't seem to be low on numbers.

She glanced back over her shoulder, hoping to do a quick head count of Almasy's crew, but her line of sight was blocked by his chest. "You should look where you're going, Officer, or one day you might trip."

She turned her head round again just in time to stop herself from falling down the hole to the hold. That would have been embarrassing. She bit back a retort and instead began stepping down below deck – a hard feat to pull off with her arms pinned to her sides and her head still spinning from the beating it had taken. The bandage Fuujin had put on was helping with the throbbing somewhat, but it was still too soon for her to be balancing about on a mere 6 inches depth of step. She wobbled several times and was met with Almasy's steadying hands. She resisted the urge to shrug him off; any large movements would likely have her tumbling arse over teakettle to her death.

They got to the bottom and Quistis was allowed to see the carnage she had left behind when she was taken captive. She frowned at the scene. The place was running red with the blood of her men and great holes had been blown in the sides of the ship. Apparently the cannon fight had been lost soon after she left. The bodies of her men had removed, but there were odd... parts... left about. A line of intestine was coiled on the wood in the centre of a bloody puddle, the ends of it mangled and mashed and studded in flecks of wood.

The men who worked on these decks called it The Slaughter House, simply because there were very few of them who emerged from these decks alive again. Quistis herself had spent many a long voyage pulling inch thick wooden splinters from her thighs and arms and anywhere else she had neglected to protect. One cannon ball coming through the walls of the ship could wipe out a full firing crew. It was one of the reasons she only ever allowed 10 people on her deck. The more people you had, the harder it became to evade death.

"You know," Almasy murmured behind her, "The Estharians have up to 900 men working their ships..."

She scowled at his blunt comparison. "We have enough men to do the job. Besides, we are not a military ship, we're ambassadorial. Ordinarily we wouldn't be caught in combat at all."

"Well," He kept her moving along the deck to the stairs at the end, "Pirates don't pay any attention to those sorts of things. You can be whatever sort of ship you want, as long as you've got something we want we'll attack you to get it."

"I noticed."

The steps down to the bottom deck were a little deeper, nearly 8 inches, and she managed these without any problem. She led him to Miss Heartily's cabin and pushed the door open with her foot. She raised her eyes at the bare sight that greeted her. Bloody pirates had ransacked the place.

* * *

><p>Seifer frowned. The room was empty. There was nothing in it but a couple of paintings and a brass vase. He glanced down at the top of Trepe's head, perhaps that wound was more serious that he'd thought...<p>

"This was where you last saw her." He asked, sceptically.

"This is where I last left her." Trepe corrected, then nodded to the window, "The window's been knocked out so I suppose she escaped out there."

He let the pistol fall to his side. Well this was fucking brilliant. If neither ship had her on board, then where the hell was she? Was she floating about in the sea right now? Just bobbing about, waiting to get eaten by a shark or something? Knowing the stupid girl that was probably something along the lines of what had taken place. She had bashed the window out, fallen through the hole, got dragged down by her oversized tent and was now sitting pretty at the bottom of the sea getting munched on by all kinds of little fishies. Fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Well, she's dead." He said cheerfully, shrugging and turning to drag Trepe back to the door. "No point in chasing a useless endeavour now, is there."

Trepe looked at him with a slightly incredulous expression, as though she couldn't believe that that was it. He shrugged again, and bent to collect the brass vase – no harm in an extra bit of booty - "I don't have any diving equipment so don't expect me to go down and get her. Besides, I need her alive if I'm gonna make any money, no one wants to buy a dead girl, do they."

"You're going to sell her?"

"Ransom actually, until I got what I wanted." He pushed her out the door and steered her back toward the stairs to the second deck. "But it doesn't look like that's going to happen, so I wouldn't trouble your pretty head about it."

She narrowed her eyes and scowled, but led the way back up to the top deck in silence. There had been some hushed whispering going on and one gun shot was fired, accompanied by immediate shouts of surprise and one of pain as they'd approached – probably Fuujin doing her job - but it ended when they emerged fully into the sunlight. Trepe had begun to sweat a little and was looking quite pale Seifer noticed when she rocked back into him; it looked like the bash on her head was beginning to catch up.

"Find what you were looking for?" Leonhart asked, standing with his arms folded and one hip stuck out in his fabled angsty-boy pose. Laughable, really, that someone this ridiculous managed to make it to Captaincy when someone as regimented like Trepe could only make it so far as Officer.

"Yes, thank you." Seifer replied jovially, gesturing with the vase. "It looks like I won't have to be blowing Trepe's brains out after all." He smiled at her, but she could only blink back. She looked like she was going to be sick, it was time to get moving. He looked back at Leonhart, his expression turning serious. "I'm taking Officer Trepe with me as insurance, if you attempt to follow us or intervene, she will be shot and I will throw her body out to sea."

Dincht had gone so red he looked like he was about to blow a gasket this time and he took a few menacing steps forwards. Leonhart didn't make any moves to stop him this time either, the pair of them had apparently had some time to think. Seifer tucked the pistol under Trepe's chin, tilting her head up and her face to the sun. She groaned and slurred some incomprehensible words with perfect timing. They stopped Dincht's ill-advised advance.

"What have you done to her?" Dincht demanded to know, stomping his foot and glaring daggers at Seifer.

"What was that Trepe?" Seifer asked, cocking an ear in her direction. She mumbled again and he repeated her words – as he understood them – to the enraged Dincht. "You think you're dying? You want some medical attention? Leonhart's doctor got shot in the battle?" He smiled, showing off as many teeth as he could at the expressions now plastered to Leonhart and Dincht's faces. "Well, you'll have to come with me then, won't you."

* * *

><p>Irvine grimaced and pressed a hand to the hole in his shoulder. Fucking eagle eyes Fuujin had really hit him hard hadn't she; he puffed out his cheeks and licked his lips at the pain. Gods, he'd never been shot before and now he was making plans never to do it again.<p>

He'd been levelling his sight to take out the big guy – Raijin – if he needed to, when he'd spotted Fuujin pulling back her hammer at the top of their crow's nest. It looked like his pissing trick had caused some sore spots among their crew and now he was paying the price for it. But to be honest, he'd never expected to see them again so soon, by the time he would have been happy to see them again the piss and vinegar sting of his prank would have worn off. Such luck was never on his side though, it seemed.

He groaned and pushed himself against the mast with his legs. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood now and his fingers were slipping on his skin, made slick with his blood. The bleeding would slow as soon as he got that lead shot out, but he was loath to cause himself any more pain. He grit his teeth and dug his fingers in.

* * *

><p>Squall glanced up at Irvine in the crow's nest and saw him digging in his shoulder, tossing his head from side to side as he fought not to cry out in pain. Idiot, he had received no such orders as marking up, so it was his own fault he got shot. It was silly to assume that Almasy's crew would be anything less than deadly efficient, particularly Raijin, Fuujin and their dear Captain himself.<p>

"Officer Trepe will not be leaving this ship." He said. Almasy raised his eyebrows and looked up to where Irvine was now draped over his nest, dry heaving and panting like a dog. A little ball of lead fell to the deck with a _thonk_.

"Officer Trepe doesn't get a choice, not unless you want her dead, yourself dead and your dear little chicken there." He nodded towards Dincht and grinned. "I have snipers placed, as I'm sure you've already worked out."

Squall chewed the inside of his cheek and watched Quistis. She looked really ill, he didn't blame Dincht at all for assuming Almasy had done something while they were below deck – had he not known the man he might have accused him of the feat himself. Her head was lolling back on Almasy's shoulder and she didn't appear to have any weight on her legs at all. In fact it seemed to him as though she had passed out. He considered his options, briefly entertaining the idea of sending them all to hell and going out in a fire fight with guns blazing and his heart on his sleeve, but quickly dismissed it. Almasy wasn't worth his spit. Quistis... was replaceable. There were plenty of men just begging for a chance to be his first mate, Dincht included, it wouldn't take two seconds to offer up the position and then have himself a new first mate. And what's more, she wasn't conscious enough to witness her own sacrifice.

He stood aside. "Whatever."

* * *

><p>Zell's jaw dropped. What? What did he mean 'whatever'? He couldn't seriously mean that, right? He raised his fists as Almasy stepped forwards, ready to stop him, but Captain Leonhart just stepped further aside, clearing the path for Almasy to leave with Officer Trepe now hefted over his shoulder!<p>

Several other crew members' jaws also fell open as their Captain allowed the enemy to pass right by him, carrying Officer Trepe away. It was absurd! It was preposterous! It was all other sorts of words that Zell didn't even know!

He stepped up to Captain Leonhart as soon as Almasy's boot had left the Garden. "What the hell are you doing?" He hissed, glaring daggers at the man he had previously looked up to.

"I'm saving her life." Captain Leonhart said, watching the Siren drift out from them. Almasy disappeared quickly into his cabin with Officer Trepe still strung over his shoulder like a wet rag. She was definitely unconscious as far as he could tell. He clenched his fists by his sides in anger. That no good, dirty pirate was probably planning all sorts of horrible things. He'd probably used prostitutes before, who was to say he wasn't going to use Officer Trepe in the same way?

"Saving her life? That filthy pirate's probably going to try 'n-"

"Know your place, Mr Dincht." Captain Leonhart said dryly, looking at him with an expression of deep annoyance. "It is my decision to make if we risk all our lives for a perfectly able sailor who can look after herself. If you knew any better you would realise that I am the Captain of this ship and you are merely a deck hand. Perhaps you'd like to challenge my position so that you can then doom the remainders of your new crew to death on the open waves at the hands of such a 'filthy' pirate?"

Zell shook his head and stared hard at the floor. No, that wasn't what he meant at all and the Captain bloody well knew it. He was just being difficult and accusatory. Apparently, Captain Leonhart still had more to say and he stepped forwards, poking a finger into the meat of Zell's chest. "You seem to be forgetting that the Captain of that ship was once a Commodore of the Galbadian Navy, earning his rank not through name or wealth, but through cunning, force and bloodshed. He has killed more men than you've have hot bloody dinners and you'd do well to remember that against him, you haven't got a hope in hell." He looked Zell once up and then down. "You wouldn't last five seconds."

Zell frowned, his anger gone in the face of humiliation. Now he just felt disappointed and ashamed. He had always been told he was a bit of a bumbling idiot, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be told that by his commanding officer. Officer Trepe had never said anything to him regarding his intellect and he had always preferred her over the Captain. He thought many of the men did.

"Yes, Sir." He mumbled and – having nothing left to say to him – Captain Leonhart retreated to his cabin. He had only a few words to say to Nida, who had somehow survived the recent altercation with nothing but a black eye:

"Set a course for Tortuga."

* * *

><p>"Yo boss, I think she's dead." Raijin said, bending over Trepe's body. Fuujin had taken her jacket off – handing it neatly on the peg on the back of the door - and Seifer had laid her out on his bed with her ankles shackled to the end; there was no good in letting her escape after all. Seifer glanced back over his shoulder at Trepe. She was lying as though in her coffin with her hands clasped on her chest, her skin still looked very pale and her hair was now stuck to her cheeks with sweat. She really did look as though she was dead. He should get Fuujin to look at her. She was being held in Almasy's cabin simply because she was too much of a bargaining chip and currently far too delicate to leave on her own. That, and he didn't trust his men; they were pirates after all and they'd previously been staring at her like she was their Goddess divine.<p>

The Siren was going through a clean-up process and the bodies of the men killed in the cannon fight were being exhumed, blood was being swabbed from the cannon deck and the booty was being indexed for later re-sale. (It was extremely important no matter who you were to keep a tight ship, up to and including indexing one's stolen goods). While this was happening, Raijin was sitting in Seifer's cabin, annoying his Captain as he tried to plan their next course. Right now Tortuga was looking extremely inviting; the need to sell, re-arm, re-stock and recruit setting their heading.

Seifer sighed and turned back to looking at his map, "Unless she stops breathing, I don't think there'll be a problem. She's probably just reeling from the blow."

"But she's looking really pale, ya know." Raijin said, poking gently at one of her cheeks. "You sure you didn't do anythin' to her below the deck?"

Seifer chucked down his compass with a grumble and turned to face his friend. Fuujin had already vacated the room to direct the progress of the clean-up and now it was just the two of them and the unconscious woman. "I'm perfectly sure that I didn't do anything to her without my noticing."

Raijin straightened up and folded his arms; it wasn't a pose of attitude, it was more to do with the fact that the big man just didn't know what to do with his arms if he wasn't swinging them, or wafting them, or wringing his hands, or fiddling with something – often breaking them in the process – so it was far better that he just kept them folded. "I wasn't saying that you did, ya know. I was just asking 'cause she's really sick and I've never seen someone react like this to a little bash on the head, ya know..."

"Yeah, I know."

"So what are we gonna do now, ya know?" Raijin asked, moving a few hairs from Trepe's face, much to Seifer's chagrin the big man seemed just as taken with Trepe as the crew. "There's no point in trying to follow Miss Heartily, there's only the Locker going straight down, ya know."

"I realise that." Seifer agreed, taking his hat off and dropping it over the arm of the huge chair that sat behind his desk. "But I'm not so sure that Miss Heartily is dead, despite how convinced Trepe seems to be.

Raijin frowned, clearly not comprehending. Seifer rolled his eyes, "Please tell me you noticed how many rowboats Leonhart had left."

"5."

"So, how many was he missing?"

"1."

"And how many people are we looking for?"

"1?"

"Exactly." Seifer said, praying his friend finally understood what he was getting at.

"You don't think she escaped in a row boat do you?" Raijin scratched his chin, glancing from Trepe to Seifer and back again. "I mean, if Trepe didn't notice her leaving, what are the chances of her actually managing to escape unnoticed, ya know?"

"Maybe so, but Trepe's not invincible." Seifer said, grinning. He leant his hips back on his desk and folded his arms as well. The hat was currently being mauled by his red and yellow parrot - Jessie. "But she's a woman. You know how they are."

"Yeah! Just like that time, ya know! Do you remember the last time we were in Dollet?" Raijin asked excitedly, grinning, "Remember that girl? Must have been last year, ya know."

Seifer nodded and let out a chuckle, "She was all over us wasn't she, kept saying how much she liked sailors and that, wanting to see our 'battleships'! Nutter!"

Raijin was nodding enthusiastically, then he thought for a second, grinned and waved a hand in Seifer's direction in a distinctly foppish manner, "Oh stop it, Captain," He cooed in an unconvincing impression of a woman. "I'm only a woman, you know how I am."

Seifer's grin widened again and he shook his head. It was just so funny. "I digress; I know not how you are." He said, and swept a bow. "Though if the young lady would only bestow upon me a few hours, I'm sure I could get to know her better."

Raijin giggled hideously and clapped a hand to his mouth, waving the other hand in Seifer's direction again. "Oh, stop it, stop it! You're making me titter."

They carried on in this vein, re-enacting the scene as they remembered it for some time. Seifer's grin turned into laughter as Raijin flounced about the cabin, proclaiming just how womanly he was and how no other female on the face of the planet could ever even _hope_ of stealing her 'Captain Cherry-pie' away from her. Raijin was just starting his speech dedicated to his own pitiful knockers when Fuujin entered the cabin.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence as Fuujin frowned up at Raijin, who had frozen in place, holding his imaginary knockers and looking absolutely horrified to have been Seifer – who had been trying valiantly to hold his breath - couldn't bear it anymore and started laughing loudly. He was laughing so hard that by the time Fuujin had charged at Raijin with a cry of "RAGE!" and begun chasing him about the cabin while the parrot squawked excitedly on the arm of the chair he had to cling onto the table to even stay standing. Raijin yelped and yipped as Fuujin beat him with the flat of her boomerang, growling obscenities under her breath.

"Fuujin!" Seifer half-gasped half-laughed when she caught Raijin on the back of the head, "Don't kill the man! Geez, we were just reminiscing about the last time we were in Dollet, being followed and attacked by that girl!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Raijin eagerly backed him up when Fuujin stopped hitting him to listen. "The one who was all over Seifer and wanted us to take her away and kill her?" He scratched his head and frowned, "Maybe she'd escaped from a mental asylum, ya know? She'd even stolen somebody's little dog, ya know. Crazy bitch."

"I don't think she wanted to be killed." Seifer grinned, still fighting off his laughter.

"WHORE." Fuujin diagnosed, hanging her boomerang back on her belt.

"Aww come on Fuu," Raijin said, following her across the cabin, "She wasn't that bad, ya know." She ignored him, put a hand on Trepe's forehead, then put the other to her own. She pulled a face and pointed at the bowl of water that sat on the edge of Seifer's table, while Raijin chuckled quietly – presumably over his recent escape from death.

"TEMPERATURE." She said and waved him over. Seifer raised an eyebrow, but consented to bringing the water over. He dumped it on the edge of the bed and looked down at Trepe.

* * *

><p><em>The sun shone bright rays down onto his head, warming his back and coating the powder he was leaning over in a glistening layer of gold. The powder glittered prettily and he grinned at it. Oh yes, this was the stuff that would make his day a memorable one. He picked a bag out of his pocket and poured its contents out in a thin line on the ground, then tossed it down on the ground. Very similar bags lay dotted about on the ground, every couple of metres or so along the line of black powder. Seifer smiled beneath the rim of his hat. Today was a very fine day indeed.<em>

_He straightened up and brushed his hands off. Timber was a nice seaside port with a booming economy and a perfectly functioning Navy. The streets were narrow cobbled affairs with timber framed houses and shops and a beautifully quaint town centre with a water fountain in the shape of a granite mermaid. It held a market every Sunday and Wednesday where it was possible to buy all sorts of things from the mundane – fish, pocket watches, cloaks and robes etc. – to the obscure – Crystal balls, crystal meth, dragons' teeth, maps to long forgotten continents, books on witch craft and Naval memorabilia etc. It was a quiet little town not unlike Seifer's home town of Winhill, though that was far further from the sea and had much less by way of visitors and odd merchandise. The feel was the same, that old rustic feel that every day would be filled with sunshine and roses. But today, he aimed to change that._

_Recently Timber's navy had become a part of what was the Grand Naval Coalition of Galbadia. Meaning it essentially threw away its independence for a title. Which meant that it was liable for a beating. At the end of his line of powder sat a barrel of gunpowder and behind that sat another one. Behind that sat another, and so on. This building would be the last to blow – if he got his timing right – the first would be the Timber Map Makers, the second would be the Centre of Naval Affairs currently flying the Galbadian flag, the third would be the Timbre Records office and this last building was the ship builders. It contained underneath it the largest amount of gunpowder and would go off with the biggest bang. It was only fitting for the last to go out with the most spectacular of arrangements._

_He pulled his had slightly lower over his face to shield his eyes from the sun and stepped out onto the street. The time was 0613 in the morning and hardly a soul was about. Good. He wanted to make an impression, not an expression. Destroying their links to the Galbadian Navy didn't mean blowing people up on their way to work, but it could certainly entail waking them from their beds in the most extravagant of manners. He smiled beneath the rim of his hat and waited for the first explosion to sound._

_As he was waiting, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention and he looked to see who on earth could be coming along the road at this time of the morning. He held his breath when Officer Trepe rounded the corner. Good lord, was it his bloody justice day or what? He tucked his chin in as she approached hoping she would just pass him by and be on her way. But it was a fruitless hope and she stopped in front of him._

_"Might I ask just what you are doing loitering in the street at this hour of the morning?" She asked, sounding scathing. He stared hard at the toes of her brightly polished boots thinking that maybe if he didn't answer her she would give up and go away. Maybe she would disappear into the ship builders and he could catch her in the blast. That way at least she'd be out of his hair._

_"What are you waiting here for, Almasy?" She repeated, sounding even less impressed that the first time – if that was possible. One of her toes began to tap impatiently. He didn't answer again so this time she tore the hat from his head._

_She was greeted with a pair of glowering green eyes. He folded his arms over his chest. "You know it's rude to remove a man's hat without his permission." He said._

_"You know it's rude not to answer when someone asks you something." She replied, holding his hat in one of her hands. It flopped down when she folded her arms. He grimaced._

_"You always have to be so picky don't you."_

_"You always have to be so selective, don't you?"_

_"I'm not being selective at all."_

_"It's alright for you to be rude but it's not alright for me? I think you'll find that counts as you being selective."_

_"I didn't want to talk to you in the first place, so why is my ignoring an unwanted presence any worse than you stealing my possessions? Thief."_

_She narrowed her eyes and held his hat out to the side. He watched her suspiciously; unsure of just what it was she was planning on doing to his hat. She dropped it in the mud. He scowled._

_"Oh don't look so glum, it's not any worse than your usual standards of cleanliness. I've heard that the women of today wear mud on their faces to help their complexion. This shouldn't be so different." She smiled and refolded her arms._

_He smiled nicely at her. "Then you should fit right in, wallowing in the mud like a little pig. It's what you do best isn't it? Lie down and play in the dirt when your master tells you to? Lapdog."_

_"Just because I'm not a loose cannon, doesn't mean I'm a lapdog. I heard you got kicked out of the Navy for not following the orders of your 'master'."_

_"I heard you made it through to Officer status." He said, inspecting his nails. He had a habit of doing this when he was irritating people; it showed just how little they meant to him that he couldn't bring himself to focus on their face. "It's a disgrace really. Women like you should be kept behind the counter." He grinned evilly, "Order up service only."_

_She scowled, her hands clenching by her sides, and stomped a foot down on his hat. He leapt forward and pushed her off it with a growl. She twisted her foot and fell on her bum. At any other time he might have laughed at her, but he was too cross about the state of his hat to bother laughing at her. He scraped his hat from the floor. She'd crushed the sides in and now the top of the inside was smothered in mud. Damn woman, didn't she understand how important a hat was to a sailor?_

_"Look at this!" He smacked the hat with the beck of his hand, "Do you know how much money I spent on this damn thing?"_

_She glared up at him from the floor. "Stolen money no doubt."_

_"Hard earned cash." He corrected, flicking mud off as Trepe picked herself off the ground and brushed herself off. Her coat buttons jangled with the movement and Seifer was struck by a sudden urge to rip one of them off. He followed his urge._

_"Hey!" Trepe clapped a hand to the place his fingers had brushed – her left breast – and covered the two stalks of threat that were the only things remaining from her button. He examined the thing in his palm. It was make from brass, but it was shiny and looked pretty glittering away in the sunlight. It crossed his mind to tear **all** her buttons off, but if he did that he was liable for a punch in the eye or a knee in the bollocks and that was certainly not something to be desired at – he checked his watch – 0623 in the morning._

_He looked over in the direction of the Map Makers'; the bombs should be going off any minute now. He looked back at Trepe who was glaring at him with an expression that could have curdled fresh milk._

_"Where were you going?" He asked, pocketing her button. Her eyes followed the movement but she didn't remove her hand from her chest._

_"Work, actually. It's how normal, honest people earn money with which to buy themselves new hats."_

_"Do you work in the Ship Builders?" He asked again, folding his arms, his hat flopping by his side. She narrowed her eyes._

_"No... I work in the admiralty building." She snarled and peered around him suspiciously. "Why? What are you doing out here anyway?"_

_He opened his mouth to give her a good lecture on minding one's own business, but he was cut off by an explosion from the Map Makers. Trepe's head whipped round so fast he thought for a moment she might have just twisted it right off, at the very least given herself whiplash, but unfortunately her head stayed on. He watched with a grin the billow of smoke that rose like a climbing dragon towards the sky and then turned in the direction of the Centre of Naval Affairs and waited for that explosion. He didn't have to wait long before a large explosion cut the air and another plume of smoke began to climb._

_'Satisfaction is ill afforded by those who seek to replicate it'; a proverb told to him by a very batty lady living just off the coast of Galbadia some years ago, back in the days when he was still a proud part of the Galbadian Navy. He supposed what the little old lady meant was that things are far more satisfying if you gain them by someone else's hard work and entirely by accident. But he didn't believe that; he believed that it was far more satisfying to work hard and swipe the rug from under everyone else's feet. Especially if they weren't expecting it._

_Trepe turned to stare at him in horror. "What did you **do**?" – There was clearly no doubt in her mind that he was the one responsible for this mess._

_"I'm teaching." Seifer dismissed, turning to face in the direction of the Timbre Records Office. Trepe turned too and waited in silence for the blast. This one was so close it made the glass in the windows of the surrounding houses rattle and it reverberated in Seifer's chest._

_"It's a dear lesson that needs to be learnt." He said, falsely cheerful, and turned to the line of powder behind him. He took out a badly rolled cigarette and a match. Trepe gasped when she saw him light up and made a grab for the match before he could toss it to the gunpowder and blow them all to kingdom come. She crushed it still-lit in her palm and threw it away, glaring at Seifer. He shrugged and took the cigarette from his mouth, shook a little ash in her direction, then dropped the fag into the powder. It sparked up within the second._

_Trepe's mouth dropped open as the line of powder burned away quicker than should be legal. But then, that was the thing, it wasn't legal at all. This was illegal and Seifer should be stopped. He darted past her in the direction of the harbour, spurring her into a run as well; the powder line was not at all long and it was only a matter of time until it went up with a boom. If getting out of there was Seifer's first priority, then it was going to be her's too._

_There were mere seconds between the powder being lit and the blast that knocked the pair of them from their feet. It blew the windows from the surrounding buildings and raised the dust in the road by a couple of inches. Seifer and Trepe had barely made it round the corner of the first house before they were hit with a force like a tidal wave. It had them falling arse over teakettle and the series of explosions that followed the first kept them pinned to the ground. It was all over in less than a minute but then the heat was blistering._

_The ship builders was made of stone around the ground floor, but above that level it was wooden and what hadn't been blown out by the blast was now blazing happily. It would take them all day to sort out the mess and recover anything that had survived and maybe up to 6 months to rebuild the business again. Certainly the Records Office and Centre of Naval Affairs would have lost much – if not all – of their paperwork and information. It was a good day for Seifer, a bad day for the town._

_He went to get to his feet and keep running, but Trepe grabbed hold of his wrist, closing her fingers in a vice like grip. This was obviously a grip he wasn't supposed to break. "You're under arrest!" She shouted at him, straining to be heard over the roar of the flames that raged behind her. "For the demolition of Government Property and endangering human lives!"_

_If he was lucky he'd have killed a few, but he didn't mention that; there was no point in adding it to her list. He looked her up and down with appreciation. Her hat had been blown off and was lying some meters away, the feather blowing violently in the hot air, and her hair had come slightly undone. She was half-lying on the ground, half-propped up and reaching out for his arm. She looked positively ravishing (Darling), but he didn't have all day to sit about and play cops and robbers with her, people were beginning to come out of their houses and gawp at the blaze._

_"Sorry, Trepe," He said, peeling her fingers deliberately from his wrist, "I'm a very busy man and I haven't got all day." He levered the last finger away and leapt out of her reach when she swiped at him again, "People to kill, Governments to bring down, Navies to destroy, you know how it is."_

_She scrambled to her feet as he backed away down the street, scraping his hat from the mud it had fallen in with a barely concealed grumble. "I'm not going to just let you leave." She said, uncoiling her whip from her belt and advancing on him._

_He shrugged and turned tail. They ran all the way from the ship builders to the quayside, by which point Trepe was running on her own. He was much faster than her and had long since hunkered down, out of sight to wait her out. She turned back within a matter of seconds, giving him up for lost._

* * *

><p>Light began to track back behind her eyelids in a soft red glow and the cloth she could feel on her forehead had grown warm from the heat of her skin. She groaned softly and turned her head away from the light. The cloth slipped down over her nose and one eye leaving a cool trail. She blinked open her uncovered eye. The wood she was looking at was bathed in golden light and she could see that it was painted in a faint red varnish. It looked a little like a blood-soaked deck before it had been cleaned. It was quite popular among the Galbadian Captains, but it wasn't to her tastes. Still, it meant that Almasy was still sailing the ship he had been sailing before his dismissal; though before that the ship had been called The Pride of Galbadia. She was glad he changed the name, it would have been insulting and misleading if he hadn't.<p>

She unclasped her hands and removed the cloth from her face, dumping it on the sorry, flat excuse for a pillow under her head. She could admit to herself that it was something of a disappointment to find herself waking up on the Siren again. She'd hoped that she'd be left behind on the Garden – or maybe even rescued! – given that her usefulness had clearly been exhausted the second Almasy discovered Miss Heartily to be missing. She felt the bandage and sighed; her head didn't hurt anymore and she no longer felt like her breakfast was coming back to haunt her, but that didn't mean she could take the bandage off. She wanted to, she felt like a goddamned woman.

She sat up slowly, using the groves in the wall to pull herself up. The interior of the cabin was something of a surprise if she was honest. The walls in Captain Leonhart's cabin were covered with blue-painted panels and it was dressed up to look like a proper room, as one might find in a house on the land. As far as she could tell there seemed to be no such creature comforts in Almasy's cabin. The walls were the bare wood and the floor equally so. She had never been in The Pride of Galbadia so she had no idea whether the Siren was any different or if he had always lived this Spartan. She liked to think the Navy had stripped the ship of all her 'optional features' before handing her back to her Captain and telling him to get lost.

Originally she had thought the room quite ugly, but now, the more she looked at it, the more she became aware of its old-world charm. Quistis was a naturalist at heart and the presence of so much wood was calming; one of the reasons she loved being at sea was how close she could get to nature. The back of the door – which also housed her jacket she noticed – exhibited a carving of quiet intricate detail, depicting the legend of Adel the Mermaid Queen and her fall from grace. The chair – throne would perhaps have been a more appropriate word – that sat behind his desk was painted in dark varnish and each leg was made form a carving of some sort, the two at the front were snakes climbing up the body of a woman and a man, the heads of the snakes culminating at the top to form the hand rests on the end of the arms. She couldn't see what the back legs were like from here, but the back of the chair was adorned with the wings of an eagle, currently folded. The cushions were covered in red velvet. It was easily overlooked, but still beautiful in a gothic way.

The ceiling however was the most intriguing part of the cabin. Captain Leonhart's cabin ceiling was painted in a grid pattern laid out with aertex painted in gold and white. This ceiling was covered in a map of the stars. The sky was coloured in a deeper, more opaque red than the walls, the stars were marked in white and the names of the constellations were painted in gold. Over this, in black was painted a map of the world with Centra at its centre strangely enough.

Dismissing it for the moment, but making a note to ask about it later, Quistis tested her weight on her feet and stood up slowly. She felt a little bit wobbly, but she could stand up fine with the wall for a confidence booster. She made her way to the door, dragging the chains tied to her feet behind her and retrieved her jacket, slipping it on but leaving it unbuttoned; it may have been chilly, but it certainly wasn't cold – it was the lovely month of May after all and the weather was picking up nicely. She estimated that it was around 2030 in the evening judging by the sunset blazing in through the huge bay windows at the back and the heat of the day hadn't yet left.

She decided to have a poke about and see if she could find her whip – it had been taken from her for obvious reasons. It was in her little poke about that she came to the trunk under the windows. It was covered by a heap of clothing, ripped and blood stained and some of it plainly broken beyond all repair so it was anyone's guess as to why it hadn't been thrown out already. She cleared the clothes from it and lifted the lid. It was only half full, but it contained little bottles of stuff – most of them potions and cures – a few maps, a book, _Early Centran Mythology_, a shrunken head she skirted around with a wrinkle of her nose, and a button. She fished it out. It was a plain little brass button, tarnished now and obviously well fiddled with, but it was the standard issue, Military grade Balamb Naval Uniform button. She picked it up and frowned at it. What a thing to find in his cabin. She thought he'd have thrown this little thing away years ago. But then again the same went for the clothing and the shrunken head. He was a strange, strange man and no mistakes.

"Cut yar, blaggards! Fancy a sandwich? *whistle* Knuckle sandwich, savvy!"

Quistis slammed the lid of the trunk shut and scrambled upright, whipping round and staring at the shut door with wide eyes. Poking about in someone else's cabin was a naughty thing to do and she suddenly felt very rude and bad for having been caught. How embarrassing.

The door was shut. She frowned as her heart rate – which had soared at the unexpected interruption – returned to normal. That was funny. She was sure she had heard Almasy's voice.

"Bongos to Bogies. All the same, arr!"

She looked at the chair which had spoken and blinked. What the hell? She approached the desk cautiously and bent to look under it. On the seat of the chair, sat the red and yellow parrot she'd seen earlier. She tutted and it copied her.

"Hello," She held her hand out to it under the table and it hopped on, stepping carefully along her hand to her wrist, "Who do we have here?"

"Jessie *whistle*" The parrot said and bobbed its head. Then it puffed up its feathers and said brazenly, "Potty's not much of a fairytale so smoke your buns somewhere else."

"Quite so." Quistis agreed, hiding a smile and lowered her hand to the table. Jessie hopped off and wandered over to the maps spread over the top of the t

able and off the other side, disappearing under the chair. Quistis examined the map on the top of the pile, smiling at the occasional squawk of "Big nose" and "RAGE" that echoed from under the chair. She looked out at the sunset, it wouldn't be so hard to tell where they were going. The map was of the Centran coast and – if the sunset behind them meant they were going east – it wasn't so hard to discern that they were travelling towards Tortuga. It was one of two port towns of the West Centran coast and the other was nothing more than a tiny fishing village.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead, wincing at the pressure. She felt the back of her head again and looked out of the back window. It was a beautiful sunset – not entirely unlike the ones she had seen many a time from her cabin aboard the Garden – but it highlighted just how far away from the Garden she must be by now. She looked to the door and contemplated for a minute. Should she go out and fight the raging bull? Or wait for him to come and find her rummaging about in his cabin.

She went to the door and tested the handle; it was unlocked. "Hang 'em up lassie!" Jessie squawked and scuttled out from under the chair, she executed a few flying hops, and settled herself on Quistis' shoe. "Don't forget your knight in shining *whistle* armour!"

Quistis grinned, then bent to pick the bird up and set her on her shoulder. There, now all she needed was a weapon of some kind and the hat and she could be a proper pirate! She took hold of the door handle and inched it open. The deck outside went as silent as a ghost ship when she poked her head out.

* * *

><p>Seifer spun around to see what the kerfuffle – or lack thereof – was all about. One minute he had been peering down his periscope to the distance speck of land in the distance that was the port town of Tortuga, remarking to Raijin that they would need about 100 more men than they currently had if they were going to take on the Navy Caraway was probably already cooking up for them, and the next minute he was blabbering away to himself as Raijin and his crew stared doe-eyed at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed monstrosity peeking out of his cabin doorway. It didn't take him two seconds to work it all out after that. He slammed his periscope shut and stomped down the steps to the deck, grumbling all the way.<p>

Raijin scurried hurriedly along behind him – perhaps frightened he might maul her for being so damned good looking. Seifer pushed the door wide and pointed to the bed. "Sit on it."

She raised an eyebrow as Jessie said, "And light_ your_ fire, Mr Carpet Man? Not flipping likely!"

He glared at the parrot and grit his teeth. It was the bane of his bloody existence. _Why_ Raijin loved it so much, he would never know and he hoped never to find out. "Park it." He said, grabbing Trepe's arm and turning her around, shoving her in the direction of his bed. She stumbled over the chains and Jessie squawked in distress, flapping her wings as she fought to stay upright as her mode of transport tumbled head first onto the bed. Trepe sat up looking indignant.

"I have a few questions for you, Almasy!" She said. Raijin scurried about trying to untangle her chains.

"And no funny business *whistle*, big nose!" Jessie squawked.

"I don't give a damn about your bloody questions." Seifer snarled. He had no idea why he was so angry with her, maybe it was because his room looked like it had been ransacked – clothing everywhere, his maps all over the floor and the table; his trunk had even been rummaged through – but that sort of thing didn't matter; there was nothing for her to find here anyway and he was quite proud of that shrunken head thank you. It could possibly have been because she was supposed to stay unconscious until he could sell her in Tortuga. But he had a sneaky feeling he was just taking his anger out on her because his crew was so love struck they hardly knew what do to with themselves. "I wanna know what the hell you're doing wandering around my ship!"

"I was looking for you, actually." She said, folding her arms and crossing one leg over the other.

"Well you've found me." He spat back, then shoved at Raijin who was meticulously arranging the chains around Trepe's feet like some kind of offering to a Goddess. "Stop it, she's not a fucking Princess in chains."

Trepe ignored him, thankfully, "Why am I here?"

"A little extra dough. Money. Blonde haired, blue-eyed women in uniform are fetching a pretty price in Tortuga at the moment I hear."

"Don't be stupid. Why didn't you leave me with Captain Leonhart?"

"You're our insurance and Leonhart wasn't prepared to fight for you."

"It's not a case of fighting. It's a case of thinking about the greater-"

"He didn't even negotiate, Trepe, so don't try and tell me he was being all _'noble'_ and the 'greater good'." He signed speech marks in the air. "It's bullshit because he didn't even bother."

Trepe narrowed her eyes, "You could have left me behind."

"Seifer said he'd kill ya if they followed us, ya know." Raijin piped up from his position on bended knee on the floor. "We had to take you with us so they didn't try to come and get ya, ya know."

Trepe narrowed her eyes at him too and Seifer rolled his eyes. That was distinctly unhelpful. "The point is, Trepe," He interrupted her mental stripping down of Raijin's argument, "That you're stuck here as our bloody prisoner, chains and crappy meals to boot, so stop wandering about, button it, and give me back my bloody parrot."

"Blue berries don't like muffins!" Jessie announced. "Too many bumble bees and E-numbers. Hundreds of the buggers!"

"Shut up." Seifer snarled at her and make a swipe. Jessie whistled and stuck her tail feathers in the air. He grabbed them and picked her up, turning her over in his hands under she stopped whistling and stayed still. He turned his gaze back to Trepe and Raijin. "Leonhart had the choice of fighting us for you, or preserving his crew. But he's a useless Captain and can't sail for shit, so don't expect him to have enough brains to realise you were the only thing keeping that bucket afloat."

"Then as a responsible adult you should have left me on the-"

"If I left you on that ship I was as good as dead myself."

"Ya know, boss, Leonhart's crew wasn't really in fit shape to-"

"I'm talking, Raijin. If Leonhart really did care about you as much as you say he does then he won't come after you for fear of getting you killed. However, if – as I suspect – he is just a self-serving idiot with no heart of mind for his crew, he's not following us because he can't be bothered."

Silence reigned in the cabin and Jessie purred like a cat in her master's hands. Raijin stood from his place on the floor and swung his arms. He felt awkward. He cleared his throat. "Ya know, boss, we don't really need to keep Officer Trepe here..." He said, scratching his head nervously when both pairs of eyes turned to look at him. "We could drop her off somewhere, ya know. Like Balamb or Tortuga, ya know."

Seifer thought for a second, stroking Jessie's belly absent mindedly. Leaving her in Tortuga would bring more money, especially if he could sell her uniform separately. But then again, she was a valuable force of interest and could be quite handy later on. If he could only get her on side... Pfft, who was he kidding? He grinned.

"Alright, Trepe. To appease Raijin's sense of honour and to get you out of my hair, I'll cut you a deal." She blinked defiantly at him; Bring it on. "If you can find Heartily for me, I'll take you to Balamb and leave you there with your clothes, weapon and enough money to last you a week in the modern time."

"Heartily's dead, Almasy." She said scathingly.

"Nope," He shook his head, "Girl's a cockroach, got a self-preservation instinct a mile wide. Anyway, if you can't find her for me, I'll sell you for a whore and leave you clothe less in Tortuga." He grinned at the horrified look on her face. It was an impossible deal. She shook her head.

"There's no way I'll be able to find her." She said, uncrossing her legs and standing up, reaching for Jessie. Seifer tipped the parrot the right way up and set her on his shoulder where she slumped bonelessly. "I can't accept that deal."

"Then I'll leave you in Tortuga, clothe less, anyway."

* * *

><p>She grimaced. Almasy had the Devil's smile. And the Devil's mind. In fact, he might as well have just been the Devil. There was no way on hell or earth that she would be able to find Miss Heartily, especially not since the girl was dead. It didn't matter what Almasy said, he was only in this for the money. She shook her head. What would Captain Leonhart do?<p>

She stuck her hand out. "Fine." She agreed, but jerked her hand back slightly when Almasy went to grab it. "But swear that you'll take me to Balamb when I find Miss Heartily."

"As soon as the situation allows." Another million watt smile. She narrowed her eyes, but slid her hand into his anyway. It was unpleasantly warm. She shook it firmly, then wrenched her hand away just as Fuujin opened the Cabin door.

"ARRIVING." The one-eyed woman said, glancing momentarily at the hand Almasy still held out where Quistis had left it.

"Good." Almasy said, striding to the door. "We'll prepare to unload."

When he had gone, Fuujin jerked her head in Quistis' direction and asked, "DEAL?"

Raijin nodded and scratched the back of his head, then swung his arms. "He's going to leave her in Tortuga without any clothes."

Quistis snorted and turned her head away. Bloody pirates.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>AN:_** I find myself incapable of writing something serious and without any form of humour. I thought of this as I was looking at my other fics

I know I said I'd post this on Monday, but I forgot to send it home over the weekend so I've missed two whole days of writing lol xD I'll try to be better next time, but I hope you enjoyed this update anyway.

-Iets.


	4. Tortuga!

_**A/N:**_ This really annoys me, but I hate to write Rinoa's parts because she bores me rigid, so if they come out crappy, it's because I don't give a monkeys about her; if it makes you feel better, we can say that I'm expressing myself through the crumbiness of my writing.

Also, I feel the need to explain an awful lot of stuff throughout this, so author notes will be appearing throughout the fic. If that annoys you, I'm sorry, tell me and I'll change it to something else... a number system perhaps... Foot notes! lol xD

* * *

><p>Tortuga!<p>

The sun seemed to glow brighter as it sank slowly towards the horizon. It struck golden rays horizontally across the sea, touching the waves with the tips of its fingers and caressing her curves. When little bits broke off, they glittered on the surface, floating like tiny shattered grains of sunlight over the sea's dark surface. The sunlight glinted off the windows of the Balamb Garden, turning them opaque with its golden orange glow. The light that passed through coated the cabin of Captain Leonhart in warmth, though the man himself was cold inside and out.

Hell had conspired to give him this assignment; only the devil would request this of a man so unused to having to tolerate that he now could hardly recognise the need for it. It would have been illogical for his Admiral to allow him to be saddled with this... this... monstrosity if not for the simple reason that he had been possessed. There was no other explanation for it. The days when he had been able to learn new tricks were long gone and his daily frustrations at the idiocies of his crew weighed on him like an unavoidable sentence. He was never disposed to handing out orders, always a subordinate at heart. His Captaincy had not forced him before into the shackles of power because he had Officer Trepe to take the load from his shoulders. But now that she wasn't here to help him, he was beginning again to resent the decision his Admiral had come to.

He ran two fingers gently over the scar between his eyes and sighed. This was a much harder task than he had been warned of. He thought back to his days as an underdog, just another man in the crew. It was Almasy who had given him his 'big break' and challenged him to a dual. He cursed that man. If he had not been forced to fight for his life, he would not have fought so hard and would not have made himself known as a 'talented young chap'. The waning Balamb navy had lapped him up like an old man starved of water in the desert. He hadn't the chance to protest.

When he was a young seaman, starting out at the tender young age of eleven, he had looked up at the Captains of the ships he sailed and wished that one day he could be like that. He wanted to be strong enough to survive the battles and strains of war and the oceans, but he had never thought for one moment that he would succeed. Now that he had, he rather wished he hadn't. It was a miserable existence of hard work and harder thinking. Someone like Officer Trepe was much better suited for this sort of thing than he, but she was a woman and bad luck on a ship – a belief he stoically held by, even after the years he had spent sailing with the woman. This most recent case was just the evidence he needed to cement the idea in his head. There was nothing could be done to help Trepe now, she was a victim of her own excellence and had fallen before the hand of the mighty Captain Almasy because she did not remain on the land where women belonged.

The mighty Captain Almasy. He mumbled the phrase under his breath, trying it out again. It had seemed to fit the man once – tall, blond, powerful and intelligent with a quick tongue and a quick sword – when he was a part of the Galbadian Navy and known for his ruthlessness and keen intellect. Nowadays it was more a term of mockery. Anyone who became mighty by slaughtering others was doomed to failure and there was no helping those who fell before the allure of 'might'. Squall himself would never be a victim of such a thing. It was impossible; he had never done anything mighty in his life – save surviving Almasy, gaining the respect of the Admiral of the Balamb Navy and being nominated for Commodore on more than one occasion.

He looked down at the table before him and traced the outline of Balamb on the map that lay upon it. It was a cruel fate to befall his crew – mown down in the line of duty – but his current trajectory was Tortuga, where he would pick up more men to crew his 28 gunner. There would be no uniforms for the newest of the men and he would have to pay them out of his own stock until they got to Balamb, but it was an affordable price. The fact of the matter was they were replaceable, dispensable. Right now, Zell and Nida ought to be running the ship in his place. His only orders to them were to take the ship to Tortuga. This sort of a thing was more than enough information for Officer Trepe, but he wondered how well they would cope with his lack of specifics. Heaven knew if he had to be there to man his own ship, they would end up beach, wrecked, or worse.

He contemplated Officer Trepe's position aboard his ship. When he was little more than a galley rat, swabbing the deck and climbing the rigging, she was already a 4th Lieutenant on the Galbadian ship '_Die __Weerspielheid_' or The Reflection. She was someone he held in high esteem from the start and the stories surround her already were mysterious and awe-inspiring. One account of her arrival in the Galbadian Navy told of a great battle with the Sea Witch Ultimecia and of Officer Trepe's personal sacrifice of blood to destroy her, earning her an honorary place in the Navy. Another tale said she had rescued the Admiral from certain death at the hands of the kitchen staff armed with nothing more than a giant clam. Squall believed neither of the tales, but was unable to come up with his own answer. He had asked Officer Trepe when they were first introduced, but she simply dismissed his question and moved onto a 'safer' topic as she called it – astronomy. Then, she was only 21 and when she had started, she was barely 17.

Officer Trepe's rise through the ranks was quick and many of the crew liked her way of thinking and the way she ran a ship. Technically, being 1st Lieutenant was a promotion for her, although being positioned among the crew of a tiny little ambassadorial ship was more of a demotion than anything. Still, she was pretty much Captain in everything barring rank and title; he left all the workings and daily duty to her and only kept the mingling and party going to himself. No matter how good Officer Trepe was on the waves, she was still a woman and it was frowned upon for someone of her rank and title to be a woman. A shame really.

The cabin directly below his belonged to Officer Trepe and it was a typical Lieutenant's cabin, decorated in maps and paintings of the ocean, displaying its oily surface as though the frame were a window. She had a table strewn with bottles of ink and blood and health potions and all sorts, there was only one chair behind a writing desk and her bed, made up meticulously each and every morning. The writing desk was not cluttered like his always seemed to be but was afflicted with the cold rigidity that surrounded the woman's every possession. She was a top rate lieutenant and would be hard to replace, but he could easily single one out of the new recruits they were going to find in Tortuga.

He turned away from the windows and took his hat off his head, running his hand through his hair. Her shady background and strict code of conduct made her slightly different from the rest of the world and he would be hard pressed to find someone who fit along the same grain. But that wasn't the matter at hand right now. From what he could see through the windows on the side of his cabin, they were approaching the land and he would need to be on deck for their arrival.

* * *

><p>Rinoa grinned. Today, her life began. Today, she escaped the shackles of her father's world and his protective obsessions. Today, she arrived at Tortuga. The sun was just setting and was painting the world in a red-gold light that reached right from her feet to the top of the black mountain that loomed in the distance beyond the town. Tortuga itself had began its life as a small fishing village, but then some precious metal or other had been discovered in the surrounding area and the resulting business had brought the place to life and expanded it to a town of entrepreneurialism and had carved a scar on the mountain at its back, leaving behind the jagged peaks of rock that reached in spikes from the ground to the sky. The black market had begun soon after the other businesses had appeared and now there was a thriving population of magicians, pirates and prostitutes, all claiming to sell the 'real deal'. Most you couldn't trust – for one reason or another – but others were highly accurate and authentic to a frightening degree.<p>

Rinoa had heard the stories and it sounded like great fun. She'd always been into the idea of adventuring since her mother had stopped at the harbour on an outing one day and they had spent a little while talking to a group of washed up old sailors who weaved tales about the romanticism of the sea and her spell-binding allure. So far the only 'allure' Rinoa had experienced at the hands of the sea was when it 'lured' her into it. Right over the side of Captain Leonhart's ship!

She turned around and waved a goodbye to the merchant ship that had brought her here, and then ran off into the crowd to start her adventure.

* * *

><p><em>Rinoa screeched loudly and flapped the oars in the water. Hynedamned water! Hynedamned boat! Hynedamned oars! She was sick of this! Sick, sick, sick of it! How many hours had she spent floundering about out here? It seemed like forever! It had certainly taken her all day! She didn't seem to have gone anywhere either. She didn't see anything for hours and now the only thing she could see was a merchant ship that was floating serenely by, its occupants watching her like children at the zoo. She sighed and hung her head; this was no use, she was terrible with oars and she hadn't the foggiest idea where in the heck she was going. And now – as if only to make things worse – one of the sailors from the ship was hailing her.<em>

"_I say! I say, Miss! Are you alright? Do you know where you're going?"_

_She thought for a second, unwilling to let her humiliation show, but unwilling to let this opportunity pass her by. She spun round, dropping an oar in the water and rocking the boat so she had to hang on tightly. Grumbling at it under her breath, she reached to get the oar back and nearly toppled into the water, righting herself just in time. She ignored her little hiccup and plastered a happy smile to her face. The sailors on the ship looked like they were trying not to laugh._

"_Hello!" She called brightly and waved a hand above her head – as though they couldn't see her, she cringed – "I err, I- Could you maybe help me? I'm looking for..." She paused, not having anywhere in particular that she was looking for. She fisted her hands and scowled at how stupid she must sound. "Land."_

_The sailors all exchanged glances and then one called out in a thick Centran accent, "What kind of land?"_

"_The dry type. Do you know where I might find some?"_

_A chuckle ran around the men and she could only imagine what their thought patterns must have been – 'Well now, would you fancy that? Some posh bird flapping about on the big wet, looking for dry land!' or 'Of course we know where you might find some, although what you'll be doing with some dry land is anyone's guess'._

"_I would greatly appreciate it if you would point me in the direction of land!" She called out, making an effort to stand in her boat, but she was wobbling so much that she just ended up falling back on her bottom. She grumbled at how ridiculous this all was as she tried to disentangle herself from her oars and her dress. Sitting up was going to be a no no as she had gotten her bottom wedged between the two middle seats. It was an abomination really._

"_Now now, Miss." The sailor called back to her among the chuckles from the rest of his crew, "If you just stay there, we'll throw you a line and drag you in."_

_She nodded and proceeded to try and free her bottom. She sincerely hoped that what would follow would not include her being literally dragged in; she'd spent far too much time in the drink today already. The man did indeed throw her a line and she clung onto it for grim death, determined not to let it slip through her fingers and kiss goodbye to a good tow to the shore._

_Her little boat bumped into the side of their ship with enough force to free her bottom from its unconventional prison. She hurriedly sorted her skirt out and then reached for the rope ladder they slung down to her._

_The men she faced once she'd clambered aboard were all middle-aged with olive skin and faces crinkled in laughter lines and frown lines. They were dressed in the style of clothing that was typical of Centra; plain jerkins, delicately beaded and embroidered velvet waistcoats, soft-looking half trousers and no shoes. She decided she liked them immediately. The curtsy came before she could stop herself._

_The foremost sailor shook his head and chuckled. "Now, Miss, what are you doing in that little rowboat?" He asked, his accent thick and honey-like. The R's rolled off his tongue and made Rinoa giggle. She had always loved different accents._

"_I was escaping from a Pirate attack." She said. Behind her a few men were hauling her boat aboard and were making quite a lot of noise. She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard clearly. "They attacked the ship I was on and I only barely managed to escape alive!"_

"_Oh, that's terrible." The sailor motioned her forwards and led her towards the cabin. "What ship was it you were on?"_

"_The Balamb Garden. We were on our way to Balamb so that I would be out of the war zone."_

"_I've heard of that ship, but we're not going anywhere near Balamb."_

"_Well where are you going?"_

"_Tortuga."_

"_The port with all the pirates and corsairs and markets and adventures?"_

"_That's the place." His face wrinkled into a smile. The majority of the men on the deck were following them into the cabin and had stopped in the doorway to listen and watch. "You're quite knowledgeable of the place, aren't you?"_

"_Oh only what I've heard in stories." Rinoa beamed (__**A/N:**_If this strikes you a little like the reaction Snow white had to the vertically challenged men she encountered, then well done. Both Snow White and Rinoa are equally pathetic so there ought to be a correlation. BTW, that isn't to say I don't like the story of snow white, I just don't like the bimbo herself.) _"I've heard it's a great place to start an adventure."_

"_But aren't you looking for Balamb?" The sailor asked, frowning in confusion._

"_Well I am," she agreed, putting a finger to her chin and batting her eyelashes, "but that doesn't go to say I can't have a little adventure on the side."_

* * *

><p>The Maelstrom had been a fun ship, the Captain and the crew told her a lot of tales about their adventures on the waves and even offered to buy her dress off her, selling her a change of clothes in exchange. Naturally with the price her dress fetched she could buy herself some very nice things and she's chosen a blue and black ensemble, Centran made and velvet. The back of the waistcoat was embroidered with white (<em><strong>AN:**_ the first spelling of that word came up with a typo= shit) threat and little glass beads in the shape of a pair of wings and the white undershirt she had underneath had more little glass beads sown about the cuffs of the sleeves. The black leggings and boots they had also sold her were soft and supple and were cheap enough that she would have enough money to buy herself a weapon and supplies and – when they offered to buy the row boat off her too – she now had enough money to buy herself a proper sea-worthy vessel.

To say she was excited was an understatement. She was ecstatic. For so long she had dreamt of getting away from her father's tyrannical reign and now that she had... Boy was she going to make the most of it.

She nearly skipped away down the pier away from the Maelstrom and darted around people, sinking quickly into the crowd. The first thing she needed to do would be to find herself a boat and – if the directions she had gotten from the crew aboard the Maelstrom were correct – the ship yard ought to be around here somewhere. It took her little under 10 minutes to find the place, but once she did she saw that it was exactly what she was looking for. Most of the ships for sale were small craft, possible to be piloted by one or two people, with one sail, a rudder and enough space for 4 or 5 people to sit in it. They were perfect. She looked about and found that a few of them had oars as well and most of them were painted in satisfying designs. She circled a group of the smaller boats for a while before deciding which one of them she wanted. It was small and sleek with a black painted bottom, one triangular sail and one pair of oars. The rim was painted blue and only in looking closer could one see the thin white line travelling around its lip. The rest was painted either black or brown.

She called the ship yard owner over and asked about its price. He said it was going for 300, but the Captain of the Maelstrom had told her not to accept extortionate prices. She asked for it at half the price. The owner scoffed and began a lecture about how little she knew of the hard times he had seen recently and that – were she a nice girl with a friendly disposition – she would pay a little more than that.

"But that's all the money I have." She lied, holding out 150 Gil on a little string. "Sorry, but it's all I've got."

The owner ummed and ahhed, but eventually just snatched the money from her hand and mumbled, "Get out of here."

She thanked him despite his bad attitude and clambered in, untying it from the pier and letting it float out on the swell of the water. She paddled with an oar for a few minutes until she'd managed to turn it round and get to the little enclave that served as a parking jetty. A very nice man helped her moor it and she clambered out again to set off on an adventure in search of supplies.

The market place was extensive as far as she could see and she could already identify a stall selling bread, vegetables and pulses. She trotted up and pointed at a loaf of bread and a cauliflower.

As she made her way through the market, she marvelled at all the different things that were on offer. There was so much, from shell fish to underwear, books to jewellery and bread and vegetables to table salt and dirt. There were different types of dirt too; some claimed to be Centran dirt, Trabian dirt, even the legendary Estharian dirt – although similar legends told that the Estharians didn't have a country at all, so the very notion of them having their own type of dirt was illogical. Some dirt said it was magical and some dirt said it could talk. She was frankly appalled at the vendor trying to sell such rubbish, but then again this was supposedly a town of pirates and tricksters so pretty much anything went.

She spent quite a long time looking at a stall selling weaponry. The weapons they had ranged from ornate little daggers, hugely over-weighted swords and lithe whips to blow pipes and a miniature bow and arrow, supposedly from the jungle of central Centra. Among the display was a small ivory sling shot with little leather straps on each side and a tiny little pinwheel with sharpened edges. She picked it up. It looked as though it was meant to strap on to the forearm. A little copper trigger on the underside was presumably the release mechanism which would then fire the pinwheel at whomever she pointed it at. It would make for a much better defence than her current weaponry – her fists – and the more she looked at it, the more she liked it.

"How much is this?" She asked the vendor, who looked it over and then held up both hands, all 10 fingers sticking out. "10?"

He nodded. She checked the little pouch of money she'd received from the merchants, it was almost half full. She fished 10 Gil from it and handed it over. The vendor looked delighted and pocketed the money immediately. Rinoa wrinkled her nose, apparently today hadn't been a very good day for him, business wise.

She walked away strapping her new weapon to her arm and feeling a lot more confident with it. What was it her father had called this feeling? The armoured fool? It was something like that anyway. She looked about for her next purchase and swung her bag of bread and cauliflower by her side. It felt so much better to be able to do this all for herself and without anybody coddling her about breaking a nail or getting her hem dirty. She finally understood why men wore trousers too! Not having something wrapped around her legs and tripping her up meant walking was so much easier! If she had her way she'd never stuff herself into a dress again.

Her next purchase turned out to be a bag of biscuits, all broken up so they were cheaper. This vendor had given her some advice as well; not to buy fresh food that could perish, which meant no eggs, fish, meat, milk, vegetables like lettuce unless she planned on eating it quickly, or any soft fruits like bananas or grapes. Most of that she had no problems with working out for herself, but it was nice to have a little friendly advice. It also meant she could save on her money expenditure, which was a plus really.

By the end of her gallivant round the market, she had picked up enough food to last her a fortnight in small doses and some health potions too. She was all set to embark on her grand expedition. Except for one problem. She had not a grand expedition on which to embark. She frowned in thought, then asked the nearest person where the Map Makers' was.

"See that little alleyway down there?"

"The one with the flowers obscuring the entrance?"

"Yeah, go down there until you reach the end, turn left and you should see it. There's a sign hanging out front."

"Why, thank you!"

She scurried off, following the passer by's instructions carefully. Sure enough, in the darkness of the dank little alleyway he'd sent her down, was a building that called itself the Map Makers'. The building itself was fairly plain, a little broken in places with a few tiles missing from the roof and a broken pane in an upstairs window. The paint was peeling and none of the windows had been cleaned in a good long time. It looked dirty and unkempt and if one didn't know exactly where it was, they could pass right by without even giving the place a second thought. The sign that had been mentioned was tiny and cracked and hanging on a frayed piece of rope from the gutter overhanging the front door. It was of little help at all.

Rinoa wrinkled her nose at the sight and nearly turned back to look for another place to shop, but then again she was here for an adventure wasn't she? She shrugged and walked forward. The door creaked as she pushed it open and a little bell jingled above her head. The inside of the shop – she found – was homely and quaint. It smelt like old books and dust and was lit all over by candles. There was no way of knowing from the outside that the place was actually quite bright, the grubby windows obscured the view and many of the windows had been covered by drapes, on which were pinned several maps. Most of them looked like your fairly bog-standard navigation maps, but a couple – right at the back, old and with curling edges – claimed to be genuine treasure maps.

Rinoa welcomed herself inside and shut the door behind her. Immediately an old man arrived from the back of the shop, a half eaten biscuit clutched in one hand and a burning candle in the other. Upon seeing the pretty young thing that had wandered into his shop, he pocketed the biscuit at once and cleared his throat, coughing and brushing crumbs off his stomach as he hurried to find his seat.

"Err, hrm..." He parked his bottom on a chair and put his candle on the table beside numerous others. "Sorry about that, I haven't had a chance for no dinner and the ol' stomach was complaining, savvy..."

Rinoa giggled and shook her head, "It's alright, I didn't mean to disturb you. I was only looking for a map of sorts."

The man looked delighted and sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Well ye've come to the right place, Miss. If maps be what ye want, then maps be what ye'll find."

She nodded and looked about, "I'm looking for an adventure map," She confessed, "Although I don't really know a lot about adventures, if you know what I mean..."

"What sort of an adventure were ye lookin' for?"

"Any type really, one with gold at the end I think... something spectacular, you know?"

"Aye," He chuckled and began to pull through a pile of maps on a table to his left, "But I think ye'd be better in a book shop with those ideas. Most of the gold be gone from these waters now, Miss. Only things what be left be old pirate gold."

"Well that sounds alright."

"Aztec gold, Miss. Be dangerous stuff, Aztec gold; some stories say it can make ye immortal-"

"Wow..."

"-Others say it can steal your soul-"

"Oh..."

"Pirate gold ain't to be played with, savvy?"

Rinoa cocked her head to the side as the man pulled a map from the pile and spread it across his table. "Now then," He waved her over to have a look. "This be a land map. It takes ye all the way up to the top of Mount Irasmas and to the shrines of the Shumi in the centre-"

Rinoa held up a hand to stop him. "I don't want to go on the land though; I just bought myself a boat!"

The man was about to reply when loud voices could be heard on the other side of the front door. They were speaking in a funny accent that Rinoa didn't recognise and she couldn't quite pick out what they were saying. She was contemplating going to the door to listen, but suddenly the Map Maker grabbed her and stuffed her under the table, out of sight just before the door opened and the bell attached to the lintel jangled ominously at their arrival.

* * *

><p>(<em><strong>AN:**_ Bottom of the page please.) "Alright Trepe," Seifer said, kneeling down to unlock the manacles on Trepe's ankles. "Our crew needs almost 200 new men if we're going to continue our plans for later. That should take us a couple of hours at best so you can have until midnight to find Heartily and bring her to us. If you find her and bring her to us, we can take you to Balamb and leave you there with the promised effects." She glared at him and folded her arms, crossing her legs too and barely resisting the urge to kick him in the chin while he was still knelt at her feet. "If however you can't find her, you can either return here or bugger off. It's your choice."

"Why thank you, Captain Arsehole." She smiled sweetly at him and touched the toe of her boot to his chin. He narrowed his eyes in warning. "But whatever should happen to Miss Heartily once she is brought into your custody? And whatever should I do if she won't come with me?"

He raised an eyebrow as she raised her boot and his chin. "Knock her out."

"And drag her through the streets unconscious?"

"Then find her and come back here." He knocked her boot out of the way and grinned wolfishly, "We'll go and get her ourselves."

Trepe raised her eyebrow too, then dropped it and rose to her feet, pulling the bandage from her head. She threw it at his chest, then went to the door. To his mind, she looked a little unsteady on her feet, but she made it to the door unaided and stalked out onto the deck. He followed, tossing the bandage over his shoulder onto the table behind him, ignoring the blood stains and the connotations it held; it was all very well and good touching her boots to his chin, but throwing dirty rags at him was tantamount to insolence.

The sun was just about set and Tortuga was lit up like a Christmas tree, all the bright orange flames giving the town a sheer and glassy look. Its image reflected off the water that sloshed quietly between the harbour walls and shimmered faintly off the windows of the galleons that sat either side of the Siren.

Seifer stood and leant against the railing as Trepe staggered unevenly down the gangplank and onto the pier. She had to grab suddenly for a nearby crate before she fell over. He chuckled under his breath; with that bash on the head and her sea legs still holding sway, she was going to be feeling her way around Tortuga for quite a while, perhaps until midnight wasn't long enough. Not that it mattered, he would track Heartily down himself soon enough.

Trepe staggered along the pier, holding onto things and people until she was out of sight in the crowd. Seifer turned his gaze towards Raijin and Fuujin who were supervising the unloading of their booty and were organising the crew. They had with them quite a good haul, from paintings and dresses, to vases and jewellery. They even had some giant clams on board and a small catch of fresh fish that was caught in the down time just after the battle with the Garden. It would earn them a little money, but they would catch more to supplement their meals later. He glanced out across the port and the rows upon rows of ships that were docked along the coast. He frowned. Something had caught his eye and he looked closer, before turning around to look out the other side of his ship. There was an awful lot of one type of ship here. In fact it looked as though he had decided to park in the middle of a fleet. He bit his lip; it could cause a problem.

The ships he was worried about were big and painted green, with specific elements painted gold and black. The sails were also green and edged with golden threat. They typically had 170 cannons and 6 decks, in excess of 400 hands and travelled quickly through the water. These types of ships came in different shapes and sizes, but every one of the fleet that Seifer could see were the streamline and narrow sort. They were known in certain circles as hunting ships and were used for search and destroy type missions. They dwarfed the Siren – having only 70 cannons, 5 decks and a limit of 300 men herself - but above all this; it was the figureheads on the fronts that meant trouble. The figure of the Mermaid Queen Adel bursting forth from the waves was the symbol of Esthar – they worshiped her like a Goddess - and if these were Estharian ships, he could sure as shit bet he was going to need more than just 200 men.

He chewed the lip he had caught between his teeth and his frown deepened. He looked back out along the pier but Trepe was long gone by now. He shouted for Fuujin and she trotted over with a puzzled and concerned expression on her face. "TROUBLE?"

"How many Estharian ships can you see?" He questioned and watched as Fuujin craned her neck to count them. They stretched away from both sides of the ship and Fuujin said she could count:

"SEVEN."

"Which means a ground force of around 2800 people..." He took his hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair, blowing out his cheeks. That was a lot of people. "Did you see any more of them as we came in?"

"NEGATIVE."

"Me neither..." He looked at the things being unloaded onto the pier. "How much more do we have to go?"

"MINIMAL."

"Good. We're going to need 300 men on this thing if the rest of the Estharians are anywhere nearby." He put his hat on his head and fixed her with a pensive look. It was one she returned readily. "Be on the lookout Fuuj, we don't want any mistakes here."

* * *

><p>The boots were the first things to catch her eye, around ankle-high with pointy toes that curled up at the end and were topped with a little bell; they themselves were pastel green and make of leather. Ridiculous. The second was the fact that he appeared to be wearing women's stockings. They were pale pink and stretched to his knees at which point they were met with the most ludicrous trousers she had ever seen. They were the sort of trousers she had seen in paintings from several hundred years ago, puffy around the top and striped like great, multicoloured mushrooms at the top of his legs. She wrinkled her nose; did all Estharians dress like this? If so she would have to make a point of avoiding them, heaven only knew if it was contagious.<p>

"I vould like a map." He said, "Iz a very specific map I heard only you vould have."

The Map Maker cleared his throat and stood from his stall. Rinoa stayed where she was, shuffling over a little to make way for him to step around her. He went to a pile of maps stacked on the table at the side of the room and began to sort through them.

"What sort of a map were ye lookin' for?"

"Odin's treasure."

Rinoa narrowed her eyes. Odin... she'd heard that name before, in a history book somewhere maybe? She edged a little further under the table and peaked carefully through the gap in the table cloth. More of the man was no visible and he paced slowly around as the Map Maker sorted through his maps, looking for the one the man had asked for.

He was quite short really, this oddly dressed man, he wouldn't have been much taller than her, in fact she thought he might be shorter. The stupid trousers were accompanied by a green and yellow and pink chequered doublet that stuck out at the bottom and was covered all over in little gold coins. The sleeves were nothing more than a golden wire mesh, dotted and studded with jewels and pearls and more gold coins. She raised an eyebrow – even she had never covered herself in such riches – she hoped this wasn't his casual wear. The outfit was complimented by an enormous pleated ruff that flopped as he walked and the whole thing was topped off with a paper mache crown. She frowned. Paper mache? Wasn't he supposed to be an Estharian? You know, open waves and all that? A paper mache crown wasn't going to last very long at all.

"Ahh, here y'are." The Map Maker said, pulling a map from the pile and holding it out. The man took it, unravelled it and looked it over.

"Vat use iz ziz?" He asked suddenly, smacking the map. "Vat language iz ziz? I can't read ziz! I vant a translation!"

"I don't have a translation." The Map Maker said calmly, carefully rearranging the maps he had displaced. "I think it's old Galbadian, but I don't know. There be no ways to translate it."

"Very vell..." The man said after a moment's thought, rolling the map back up and tucking it under his arm. "I vill take it. But I vill not be happy if you have led me somevere else."

"That'll be 120 Gil." The Map Maker said, holding out his hand.

"120-!" The man spluttered, his mouth opening and closing and he stared wide-eyed at the Map Maker. "I vont pay 120 Gil for an unreadable map!"

"That be the price I'm afraid," The Map Maker shrugged. "It be the only map of its kind in the world. These things be expensive." He crooked his fingers.

"Iz ridiculous," the man muttered as he fished around in his trousers for some money, "Ridiculouz! 120 Gil... Pah!"

The Map Maker pocketed the money once it had been handed over and went to open the door. He swept a mini bow as the odd man stalked past, his ruff flapping. Once he was gone, Rinoa scrambled from under the table, brushing cobwebs from her hair and shoulders.

"Who on Gaia was that?" She asked.

"Captain Odine," The Map Maker said, squeezing back behind his table and taking out a little wooden box. It rattled as he moved it. "He was the First Mate on board the Raine's Reverence in the time of Captain Loire. That was back when the Estharian Pirates were more like floating traders than anything else." The box was a money box. He deposited Odine's money inside.

"What are the Estharians exactly?" Rinoa asked, picking up a miniature carved wooden ship from the table and looking it at. It was so delicately make she wouldn't have been surprised had it been the work of a mouse. "I used to hear a lot about them from my father. He used to say they were trouble, but not much else."

"They be Pirates for the most part." The Map Maker said, stowing the box away and covering it was a badly stained doily. "Some people call them the Floating Pirate Nation because really they don't have a country. They be hard to find most of the time and hardly ever come onto dry land. To find them here is something of a shock, t' be honest."

"But if they don't have a country, then how can they be a people?" She put the ship back on the table. "Surely they have to have had a country at some point."

"Maybe Miss," The Map Maker said, taking a seat, "I don't know. Like I said, they hardly never come onto dry land; I've never had much contact with them."

"Then how did you know who he was?" She asked, giggling and grinning at him. She liked the old man and he seemed knowledgeable enough, even if _some_ of his stories didn't exactly match up.

"It's the trousers." He winked at her, "And the paper crown." He snorted, "Idiotic idea. A nationless Pirate fancying himself a king."

"Maybe he wants Odin's treasure to make himself a king?" Rinoa suggested; it wasn't such a silly idea. "Is there a crown amongst Odin's treasure?"

"There is," The Map Maker nodded and scratched absent mindedly at his elbow, "But he'll never get there. He's only got half the pieces."

"Half the pieces?"

"In that bookcase over there – no the next one along – see the book with the silver spine? It's a bit faded..."

"This one?"

"Yeh, pull it out. That's the other half of the map."

"The... Other half? But I thought he walked out with the map."

"That book's got all the answers of how to get there and what to do once ye get there. But unless ye know where his ship is moored, y'll never actually get to the treasure, savvy?"

"So it's on a ship!"

"The Queen Adel's Revenge. 'S moored on a river in the centre of an island just off the Trabian coast. If ye really wanted to get to the treasure, ye would first have to find your way to White Capp Bay, but that's another story all together."

Rinoa thought for a second. She had always liked the idea of treasure hunting as a kid and had staged many a faux battle with her father, fighting off pirates and corsairs and the like. But this was real. She considered the Map Maker for a moment, he was bent over a little book, recording his latest sale no doubt, looking entirely unperturbed by what he'd just told her. He obviously thought her too much of a little girl to even attempt such a voyage. She made up her mind.

"I'd like to buy a map to White Capp Bay please." The Map Maker looked up and blinked at her. "And this little book, if you please."

"Ye- Y're not serious are ye?" He asked, sounding unconvinced. He put down his quill pen. "That's not a journey for a little girl."

"I'm not a little girl, thank you," She said calmly and put the book on his table, on top of his records, "I would like to purchase this book and a map to White Capp Bay."

The Map Maker hesitated, but then got up and went to fetch her map. Rinoa stayed where she was, feeling slightly odd. It was a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She usually associated this feeling with nerves, but this time it couldn't be. If her father could see her now, he'd probably have a heart attack. He sent her away to keep her safe and out of harm's way, but here she was about to embark on possibly one of the most exciting and dangerous idea's she'd ever had. Who'd a thunk?

The Map Maker returned with a worn looking map in his hands and spread it out on the table. He cleared his throat, "Now Miss, it's important before ye go that ye make sure ye read both the map and the book carefully. These be dangerous waters ye be sailing to."

"Ok, I can do that."

He fixed her with a very serious look. "It be very important. Many ships've sunk because they didn't heed the warnin's on the map. Mermaids and ghost ships be serious business Miss."

"Mermaids?" Rinoa grinned, only narrowly avoiding clapping her hands gleefully. The look on the Map Maker's face stopped her. "What are they like?"

"Beautiful creatures," He shook his head sadly, "But evil. They say with one kiss ye can breathe under water, but if they kiss ye, they kill ye too."

"Oh..." Rinoa felt a little crest fallen for some reason. It was probably because of all those stories she'd heard as a little girl, about mermaids lulling sailors to sleep and rescuing them from ship wrecks had seemed so nice. Now it appeared they weren't like that, she felt cheated.

"They be dangerous, so be careful. Better ye not speak once ye reach the island." He pointed to the image of a rock on the map, around a kilometre from the main island. "Once ye see this rock; no talking, savvy? They'll hear ye and drag ye down to the depths, make ye one o' their own. So be careful." He rolled the map up and handed it to her, turning to the book next, "If ye manage to get yer hands on the map Odine took, this book has the translations ye'll need for the map."

"But I thought there were no translations." Rinoa said, "Did you lie?"

"Estharians have no place here," The Map Maker mumbled, thumbing through the pages of the book, "They ain't landlubbers and they don't never need to be on the land or in my shop. Now look closely at this page," He said, indicating a diagram that crossed two pages and appeared to be drawn in blood. It was in the shape of a star with 8 points with a circle in its centre. The circle was filled with the drawing of a woman with long hair and many limbs. "Ye'll see this symbol somewhere on the ship, but-" He put a hand over hers, tearing her gaze from the diagram so he could stare into her eyes. He squeezed to affirm his point, "Whatever ye do; _Don't read the writing_."

* * *

><p>Quistis grumbled and looked about in the crowd. The sway of people was so thick she could hardly see the buildings on either side of herself, let alone actually pick out who was who. She frowned and pushed a few people from her way, struggling through the gap and pressing on. The sun had long since set by now of course and only the dingy light from the street lamps offered any clues as to her target. What a ridiculous notion Almasy had, giving her until midnight... Finding anyone specific in Tortuga was a hard ask in the day time, when there was actual light, but to ask for it in the night time - in the pitch black - was stupid.<p>

This was the third time in her life Quistis had been to Tortuga and every time she got a mixed impression. Yes it was true that one could find an awful lot of rare and valuable products and artefacts here, but it was also true that one could find an awful lot of the local nightlife as well – some of which operated in the day time too. She liked the idea of the markets and the trade and the opportunities that presented themselves, but the prospect of being groped every couple of minutes by some punter thinking you were his next employment sort of took the shine out of the place.

She shoved a couple more people out of her way and came upon the market square, heaving with people all hawking their stuff. She wandered through for a minute, unable to help herself from admiring all the different sparkly objects. This was an embarrassing side to her that she never let anyone else see – the feminine side. She wanted to pick up a few of the necklaces and try them on, feel the cold metal against her skin and think she looked pretty. Needless to say she bypassed the jewellery vendors.

It was while she was admiring some of the more expensive dresses on the market that one caught her eye. It was a soft, sky blue satin with criss-crossing navy blue ribbons and white lace across the bodice. Pearls and little blue glass beads were dotted all over the bodice, skirts and the sleeves – which were being sold separately. It was a beautiful dress for sure, but it wasn't one she wanted to try on, it was one she recognised. It gave her a moment of hope.

She hailed the vendor, who was currently holding up a bunch of hats and some ribbons to another customer. He excused himself and trotted over.

"Where did you get this dress?" She asked, putting a hand on the dress, "I would like to find its previous owner."

The vendor looked confused, evidently having expected her to ask how much it cost, not where he had found it. He scratched his head. "The Maelstrom brings things like this by every so often. They be docked in the harbour now." He patted the dress and hurriedly added, "But they ain't got nothing like this one anymore, all sold out. This be the last one. Ye can have it for a fixed price if'n ye likes."

"No, thank you!" Quistis called over her shoulder as she dashed off darting around people as she went, leaving behind her a disappointed market vendor.

The harbour. That was now her first call of port. After that, if they couldn't tell her where Miss Heartily was, she'd have to start again. For Miss Heartily's sake, she hoped they hadn't the foggiest, but for her sake alone, she really hoped they knew where to find the blasted girl.

The Maelstrom was a large merchant ship, famed in these waters for bringing in the best finds and artefacts. They were knowledgeable about a great many things and were held with great respect by many people. It was unsurprising really that they should have picked up Miss Heartily if anybody was going to.

She jogged up to it and slid to a stop on the pier beside it. It looked as though much of the goods had been unloaded and taken away to be sold, only a few crates of wine and barrels of beer had yet to be loaded onto a cart and taken to the next pub or bar. She trotted up to the Captain – he had a very well known face and was easily spottable by the bright green sash he wore about his chest – and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around looking quite surprised.

"I don't suppose you've come across a young woman wearing a bright blue dress and heading towards Balamb have you?" She asked, trying to sound tired and weary without sounding exasperated or condescending. It was a hard ask. "I'm looking for her and until a few minutes ago was worried she might have died."

"Ahh," His face lit into a smile and Quistis knew immediately that they knew where she was. Thank the lord, the prospect of having to tell Almasy that Princess Perfect hadn't made it to Tortuga was not one she relished. "Yes! We picked her up from a rowboat. That one, actually." He pointed to a boat that was now fixed to the side of his ship and tied down tight. "She said she escaped from the Balamb Garden in a Pirate attack."

"Yes..." Quistis agreed, sounding dubious, "In the end she was presumed dead by all of us. Do you know where she is now?"

"She sold us her dress in exchange for clothing and some money and went into the town, to the ship yard I think."

"Why the ship yard? She's already got a boat, that one."

"Oh, no, she sold that to us as well."

"But what are _you_ going to do with a Balamb Naval rowboat?"

"Sell it back to them."

She raised an eyebrow at the incredible honesty of the captain. It wasn't everyday one tried to sell the Navy's own property back to them. He shrugged his shoulders at her expression and said non-challently, "It's all in the business I'm afraid, Miss."

She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, "Fine, whatever. So she went to the ship yard?"

"That is correct."

"Then thank you very much and make sure you don't charge them too much for that rowboat." She sound of the Captains bass laughter followed her all the way back along the pier as she set off towards the ship yard to continue her quest for the whereabouts of Miss Heartily – at least now it was looking slightly less fruitless than it was a few hours ago.

* * *

><p>"Hey, man..." Irvine cracked an eye open and peered at Dincht from below his lashes.<p>

"What?" He croaked. From the time of his injury up until now he had been getting a little bit of shut-eye, leaving the spotting to someone else, someone a little less injured. It had taken him Hyne-only-knows how long to get down from his crows' nest with a busted shoulder and onto the deck and it had exhausted him. Who knew being an invalid was such hard work?

"We're pulling into port, grab your stuff."

Irvine groaned and shifted in an effort to alleviate some of the pain in his shoulder. He carefully peeled back the collar of his shirt and peered at the tunnel in his shoulder. The blood had crusted his shirt to his wound, stopping the bleeding mostly but doing nothing for his pain. He was currently leant up against the side, his back pressed into the wood and a hasty sling keeping his arm up to his neck. It was uncomfortable, but the only person aboard besides the doctor – who had unfortunately been found wedged between two cannons with a goodly portion of the wood from his medical box sticking out of his oesophagus – only officer Trepe had any real knowledge about first aid or bandaging (Although they would never admit it for fear of incurring her wrath, the men all agreed that bandaging the wounded was woman's work).

He watched Captain Leonhart emerge from his cabin and wrinkled his nose. Leonhart was as shoddy a Captain as there had ever been; he never gave any outstanding orders; he hadn't the foggiest idea of the names of anybody beyond those of his immediate party; he didn't know the waters he sailed and never checked the work of his sailors. It was a Captain's duty to make sure his crew were in tip top shape and fighting condition. He was supposed to be able to navigate. He was meant to be the one organising his crew and the way they ran the ship. He was supposed to be able to give rousing and inspiring speeches that would lead his men fearlessly into the turmoil of the ocean waves. But Leonhart simply wasn't like that. He made rash decisions, took his time over the tiniest of little things, left jobs unfinished and unchecked. He never spoke to his crew unless it was strictly necessary. Irvine himself had once questioned whether or not Captain Leonhart could even speak. Whenever there was conversation, it was Officer Trepe who initiated and kept them going. He nodded a quick thank you to Dincht and levered himself up into a standing position.

Captain Leonhart rubbed at his scar and looked down the deck. Their eyes met for a second and – as though reading his thoughts – Leonhart looked away. Irvine twitched one eyebrow. The Captain was a fool for what he had done and if he paid the price, then it would serve him right. He clasped a hand protectively to his shoulder and winced. The Captain wasn't the only one getting his just deserves; pissing on people had never been known for its amiable qualities and he was beginning to see why.

He ambled over to the gangway as it was being put out and was one of the first off the ship.

* * *

><p>Squall adjusted his hat and rested his hand on Lionheart's pommel, just for reassurance. Tortuga was the kind of place where one could easily get roughed up. And knowing his luck, the chances were it wouldn't be one of the less important crew members or someone insignificant who got mugged in the middle of the street; no, it would be him.<p>

He sighed and fought the urge to scrub at his scar. The flesh there was quite tender and he would end up with a glaring red mark if he wasn't careful. He had probably used up his quota of scar-scrubbing for the day already. With another sigh, he began to walk down the gangplank.

Seeing Dincht bumbling about helping some of the wounded to a bunch of crates nearby, Squall went over to talk to him, there were some very important details he needed to get down. "Dincht," He said, startling the other man to attention, "We need to go to the market. Take Nida and Kineass with you and set up a stall to recruit sailors."

Dincht looked confused and scratched his head. "But Irvine's injured, Sir."

"We're all injured." Squall dismissed him, turning to Nida and jerking a thumb in Dincht's direction. He stopped him before he could go passed and whispered, "Make sure he doesn't cock it up."

Nida nodded and continued to follow Dincht and Irvine – who was complaining loudly about being a poor wounded soldier and there being no rest for the wicked – as they disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

><p>Quistis bent double with her hands on her knees, breathing hard and looking up at a battered sign that bore the words 'Map Makers'. The ship yard attendant had been quite horrid to her and told her all kinds of places she could shove her enquiries before eventually informing her that the skint young lady she was looking for had probably washed up somewhere in the docking yard. She spared him her thanks and went to look in the docking yard where an attendant there pointed her in the direction of the Market. She had grimaced at the thought of the number of stalls she would have to do through before finding anyone with any news of Miss Heartily, but as she considered where <em>she<em> would go if she was looking for supplies, she quickly came to a worrying conclusion. Or a theory at least...

Enquiries at the weapons and grain-based food-stuffs stalls confirmed her suspicions and she immediately asked for the nearest Map Makers. The building she was currently looking up was her suggested destination and she hoped against hope and Miss Heartily might be inside. So far she had been one or two steps behind the young girl, but now it was of the utmost importance that she find her.

She straightened up and pushed the door open, jangling a little bell that hung somewhere above her head. The shop was unfortunately empty, although there was some rustling coming from the back room. She stepped a little further inside and closed the door softly, jangling the bell again. Hurried footsteps began from the back room and it wasn't long before a short little man appeared holding a biscuit in one hand and a dagger in the other. He looked a little surprised to see her, as though her immediate reaction – flattening herself to the door the moment the dagger came into view – wasn't one he often received.

He grumbled something and crammed the biscuit into his mouth, stuffing the dagger into a little scabbard attached to his waist, before moving huffily behind a table and parking himself on a chair. "Well," He grumbled once his biscuit was swallowed and Quistis had peeled herself from his door, "Whaddaya want? Some high and mighty adventure afforded at the cost of yer friends, family and the local community? Or maybe yer here sniffin' fer gold, eh?"

"I, err... No, I'm here looking for a person, not gold or adventures." Quistis said slowly, eyeing the little man with suspicion. "Anyway, I was going to ask whether a young girl wearing Centran clothing had been in here yet or if not could I please wait for-"

"Oh clear off!" He said, standing and waving his hands at her to go away. "Ye've no business waiting about in my shop fer no young girls wearing Centran clothing or other, savvy? I'll not have you ruining her adventure!"

"So you know where she went?" Quistis asked feeling a little less pleased than she ought to have done. If the old man's talk of adventure was true, then Miss Heartily was probably already neck deep in something she knew relatively little about. "Where did she go?"

"I'm not the sort of Map Maker to go selling the destinations of young girls to fellow money-grabbers and slavers the likes of-"

"I'm not a money-grabber or a slaver, thank you very much! I'm a first lieutenant in the Balamb Navy!"

"Oh! Another Naval busybody here to-"

"Busy-body?"

"Aye!"

Quistis shut her eyes and slammed a palm into her temple – which in retrospect wasn't such a good idea as her head began to spin. Trust her luck; at the very last hurdle she meets some old codger who thinks it's his calling in life to be Miss Heartily's personal retainer.

"Look," She said, lowering her voice – which had risen to a near shout in the heat of the argument – to a more comfortable volume and put her hand on the table in front of him, bending slightly so their eyes were the same height. "I'm well aware that customer privacy demands you tell me nothing." She grit her teeth and tried not to lose her temper. "But I'm her damn body-guard so if you don't tell me exactly where she's bloody gone, I'll rip your gizzard out and make a map out of it! Savvy?" She failed.

The Map Maker seemed unperturbed by this threat, but sat back down in his chair and folded his hands delicately in his lap. He looked up at her and – with as unruffled an air as he could likely manage – said, "Odin's treasure."

* * *

><p>Squall scowled down at the names on the list. So far they had recruited maybe 20 men for Balamb, not too many of them fighters, but more people seeking safe passage to Balamb. He had half a mind to tell them to sod off and that he wasn't a damn passenger vessel, but they needed the extra hands so he wasn't <em>quite<em> irritated enough to actually turn them away. He dragged his hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair, then grimaced. When was the last time he brushed his hair? It was knotted and tangled and pushing his fingers through it just pulled more of it out if he was honest. He would have to brush it soon before the situation got any worse. He glanced about and saw Kineass.

"Kineass, I'm having a look around, I should be back in-" He checked his pocket watch, "-20 minutes."

"Aye, Cap'n." Kineass said, carefully bandaging his shoulder with a roll of rum-soaked gauze Dincht had found for him not too long ago. "Looking for Officer Trepe?"

Squall mumbled something and then took off into the crowd. He would just head back to the ship and quickly brush his hair before anyone noticed, doubled round and back and then show up with some information supposedly gleaned from an old beggar who promptly snuffed it and rotted away abnormally quickly, obscuring any evidence.

He was just passing by a weapon's stall when he overheard some conversation. "Aye, Blue-coats and nothin' else since dusk."

"Bloody women runnin' round like their riggin's on fire too. Anyone'd think they were chasing each other!"

He ducked behind another stall and pretended to examine its items carefully, all the while listening in on the conversation.

"Chasing each other or chasing the Estharians? Been a lot of 'em buggers floatin' about. Suspicious like."

"They're all over the place matey; I'd keep me voice down if I was ye."

"Ain't gonna harm me if'n I gives 'em a good price, haha!"

Squall scowled again, this bloody conversation was getting him nowhere fast. What about the women chasing after each other? Talk about that, for Hyne's sake!

"Ye'll get into trouble with the locals if'n yer like that."

"Oh they'll understand. Not like they're the only one's gettin' ripped off tonight. Sold my little ol' pinwheel to one of 'em women, would ye believe!"

"That broken old thing?"

"Aye!"

"How much?"

"10 gil!"

"10 gil? I wouldn't have paid 1 gil!"

"Neither would I but she took it fair and square. Handed it over in cold, hard cash!"

"By the seas, that's an air head and no mistake."

"Aye, I saw her buying fruit and grains at the next stall over."

"Adventuring no doubt."

"Aye, no doubt. She ain't going nowhere with my ol' pinwheel though, fall apart soon as ye look at it."

"What of that other woman though, I heard she caused a who-ja-ma-callit-"

"A commotion."

"-A commotion at the whatsit..."

"Aye, she were asking all over the market for a Map Makers, shoutin' about it being 'the utmost importance' and all that."

"She come to ye?"

"Aye. Pointed her in the direction of Ol' Salty's."

"Can I 'elp you?" Squall looked up into the podgy face of a middle aged woman wearing a sour expression. He blinked.

"No."

"Then clear off, ye've no business sniffing and gurning o'er my dresses, now scram if'n yer not buyin' one!"

He looked down in puzzlement at the items on the stall, then immediately leapt back in shock and mild disgust. The woman might have deluded herself into thinking that what she was selling were dresses, but Squall was in no doubt that what he had just been examining with infinite – although faked – curiosity was underwear. They came in all shapes and sizes, colours and purposes – although what could possibly be the purpose of a dress make entirely out of what appeared to be shoe-laces entirely passed him by – and were laid out on a table strewn in petals (as if that could soften the blow). He had no doubt that in the midst of his concentration on the conversation next door, he had been frowning. An occasional annoyed sniff might also have arisen and although he certainly didn't wish to give the woman cause for offence, he couldn't really say that his supposed reactions to her merchandise were entirely unjust.

He cleared his throat and asked gruffly, "Old Salty's, please."

She stuck a finger out and pointed at an alleyway shrouded in plant life some 10 meters from her stall. He thanked her quietly and went to go down it, but he was stopped in his tracks when a fast moving object nearly crashed into him, avoiding him at the last moment and careening out into the traffic of the Market place.

* * *

><p>Quistis swore and tore out of the Map Makers without so much as thanking him for his information. Not that she should, if he had really cared about Miss Heartily, he would never have given her the map, or the book, or the very <em>idea<em> of chasing after that wretched treasure! Odin's treasure was supposed to be nothing more than an old ghost story designed to frighten young sailors and children into their bunks and beds. But the trouble was, every veteran sea-goer – of whose number she counted herself among – knew that there were certain elements of truth behind the tale. How else could it have arisen, after all?

But ghost story or no ghost story, the main fact of the matter was that Miss Heartily charging off into the unknown without any knowledge – the book and maps alone could never even _hope_ of conveying the level of danger involved in chasing after _this kind_ of cursed treasure.

She barely avoided some bumpkin standing at the mouth of the alleyway and dashed out into the crowd and running the direction of the harbour. Her suspicions earlier had led her to believe that Miss Heartily was indeed going to go off on some thrill seeking adventure, but had she known just what kind, she might have picked up the pace a little.

The crew of the Siren was now huge, she observed as she approached, running between individuals to the mooring of the ship. Almasy was stood on the pier, his arms crossed and his boot tapping impatiently as the last of the new crew boarded the ship. His body language said he was anxious about something already, which meant that this most recent piece of bad news was going to go down a storm. She jogged to his side, where she stopped and grabbed his arm for support as she bent double, holding her head and breathing hard to regain her breath. She was not built for running, no woman was built for running, certainly not if they had any assets to speak of like she did. She cursed these things on her front every day of her life.

Almasy looked at her with an expectant expression, "Well? Where's Heartily?"

Quistis shook her head and held her hand over her mouth, hoping to Hyne she didn't vomit all over his boots, it would _not_ put him in a good mood at all. Almasy pried her fingers from his sleeve and pulled her upright, bending slightly so they were on an eye level. He tried again. "Where's Heartily? You found her, didn't you?"

Quistis screwed her eyes shut and waited patiently until the nauseous feeling had subsided, but by that point Almasy was getting antsy again and his toe-tapping had reached a crescendo. When she finally managed to say quietly "she's gone to White Capp Bay" he threw his hands up in the air and turned around on the spot, growling and spitting expletives.

Quistis watched silently until he had calmed down, it wasn't her fault, she had gone off to do what she was told and find Miss Heartily, but Miss Heartily simply wasn't in Tortuga to find. "So," She ventured once his erratic arm movements had ceased, "This is the part where you hold up your side of the deal and take me to Bal-"

"Sod off!" he laughed bitterly, turning around and glaring at her. "Sod off! I'm not taking you to Balamb, or anywhere else!"

"What?" Her mouth fell open before she could stop it. "But you promised! We shook on it!"

"I said I would take you to Balamb if you bought my Heartily."

"Bollocks!" She shouted, raising Almasy's eyebrows and turning the heads of many a sailor who would not have expected such a nice looking young woman to use such vulgar language. "I found you Miss Heartily! I told you where she's going, what more do you want?" She jabbed a finger hard into his chest. "You hold up your side of the deal or you're a bloody liar as well as a traitor!"

"Liar?" He slapped her hand away, fixed her with a look of distain, then stalked past. He stopped halfway up the gangplank and turned to face her, indignation written clearly on his face. "You can stay here and rot, Officer. Just be glad I'm gentleman enough not to sell you for a whore!"

And then – as though he hadn't been rude enough already – the git began to haul anchor! Quistis stood shell shocked for a few seconds as the Siren began to move, floating slowly away from the pier and away from her. He was leaving her here! The bastard! He really was just going to leave her to be mistaken for a whore! But, what if something awful happened to her? What if she really _was_ mistaken for a whore? What is some drunk, lecherous, sweaty old guy put his hands on her? Made a move on her? Well he'd lose his front teeth if that happened, but that wasn't the point, didn't Almasy care? Surely, he couldn't want that, right? Well, no, he probably didn't want that specifically otherwise he'd probably have taken her himself first then sold her on afterwards, making sure he got a profit out of her, but currently he was just sailing away! It meant he didn't care what happened to her.

She grit her teeth and fisted her hands at her sides. This wasn't the Almasy she'd heard tell of during her time in the Galbadian Navy; despite the odd tale of woe befallen the 9 lords of Centra and a stick of celery he was supposedly quite a nice guy. She scowled and watched the Siren begin to turn in the water, ready to plunge back into the open sea and disappear quickly beyond the horizon. Something in the water caught her eye. It was shimmering all over the bottom of his ship and – in the firelight of the town – made the underbelly of the Siren look as though it had scales. It looked like a giant fish turning slowly in the clear blue water. She made a split second decision. She couldn't lose this ship.

* * *

><p>Squall stared after Trepe's receding back, but she was fairly quickly lost in the crowd. He thought for a moment about going after her. Her presence raised a lot of questions, like for example how she managed to escape Almasy, why she was looking for Miss Heartily and why in the bloody hell was she <em>running<em>? Also, wasn't she meant to have some horrifying head wound and be dying quietly somewhere?

He eyed the mouth of the alleyway warily. Almasy wasn't down there two was he? That wasn't why she was running about like a bat out of hell was it? No, it couldn't be otherwise the two conversationalists would have mentioned him, Hyne knew they mentioned the Estharians, locals and everyone else under the sun, why on Gaia would they miss Almasy out? Break his little heart it would.

Squall shook his head and drew Lionheart, if Almasy _was_ down there; he wasn't going to let him get out alive. He crept down the alley, taking care to be as silent as he could be – which was pretty silent when one thought about it. But he encountered no Almasys, no pirates, no nothing but a little Map Maker's shop with a rotten looking sign and hardly any light in the windows. He pushed the door open quietly, grimacing at the tinkling little bell above his head. The shop itself was empty, but there was a light in the back room and a growling sound accompanied by the rush of approaching feet. Squall flicked Lionheart up into a ready stance.

A short little man arrived in the shop presently, holding a bag of biscuits in one hand and a dagger clutched in the other. He appeared to be attempting a battle cry of some sort when he entered the room, but upon sighting Squall and Lionheart waiting for him with their tip glistening in the light and pointed right at his heart, he gasped, squeaked, dropped the dagger and mashed the biscuits before falling stricken to the ground.

Squall blinked in surprise. He had never had that reaction before. He sheathed Lionheart and raised an eyebrow to the man on the floor. "Old Salty, I presume?"

"Aye..." Old Salty confirmed from the floor. "Can I help ye?"

"I'm looking for a young-"

"The brothel's down the way-"

"A young woman looking to go on an adventure!"

Old Salty began to pick himself from the floor, sheathing his dagger and scraping his biscuit bag into his pocket. "She left. Went away." He said quietly, not meeting Squall's eye but instead watching Lionheart unhappily. Apparently he didn't like being accosted in his own shop. Well it served him right. If he was prepared to rush someone with a dagger and a bag of biscuits then he was going to have to be prepared to face the consequences.

"Which way?"

"The docks I imagine."

"Thank you." Squall said tersely and spun for the door. Behind him, Old Salty was regaining a little of his bravado and shook a fist as Squall disappeared through the front door.

"And _stay out_!"

Whatever, Squall thought as hurried back along the alleyway, so Almasy wasn't in the Map Makers and neither was anyone else, but it meant nothing as long as he had a trail. Now it was clear that Miss Heartily was alive and well he could continue on with his mission and the first step of that was stopping her before she set out on some disastrous adventure that would cost them all their lives. He could do this easily without any sort of help from his crew. He set off at a jog towards the docks.

* * *

><p>Seifer scowled as he watched Trepe just standing on the pier, her bright blue eyes looking at him as though he'd just condemned him to death. He probably had, but that wasn't the point, she'd earned it. He was actually considering giving her enough money to get herself out of his hair and find her own way to Balamb – he wasn't evil after all and she'd given him the information he needed, although it wasn't complete – but then she'd called him a liar and any thoughts of chivalry he'd just had were washed away and quickly abandoned.<p>

His gaze was drawn momentarily by the familiar shape of Leonhart's ridiculous head bobbing about as it's owner trotted along the pier towards them. He was never going to catch up to any of them, Seifer had witnessed the Balamb Garden pulling into harbour a little while ago and it had been one hell of a scuffle, trying not to crash with the limited knowledge of Dincht leading the show. Amusing, but not at all encouraging. Seifer lost interest in Leonhart pretty quickly and he turned his attentions back to Trepe.

He watched as something seemed to click behind her eyes and she started to run along the pier towards them. His interest was sparked when she hurdled a pile of sacking that fell in her way and she shoved people from her path. She was obviously going hell for leather for something and – although Seifer had to admit to being interested – he sincerely hoped she wasn't about to do what he thought she might be. She dove off the end of the pier, slipping beneath the waves with barely a splash.

"Hold on the sails!" He shouted above the general bustle of the crew readying the Siren for the open waves. The men currently untying the sails looked puzzled as they followed his orders. Seifer jumped down the steps to the deck and went to the side to watch Trepe's approach. She was a good swimmer surprisingly (_**A/N:**_ I realise that a lot of people couldn't swim back then, which is why I say it's surprising.) and was quickly coming up alongside them. Fuujin and Raijin were also leant over the side to watch and slowly many of the crew hands followed suit.

"Maybe we should toss her a line, ya know?" Raijin suggested, glancing at Fuujin, who shrugged and turned to look at Seifer. He was scratching his chin in thought. To toss or not to toss? That was the question. He could watch her flounder, get tired and eventually drown, or he could toss her a line, haul her aboard, save her life and give her a round telling off later... Oh the choices! He shrugged, "Yeah, toss her a line."

The thick rope that was thrown down at her hit her on the top of the head and she sunk quickly below the surface. Seifer threw his hands in the air after a few seconds and turned to face his crew and the man who'd thrown the rope, exasperation in his voice. "Well that's it. You've killed her, congratulations." He looked back down at the spot where she'd sunk. "Pull it back in."

Raijin sniffled a little as the rope was pulled back in – he had confided earlier that he quite admired 'Officer Trepe' and would have liked to have had her around a little bit longer – but then he gave a triumphant shout. There, clinging gamely to the end of the rope was Trepe; hanging on with one hand and clutching the top of her head with the other.

They pulled her in quickly and Seifer reached out to grab her wrist and haul her aboard, spitting sea water on all fours onto his deck. He briefly entertained the idea of simply throwing her back into the waves, but her shirt had gone see through and it stopped him in his tracks. The shirt had been plastered to her and although her waistcoat mainly covered the view, her waistcoat was designed for a woman and the front of it was largely open, exposing the swell of flesh that was the tops of her breasts to the crew. Seifer felt his face colour up. The customary strap that all females claimed to wear was currently the only thing obscuring her 'assets' from the beady eyes of himself his men. He swallowed thickly and dragged her on board, pulling the open sides of her coat and trying to close them. He hoped to Hyne she was too busy spitting sea water to realise what he was trying to hide.

Before any damage could be done however, Fuujin appeared with a blanket and dropped it over Trepe's shoulders. He tilted his head to hide his blush under the rim of his hat.

"QUESTION."

He nodded, silently thanking Fuujin's understanding of his unfortunate predicament. He cleared his throat and gripped the edges of the blanket, wrapping it closer around Trepe and obscuring the view. "What the hell were you thinking?" He asked.

"I'm not staying in Tortuga to be mistaken for a whore." She said, glaring up at him from between the sodden lumps of her hair that had been washed free of their tie and now hung over her face in long brown strands. "This is the only passage to Balamb I'll be able to get."

"And what makes you think you'll 'be able' to get to Balamb with us?" he asked, standing up and dragging her with him.

"You're taking me to Balamb." She said firmly, swatting his hands away from the blanket and glaring. He supposed she was trying to look menacing enough to cajole him into actually doing as she said. It really wasn't working.

"We're not going to Balamb." He said, folding his arms. "We're going to White Capp Bay."

* * *

><p>Quistis glared harder. He didn't look at all bothered by her and didn't look even the slightest bit worried about<p>

The prospect of what lay in the water at White Capp Bay.

"You have my hat." She said. He raised an eyebrow and his lip quirked. Apparently that was funny. It was another of the little keepsakes he was slowly collecting from her. First the button and now the hat. Perhaps he would like to commandeer her entire wardrobe?

"It's not your hat anymore, Officer." He said, grinning. "It's mine and it's going to fetch me quite a price somewhere along the line. I'm sure there's someone out there collecting naval paraphernalia."

"Yes I'm sure there is," she snapped, narrowing her eyes. "I'm sure you and they are great friends!" He raised his eyebrow again, clearly not understanding what she was getting at. "My button." She said clearly, making sure to pop the B. "The one you stole from me last summer. You still have it in your cabin." She sniffed in obvious annoyance, "I've taken it back."

Comprehension suddenly struck him and then he was laughing out loud, Raijin cracking a few chuckles as well while Fuujin smiled beside him. Quistis frowned, not understanding what was so funny.

"Maybe I _should_ collect you," Almasy said finally once he'd calmed down. He was grinning at her, which could only mean that back things were about to happen. She took a step back but two brawny men were stood behind her and they each took hold of an arm. Almasy stepped forwards and stuffed his hand into one of her trouser pockets, taking his time rummaging around for the button, then finding it and holding it up in front of her nose. "Better make the most of a good thing, no?"

Quistis couldn't even grace him with a response. That would teach her to push a dangerous and volatile man, wouldn't it. She glanced at Raijin and Fuujin, who were both standing there without expressions. She would never understand how two perfectly nice people could end up in the slavery of someone so – she looked back at Almasy – lecherous.

"Tie her to the mast." Almasy said, pocketing her button and turning his back on her, "Take us out into open water, Mr Biggs."

The helmsman replied with a call of "Aye, aye, Capt'n!" and Quistis was taken to the mast and tied there with chains that were already there. She scowled as Almasy disappeared into his cabin. How many other people had been chained up here, she wondered, and how many other promises had he broken? An awful bloody lot if the stories about him were to be believed, but sometimes promises were only as good as the people who made them.

* * *

><p>"How many have we got?" Squall asked, jogging up to where Dincht was sat on a box and signing up names onto the piece of parchment.<p>

"About 60 or 65 now, Sir." Dincht said, adding another tally to the group already in existence. Squall frowned. That was too slow, they needed to set sail quickly, now in fact and the rate at which they were recruiting was going to cost them dearly in the very near future. The fact that Officer Trepe was now in league with Almasy only made things worse. It explained how she had managed to 'escape' and why she was also looking for Miss Heartily – he wouldn't have been surprised if she had been in this from the start, she had always liked Almasy better anyway – but she was deadly efficient and if they didn't get a crack on they were going to get left behind or lose Miss Heartily forever. Squall did _not_ want that to happen, his whole career might as well be hanging on this mission. It was high time some other people made some sacrifices as well.

"Raise them by 500 gil." He said to Dincht, who looked mildly confused.

"500 gil? Why?"

"Because we need more men. More money equals more men, Dincht. Use your brain." He crossed his arms and watched as Dincht got up on his box, gave him one last confused look, then announced loudly that the next 30 men to sign up would be receiving 700 gil in payment. That ought to liven up the going. It was all at the expense of the Balamb Navy of course, but when the going gets tough, the tough get going.

* * *

><p>The click and swell of the tide; the ever circulating pull of the current, swirling through the deepest plains of the ocean and scraping the floor clean; the flicker and glitter of tiny fins as they paced outside her gates – she saw all of it, watched silently as the bottom of many ships floated past her crystal palace, their gigantic, bulging bellies filled to the brim with produce from across the land. She saw it all and she hated... most of it.<p>

It was a blotch on her landscape, a smudge across her page, kicking up the dust of the seas and casting them about in a whirlpool of grit and broken shell that stung her eyes and caught in her hair. The fiery red mane drifted around her and she tapped one long nail to her cheek. Her dark eyes were half-lidded and feigned weariness, but she peered from beneath her lashes at a ball across the way. Its contents swirled milky white, then black and dark blue in alternating patterns. The seeing stone was her most precious object; she looked through it to see the world, the outside world she had left behind when the call of the sea had taken her away.

The dark eyes narrowed and her nail trailed down to scratch along the edge of a lip. For so long she had dreamt of the sea, dreamt of the endless romanticism of the waves and their soft, rising crests. But when the time came for her realisation of the dreams she had held in her heart for so long, they killed her.

She pushed from her throne of human bones and with a flit of her tail, glided along the floor to the outcrop on which her seeing stone sat. She looked at it closely and touched one finger to it, running it softly along the surface. These things were delicate, like creatures in themselves and they did not appreciate rough handling. The seeing stone shuddered into life and she smiled at it, stroking it with all of her fingers as one might a pet.

"Show me something new..." She whispered softly, continuing to touch it gently with her finger tips, running her nails along the lines along its surface. "I want to see the sky tonight... Show me the sky..."

The mists inside swirled into black as the stone obeyed and a bright dawn broke upon its face, filling her dark cavern with light. She smiled slightly and whispered, "Now something new."

Again the stone obeyed and exhibited the image of a young black-haired woman, drifting through a crowd of people. The image changed to that of blonde-haired woman, running through the very same streets, a pained look on her face. She frowned, "Their futures are entwined, I know this, but show me how it ends."

The stone flickered and the image died, leaving her shrouded in darkness. Sudden anger bubbled inside her chest and pain sprang behind her eyes. With an aggrieved cry she raised a hand and struck the stone from its outcrop. Its fall was slowed by the water, but it hit the floor with a thud and rolled away anyway. She screamed, blood curdling and angry, slamming both hands onto the space where the stone had been. Only once before had the stone refused to show her anything and only once had she begged and pleaded with it to show her why. But she knew now from pitiful experience; the stone could not show her anything she would never live to see herself.

* * *

><p>Rinoa groaned and rolled over, stuffing her pillow into her ears and trying with all her might to block out the sound from next door. She had very politely asked the Map Maker to direct her to a lodging house and he had done so equally politely, but she never expected her next door neighbour to be quite so loud...<p>

A particularly loud moan went straight through the wall and straight through Rinoa's pillow. She winced and buried her face in her bed covers. This sort of practice was never advertised at home. She had never even _heard_ of this sort of behaviour back home! A shriek from next door reminded her that no matter how little she had heard of this in her sheltered life in Galbadia, she was certainly hearing an awful lot about it now. She wondered – after a cacophony of headboard banging and drawn out wails – if it would be considered impolite for her to go round, knock on their door and request that they kindly shut the hell up so she could get some damned sleep?

Ordinarily, noisy neighbours wouldn't have bothered her, but with an adventure double the size of her father's pay check looming next morning and a shit load of trouble brewing on the open waves, she could really do without some prostitute plying her trade in the room right next door.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ Hey hey! So, I must confess that this chapter bored me rigid. I apologise for how late this is, but as I have set myself no deadlines, I think I can safely say that this is not at all too late.

Now then... The Author Note concerning Seifer kneeling on the floor at Quistis' feet. This has got to be one of my favourite parts of this chapter, simply because I love the juxtaposition of Seifer (being the almighty powerful one here) kneeling before Quistis (the supposed captive) and yet speaking as though their positions were reversed. I was trying to bring in links with Seifer's time as a lapdog in the original game – Quistis touching her boot to his chin and him letting her – almost as though Quistis was Ultimecia and Seifer was still bending to her every whim. I feel there is an element of the dark about this section because how many men of Seifer's position would lower themselves to such a degree as to allow a mere female of Quistis' stature to touch their _boots_ to his chin? There has got to be some masochistic, slightly perverse parts of Seifer that allow Quistis to dominate him, even as he is removing the chains from her ankles. I dunno but the hidden qualities of this bit struck me as I was re-reading it and I decided that was the bit I liked the best. :D

What do you guys think? What was your favourite part?

Phwoar! 15,699 words in this one! Bloody hell, this is the single most longest chapter of anything I have ever written! Bloody nora! I really really really hope this makes up for the long wait and I shall leave you with a word of warning, although I will be beginning to write the next chapter tomorrow morning, it will be a long wait before it is posted, I apologise in advance, but I will try and make it a good one :)


	5. Author Note

**_A/N:_ **Alright, I have some things to confess that could only really be done through a direct address to you guys. In a chapter of it's own no less!

The first thing is this:  
>Believe it or not, this is not going to end up being 50 or 60 chapters long. It probably won't even make it passed 20. So if things seem like they're moving a little fast, that's why. I'm not up for a long haul over a billion pages of fiction, so I'm keeping things short (cough cough) and concise. That is not to say of course that I won't do my damnedest to make this as interesting as I can and I dearly hope it shall remain to be interesting for everyone who has decided to read it. Please do tell me if I am failing in this respect and I shall redo and revise it.<p>

The second thing is this:  
>The last four chapters have been mainly for setting the scene. I will be introducing a few important elements in the next two chapters as well so pay attention ;) But this is where the real adventure begins.<p>

The third thing is this:  
>I'm inspired to write by an awful lot of music. So, I'm gonna put up some playlists of recommended music to listen to whilst reading these chapters and they'll be mostly comprised of the songs I listened to whilst writing these things, so, you are welcome to listen to them whilst you read. It is in no way compulsory, but they are really great pieces of music that have really inspired a lot of my writing.<p>

I think that's about it from me so far, but if there's anything else, I'll let you know ;)

-Iets


	6. The Beginning!

**_A/N:_** I apologise for the long wait and how short the chapter is, but the next chapter - which I have already started working on and have already got 3000+ words for - will be longer and have more importance to it that this. There is a little development involved in this chapter as well though so please don't feel hard done by and if no one can tell me IN A REVIEW what Almasy might be thinking, then you're all - very lovable - idiots.

Please enjoy,

* * *

><p>The Beginning.<p>

Unbearable heat was one of the main, defining features of the Centran coast, even in the hours of the early morning. As were cold nights and dry, hot breezes. To sail a ship here meant long hot days and cool, sacred nights, hard work and not a lot of relief. It was one of the places universally recognised for its hard wearing and old world charm, the coast lines themselves comprising of long stretches of white sand broken up by sections of cliff edge dotted and pock-marked by caves and alcoves. The sandy beaches were blistering to the touch and the dusky yellow sandstone was rough; as far as holiday destinations went, there were far more desirable sites elsewhere.

The waters were warm for the most part, heated by cracks on the ocean bottom that expelled heat like blood into the waiting arms of the sea. Water closer to the shore was warmed primarily by the sunlight being as it was trapped between the rays and the stones underneath it. There were very few places along this coast where one could find relief from the heat and the light and the scorching, pallet-blistering drought. But the Siren seemed to have found it.

Quistis cracked an eye open to the sound of hammering and groaned. Hyne, was that a crick in her neck or what? She shifted and turned her head up the right way from where it had been resting against her shoulder while she slept. Urgh, yes that was definitely a crick in her neck. She tried to raise a hand to rub at her sore neck, but belatedly remembered that it was shackled to the mast. No, correction: _She_ was shackled to the mast; her hands were just part and parcel of the whole shebang. She scowled at the thought and wished she was still on the Garden; at least there she wouldn't be being treated to this infernal banging and crashing. Such a thing should never be done to a person with a headache the likes of the one she was currently suffering.

Almasy's cabin door opened and Fuujin stepped out, glanced about, then went to the side and looked over. Quistis looked around. The crew looked even bigger under the light of day and – hold the phone! Where in the heck-?

She craned her neck to try and see where they were. The light, she realised, was not at all blinding as she would have expected, but was soft around the ship, almost as though they were sat in the shade. She could see the open sea in front of her and if she twisted as far as she could she could make out two masses of land, pointy and sticking up from the sea like giant teeth at the mouth of a lagoon. The rest was a mystery.

The men she could see on deck – about 30 currently – were probably going to be just as unhelpful should she bother to ask for directions, maybe even more so because they were busy hammering away and making a racket, carrying planks around and buckets of rivets. It looked like fairly standard repair work, but most ship repairs were done on the land. To find them being done at sea and on the move was a rarity at best. If anything else, it meant that no significant repairs needed to be done and that nothing below the water level had been hit. She sighed and leant her head back against the mast. Had she not been on the Siren currently, she would have been greatly disappointed to find nothing wrong with the hull, but as she was chained to it, she sincerely hoped that everything was ship-shape and water tight (pardon the expression).

She wondered how the Balamb Garden was doing. It was probably patching the holes up with 'temporary solutions' as the Admiral liked to call them and would soon be set out on its way to come and chase them down. Good heavens, the likelihood of them actually being left to re-capture Miss Heartily on their own was a pretty damn high-hope wasn't it?

Fuujin finished her inspection of the works and went back into the cabin, returning a few seconds later with both Raijin and Almasy in tow. They spent a few minutes talking in hushed voices about something while Quistis glowered at them from her position on the floor. They looked far too happy to be pirates and anyone watching them now might even have been taken in by their smiling faces and Raijin's wiggling eyebrows. But Quistis knew better. She knew what they were really like-

Almasy began to walk over, smirking at her in a worrying way. She pulled herself up to standing and tried not to let her chains get in the way.

"Good morning," He said, tipping his hat in – what she had to admit was – a charming gesture. "How was your night?"

"Fine," She replied tersely, "No thanks to you."

"Oh, I shouldn't be like that." He said, smiling, "Not unless you plan on spending tonight out here too."

She narrowed her eyes. His smile – which still hadn't left his lips – grated on her nerves. It was one she had seen many times before, soft and gentle... Deceptive.

"Is it generally within your nature to leave women outside in the cold, while you sleep in the nice warm indoors? Or am I the only one receiving your special treatment?" She asked, turning her head on the side as though this was a deeply important question, whose answer she was genuinely interested in.

The smile wavered for the merest of seconds, but he fixed it quickly, clasping his hands behind his back and bouncing up on his toes in the way that was typical of so many of the gentlemen who liked to associate themselves with high society. "It is well within my nature to allow the liars in my company to decide their own fate, as it is well within _your_ nature to lie if you think it will get you what you want." She narrowed her eyes. He continued, beginning to pace around in front of her as though he were giving a dictation. "It is well within the nature of any honest man to allow the wicked to dig their own graves, is it not? Therefore it will come as no surprise to you when it comes well within my nature – as an inherently dishonest man – to dictate to you where your grave shall be dug." He turned to face her, clicking his heels together and bouncing once more on his toes. "It is entirely up to _you_, Officer, how this grave of yours you choose to dig. Not me."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He hadn't answered her question. "Then please inform me why it is that this-" She lifted her manacled wrists and shook them, "-has become my grave. Because I don't understand."

"You're a trinket. Where else would I put a trinket, but on display?"

"And what of the other 'trinkets' you've got of mine? Where are they? Stuffed in the bottom of some musty old trunk, never to see the light of day again I don't doubt."

"Not at all," His smile wavered again and he reached out to touch her jaw, rubbing his thumb over her chin as though trying to shine the surface of his new trinket, "I'm dropping them like a little trail of breadcrumbs for our dear, darling, Captain puberty."

* * *

><p>Squall sighed and rubbed a hand over his scar. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. They had spent all night recruiting and now that the morning mist was rolling in lazy curls across the harbour waters' surface, they were waiting on the shipwright to come and assess their vessel. If it was sea-worthy they might even set sail today, around lunch time, but if it wasn't then they would have to wait until it was before setting out.<p>

What was worse, he was going to have to explain to the crew at some point why they weren't going to be going after Trepe anymore, he'd spoken to Dincht last night and the new First Mate had adopted an immediate melancholy over the affair. _And_ he had to stand on deck until the shipwright got there. He had to admit he had never seen it coming, Trepe's betrayal, but now that he thought about it, it seemed almost logical. Her affinity for doing something other than what he asked had always smacked a little too much of Almasy and she had always enjoyed gallivanting around on the waves much more than he had. She was even the one who'd been in charge of the designs for Miss Heartily's cabin, if anyone was going to know the secrets of the place, it was going to be Trepe. It wouldn't take two seconds to pop some hatch in the floor, drop Miss Heartily into a container and whisk her away to the pirate ship, the hardest part was going to be making her own capture look as convincing. He just had no idea of how he was going to break the cold hard truth to the crew.

His brows pinched together when he thought about the treachery that had been boiling under his very nose. That Trepe – his loyal lieutenant – would be in cahoots with his worst enemy... It insulted his very ability to detect the unsavoury. He cast his mind back to the jump Trepe had made from the pier and the way she'd swum to the Siren to be thrown a rope and hauled aboard by Almasy himself. He should have seen it coming. He really ought to have seen it coming. It had been obvious there were sparks between the two in Galbadia, it was only logical that they should have maintained correspondence after his discharge; Trepe's happiness at the start of this mission should have been evidence enough for anyone to see. She was excited about this trip for some reason and now he knew why. They were in love and partners in crime and getting away with it. So far.

He could see Dincht on the deck below him, chatting away merrily to that guy again, Kinneas or something, not paying the slightest attention to the rest of the crew who were – as of yesterday – under his command. Squall huffed out a breath and turned his back on the crew, turning and leaning on the railing, staring up at the sky. The harbour master had informed him last night that the Siren had taken a North-Easterly heading and was travelling with speed. It was hardly fair, how much faster Almasy's vessel was than his. Squall would veritably kill to discover his secret, any secrets his rival held were secrets he was entitled to know...

* * *

><p>Morning mist was rolling low across the bay, covering the place in a dusty purple haze. The sky was a light pink and the water a dark blue and the edges of the natural bay were just fading into a heat wave as the warmth of the sun started the day off early. It was as beautiful a morning as any Rinoa had seen, maybe more so now that she was on her own.<p>

"Oiy!" Rinoa looked up at the hail to see a young woman crouched behind a barrel of something with her hand up to her mouth. She dropped the rope she'd been holding and stood up fully, indicating she was listening. The girl took a few shuffling steps forward and said loudly – although it was fairly clear she was meant to be hiding – "Where are you going with that thing?"

"Erm..." Rinoa frowned and looked down at her boat. It was definitely hers, there was no way she could be stealing it from anyone. "What do you mean? It's mine."

"I know that." The girl seemed exasperated, "But where are you sailing to? Quickly?"

"Somewhere near Trabia!" Rinoa said quickly, a little startled by how brisk the other girl was being. She watched as the girl slinked along the jetty towards her and slid off and into her boat with her. She crouched down low and asked quietly:

"Can I hitch a ride? I'm in a lot of trouble see, my landlord suddenly went nuts and I really need your help."

"Err, yeah!" Rinoa said, stepping over to the rope holding her boat moored to the jetty and began untying it. "I can help you if you can help me get this thing moving."

"Yep!" The girl said, standing up and beginning to speedily unfurl the single sail, giving the jetty a kick to get them away from the land. She tightened a couple of the guide ropes, adjusted the tiller and tied it down before grabbing a pair of oars and slotting them through the holes specifically designed for them on the sides of the boat, all the while keeping half an eye on the still sleeping town. Rinoa quickly sat down opposite the girl and watched the land as they began to put some distance between themselves and it.

It was only once they'd gotten beyond the harbour walls that the girl put away the oars and they traded places so Rinoa wasn't blocking the girl from the tiller.

"So," Rinoa began, clasping her hands in her lap, "What was all that about?"

"Hmm?" The other girl seemed to have already forgotten how it was that she'd come across this boat. She had stretched her legs out in front of her and looked quite at home, steering lazily with the tiller and looking up at the seagulls that cried overhead.

"You said you were running from your landlord?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, he was being unruly and wanted me to pay some rent. But I told him where he could stick his rent money and ran for me life."

Rinoa felt her heart sinking. So, she was now keeping a fugitive and not only that, but she'd also inadvertently helped her escape. She groaned quietly and looked out to sea. The other girl considered her for a second, before holding her hand out and grinning. "Selphie Tilmitt, pleased to meet ya."

"Miss Rinoa Heartily," Rinoa said, taking Selphie's hand in her fingers and giving it the smallest of shakes, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Golly," Selphie laughed, "That's a lot of big words isn't it?" She looked thoughtful for a second. "Where do you come from?"

"Galbadia." Rinoa said, wrinkling her nose, "My father's the Admiral of the Navy and my mother was the-"

"Whoa, whoa!" Selphie held up a hand, smushing it against Rinoa's nose and stopping her dead. "Your dad's the Admiral?" Rinoa nodded, rubbing the tip of her nose. "Does that mean that I've captured you? How much do you cost?"

"Cost? What?"

"How much will ya dad pay for ya? You know, in ransom?"

"Ransom?" Rinoa exclaimed, feeling more than a little indignant. "Now you wait just one minute! I'm the one in charge here! It's my boat and it's my adventure and I can, I can-" She balled her fists, attempting to stand up and look angry – a good foot stomp would be very effective right here – "- I can toss you over board if you so much as... as...! As LOOK at me wrong!" She folded her arms and glared menacingly at Selphie, who sat silently for a couple of seconds before bursting out in hoots of laughter.

Rinoa frowned. Hadn't she just made a threat? What was there to laugh about? She waited a little while for Selphie to stop laughing and wiping the tears from her eyes before she demanded, curtly:

"What's so funny?"

"You think _you_ can toss _me_ over board!" Selphie asked, saw the look on Rinoa's face and promptly burst out laughing again. "That's hilarious!"

"No it's not!" Rinoa whined, unhappy that her size and strength were already being underestimated. "I could do it you know!"

"I'm sure you could!" Selphie laughed and grinned at Rinoa, who frowned back and stuck out her bottom lip. "But listen, Rinny, I'm sure you've never taken on the pirate, Seifer Almasy, with nothing but a beer flagon and won, right?"

* * *

><p>"So... Let's get a few things straight..." Seifer began, pacing about in his cabin, scratching his chin. Raijin and Fuujin were in his cabin with him to listen to his plans, Fuujin listening intently, Raijin playing happily with Jessie who was squawking and flapping her wings in response to tickling touches and tummy-strokes.<p>

"Heartily has most likely been to Ol' Salty's Map Shop and gotten the map to White Capp Bay, the book and probably the treasure map too. She's probably floating about on the sea somewhere in a small craft, quite light and easy to manoeuvre... It'll be hard to spot and we'll need to have sentries out at all times looking for her." He took his hat off and tossed it to the table where it was immediately set upon by Jessie and Raijin and the poor hat very quickly became the subject of a game of tug 'o' war. Seifer ran a hand through his hair and puffed out his cheeks. "I don't want to end up combing the sea for one girl though..."

"IGNORE." Fuujin suggested, folding her arms over her chest and sparing Raijin and the parrot one, despairing glance.

"I suppose we could just ignore her and go straight to the island..." Seifer said. But he was deeply unhappy about that, they would be without resources and without the book to remind them of anything they might have forgotten. And besides, they weren't after cursed treasure, they were after some wretched girl! "But that would defeat the purpose of us chasing her about."

"TRAPS."

Wait for her there eh? Not a bad idea, but... "What about Adel, ya know? She ain't going to be happy about a whole heap of pirates sitting, waiting on her head, ya know."

"Yeah, that _is_ the major floor in this plan." Seifer agreed, looking from one friend to the other. "If we go to White Capp Bay to wait her out, we're gonna be running into a lot of trouble with a potentially angry mermaid queen, over a whole lot of nothing. It's too dangerous."

"So what're we gonna do, boss?" Raijin asked and finally succeeded in wrestling the hat from Jessie's claws. "ESTHAR."

"No way, Fuuj. It's a nice idea, but in case you hadn't noticed, the Estharians haven't exactly been the friendliest of the bunch since Laguna's death."

Which was a true and glaring fact. Ever since Captain Loire's untimely demise the Estharian fleet had been clocked in several trading ports, looting, fighting with other pirate crews and generally being incredibly unfriendly. For the crew of the Siren – who were used to being the most frightening thing with sails and an anchor – it presented an almighty problem. Over the last year they must have spent a good few hours a week fighting them off or running away. Hyne alone knew what they wanted, but it was fairly clear they were searching for something and suspected that the Siren might have it. Seeing them in Tortuga was an unfortunate occurrence, but it was clear that the Siren was not the subject of their endeavours that time, thank fully.

"Then what?" Raijin asked, abandoning the hat in favour of Jessie, picking her up and turning her over while she squawked loudly. Finally getting to her tummy feathers, he proceeded to stroke them all flat, turning Jessie's indignant complaints into purrs of encouragement. "There's nothing else we can do, ya know. Officer Trepe wouldn't lie."

"Yeah I know." Seifer said, "If we can count on her support we may be able to get all the way to the island and wait there… But that's assuming Heartily will actually manage to get there too."

"IF NOT?"

Seifer cracked a grin and wriggled a finger into Jessie's tummy feathers, "Then we're fucked aren't we."

* * *

><p>"You're unusually quiet today, Dincht." Irvine said, "Something bothering you?"<p>

"No, not really." Zell replied, attempting to sound nonchalant but turning pink in the ears and neck despite; his tell tale lying spots. Irvine squinted at him. Zell winced, "Stop it... I'm not going to tell you."

"But something's bothering you." Irvine continued to squint and then poked Zell in the ribs. The seaman squealed and wriggled away. Irvine poked at him again and found his fingers caught in Zell's palm. They pair tussled for a while, Irvine jokingly trying to poke the truth from his friend and Zell trying doggedly to hold it together in the face of such torture.

When they were finally satisfied and Irvine was holding his shoulder gingerly while Zell narrowed his eyes accusingly at his friend whilst scrubbing at the tickled patch, Irvine said, "It's about Officer Trepe isn't it."

Zell looked at first as though he wanted to deny the fact, but then apparently decided otherwise and nodded, then heaved a sigh and stared up at the clouds drifting over the harbour. He had a secret, but he didn't want to tell Irvine what it was; Captain Leonhart had trusted him alone with it after all. Hyne alone knew why... He glanced sideways at his friend, who was waiting expectantly, and heaved another sigh. Irvine poked him again, "If you sigh three times in a row your big toes will fall off."

"Yeah, right..." Zell half-laughed, not entirely sure if Irvine was lying or not. He looked pensive, or what he thought might be pensive, Irvine later said he thought it looked more like Zell was trying to produce a fart, but that was beside the point. He looked to where the Captain was pacing about outside his cabin doors and sighed again.

"There go your big toes."

"Shut up, it's not funny. What I'm about to tell you is very important and very secret-"

"Highly secret."

"Whatever, man. It's secret, alright?"

"Well spit it out."

"I _am_ spitting it out-"

"Spitting is a dirty hab-"

"The Captain saw Officer Trepe joining the pirates!"

Silence greeted Zell's revelation and when Irvine still hadn't answered him after a couple of moments he thought he might have to say it again so opened his mouth to do so. But Irvine clapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head: "Don't say it again. You shouldn't have said it in the first place."

"Meff ooh basked ee moff moff mong!" Zell complained from behind Irvine's hand. Well it was true! He _had_ asked him what was wrong! If he didn't want an answer, he shouldn't have asked the question.

"Bad mouthing Officer Trepe isn't allowed on this ship." Irvine continued. "and putting words in the Captain's mouth is-"

"But he really said it!" Zell complained, tearing Irvine's hand from his mouth and making the other man wince as his arm was jerked. "He called me into his cabin last night to discuss further plans with me or something. I asked him when we were going to search for Officer Trepe and he said he wasn't going to because she was a pirate now!"

"Don't talk so damn loud!" Irvine tried smothering Zell's foghorn of a voice again but it was too late, the rest of the crew was beginning to pay attention to the shouts and declarations of their new First Mate and up on the dais, Irvine could see Captain Leonhart's glare deepening.

* * *

><p>Squall glowered at the scene below him as the beans were spilt. Well, he supposed it saved him the trouble of how to break the news, now the only problem he was encountering was going to be how to sort the explanation out and lay to rest any misconceptions, the seeds for which Dincht was currently sowing.<p>

* * *

><p>"You hit him on the head with a beer flagon?" Rinoa laughed loudly, hardly even believing the tale of heroism from the pirate in front of her. Selphie was gesturing animatedly on how she had been having a fight with the bar tender about how much one pint of the foaming ale ought to cost – nothing by Selphie's mind – when she'd been accosted by a rather unruly fellow. She had of course recognized him and made a particularly wide swing with her flagon, catching the infamous pirate, Seifer Almasy, in the side of the head.<p>

"I sure did!" Selphie grinned, "He hardly knew what hit him! He fell down on the floor and I leapt on his head, bashing him with me flagon until he gave up!"

"I can't believe he just gave up," Rinoa giggled, clearly enjoying the company she now had.

"Well he didn't get a choice," Selphie admired her nails, "He was unconscious by the time I'd finished with 'im."

Rinoa laughed. Hyne it felt so good to be free, not just in the physical sense either, but to be able to laugh without constraint or regard to what her companion might think of her outbursts of mirth. From what she could tell, Selphie seemed to be a pirate of sorts; the story about the beer flagon had taken a good couple of hours to relay as it was punctuated regularly with other tales of grandeur and woe and adventure and just general shenanigans. Needless to say that was the type of life Rinoa wanted to have; close shaves, near misses, coming into contact with all these characters from the storybooks her mother used to read her. Of course Rinoa herself had come into contact with Seifer Almasy, but that was long before he became a pirate. It was then that she decided she was in love with him – and time again had proven that she still was– and she was going to be with him come hell or high water.

He had said at the time that he wanted a woman who could look after herself and keep him in line – he needed that sometimes – and that until such a time as that woman noticed him, he was going to continue to be single and enjoy the company of many other a young lady, though none of them would at all satisfy his affections.

Rinoa had at first been distraught, convinced that whoever this woman was – for he talked as though she were indeed someone other than her good self – was certainly _not_ her good self and therefore Rinoa herself had no chance at snagging such a man. But then she had taken time to think and had come up with a plan. She was going to make herself into such a woman and then Captain Almasy would have no choice but to notice her. It was then – when he realized that she had become the woman of his dreams – that he would fall madly in love with her and propose, request her hand from her father, and they would live happily together and have lots of sex and babies and have their happily ever after forever and ever and ever ad nauseam.

This little adventure was, of course, the perfect opportunity for her to demonstrate just how good she was at looking after herself and so far so good, she supposed she hadn't done so badly.

"So," Selphie said, with her hand in a knapsack, rummaging around for something to eat. She came up with an apple and bit into it, ignoring Rinoa's looks of woe at the loss of one of her provisions – she had, after all, only packed enough for one person – "You mentioned that you're going on a treasure hunt near Trabia," she sprayed a few flecks of apple, "I've never heard of there being any treasure near Trabia, it's too cold for treasure hunting normally."

"Oh, it's treasure all right," Rinoa said proudly, "Odin's Treasure."

Presently, Selphie began to choke on some apple and required Rinoa to slap her on the back to help her dislodge it. "Odin's *splutter* treasure!" she finally managed to gasp, "But that's *cough* cursed!"

"Oh it doesn't matter," Rinoa dismissed her worries with a careless wave of her hand and looked out to sea. "As long as I don't invoke the curse there can be no danger."

"But Odin's Treasure is really, really cursed!" Selphie insisted, looking more and more uncomfortable as it became more and more apparent that her words were falling on relatively deaf ears. "People have died trying to get to that treasure!"

"I know, apparently-"

"And there are mermaids that guard the island from intruders! Not to mention the evil frigging sea witch that's locked up in there!"

"But I know that there's a way to-"

"Stories don't tell you the whole thing you know!" Selphie insisted, scrambling across the boat to seize hold of Rinoa's shirt lapels and shake her roughly, "I bet they never told you the mermaid Queen used to be a human! I bet they never told you you have to sacrifice royal blood for the ship to even appear! I bet they never told you that the ghost of old man Odin roams the island by night and the whole ship sets sail the moment someone steals any of that damned treasure!"

"Whoa, Selphie, you're choking me!" Rinoa complained, trying to prize Selphie's fingers from her shirt front. It hadn't been immediately obvious, but now Rinoa was sure she was dealing with a member of the mentally unstable. She wasn't even sure this girl was a proper pirate, despite the tall tales she delighted in telling.

"It's important that you understand!" Selphie whined, giving Rinoa another good shake for good measure, "That treasure is blood covered and evil! If you go after it you'll die!"

"Well the Estharians are all going after it!" Rinoa replied, angrily pushing Selphie off her and straightening her jerkin. "Why don't you tell them all this stuff! Your scare mongering will do nothing to dissuade me, I've told you I'm going so I'm going!"

"The Estharians are idiots, Rinny!" Selphie whined, pulling on the oars to halt their progress. "You have to look beyond the glory!"

"I'm not looking for glory!" Rinoa snapped, "I'm looking for adventure!"

"You'll be going to your death!"

"Stop treating me like this!" She shouted, standing up in the boat and rocking it dangerously, going to fold her arms but in then having to reach suddenly for the mast to steady herself when the little boat bucked dangerously to one side. "I am adult enough to take care of myself!" She slung an arm out in a gesture to the rest of the sea, "I've come this far on my own, stop treating me like a child!"

Selphie stared up at her companion for a little while, before accepting that she wasn't helping the situation any and was only making Rinoa crosser – if anything – and was further only cementing her resolve to do whatever the hell she wanted.

"Fine," She conceded, "But you're making a massive mistake and are going to get yourself killed. So don't expect my help when the time comes for it."

"I shan't." Rinoa said tersely, sitting down again and folding her arms over her chest, staring out to sea with a princess pout going on.

Selphie picked up the oars and began to row, rolling her eyes at Rinoa's display. Here sat one of the silliest girls she'd ever seen. And that wasn't because she wouldn't listen to sense when she heard it, but was because she thought that by folding her arms and stomping her little foot she could get what she wanted and there would be no horrible consequences for her. It was aggravating, to say the least.

* * *

><p>"Yo, you want something to drink?" Raijin said, approaching Trepe with a flagon of grog, "It's not all that nice, but it's better than nothing, ya know." Then he looked apprehensive, "Oh err, don't tell Fuuj I don't like it, she'll kick my butt, ya know..."<p>

It was just approaching midday so apparently some refreshments were in order. Quistis grinned up at him. She liked Raijin, much more than his taciturn Captain anyhow. She nodded her head and raised her hands as best as she could to receive the flagon. Raijin handed it to her, then sat down opposite to drink and grimace at the contents of his cup. Quistis wrinkled her nose at the brew as she drank; it was bitty, lumpy, more solid than liquid and was obviously designed to sustain sailors when there was little food available. It made her wonder...

"Raijin," He looked up, surprised that she would address him, "How much food is there on this vessel?"

He grinned and scratched at the back of his head, putting his cup on the floor – clearly glad for an excuse not to drink the stuff – "You're quite quick with this sort of thing, aren't ya? There's about enough food for two meals each."

"Two?" Quistis was shocked. How long did Almasy think this was going to take? It wasn't going to be quick and easy, that was for sure. It would need a hell of a lot more than just two meals to see them through. "Why only two? Surely we need more?"

"We're only going about 130 klicks north-east, ya know." Raijin said, grinning, "As soon as the ship's fixed that is. We only need enough food to get us there, ya know. And besides," He frowned at the cup of grog at his side, "There's plenty of _that_ to get us through, ya know."

Quistis nodded, "So... What's North-east?"

"KADOWAKI." Fuujin said, rounding the mast with a flagon of grog in her hand. She stopped and sat down next to Raijin, dripping and looking chilly. She had obviously been below the water level, checking for damage and now that night was drawing in, the temperature of the air had dropped dramatically from that of the day. She picked up Raijin's cup and handed it to him, "DRINK."

"Yes, ma'am." He muttered, taking a mouthful and wincing as it went down. Quistis personally didn't mind it, alright the texture was a little odd and she didn't much care for the grit, but it certainly wasn't the worst thing she'd ever tasted. Wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst.

"Who's Kadowaki?" She asked, sipping at the drink to please Fuujin's watchful eye.

"SHAMAN." Fuujin said, refilling Raijin's cup from hers once he'd finally managed to finish it. He watched her mournfully.

"Yeah, she's really wise, ya know. Like an advocate of Hyne, or something like that. The boss likes to visit her sometimes, get some advice, ya know. She's not that bad at cooking either so we all get a good meal when we're there."

"But what are we going to do for food when we leave?"

"STOCKS."

"Yeah, Kadowaki's got loads of food, ya know. We'll just take some of hers."

"Is that alright?"

"Oh yeah, it's not a problem. She loves the boss, ya know. Treats him like a son. She really helped us after we was chucked-"

"WERE."

"After we were chucked out of the Navy – sorry Fuu – gave us a home and time to get our heads straight, ya know."

Quistis thought about that, this Kadowaki woman sounded alright, but what sort of a person could love a pirate like a son? Take them in and care about them? Surely there must be something she's missing, some side of the picture she's not privy to.

"So," She began, licking her lips and choosing her words carefully, "What happened when you were... chucked out?"

Raijin and Fuujin exchanged looks and Fuujin sighed, looking down into her flagon of grog and swilling it half-heartedly. Raijin happily abandoned his cup and crossed his legs in front of him, getting ready for a good round of story-telling.

"BEGINNING." Fuujin cautioned him, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "Start from the beginning."

Quistis was dumbstruck(_**A/N:**_ Fuujin doesn't really use full sentences, ya know ;]), while Raijin simply nodded and adopted a sombre attitude. "It all started on a windy, blustery night out on the Trabio-Galbadian boarder, ya know. It was unowned territory and we was aboard the Galbadian Garden – ya know, Deling's ship? – watching over things and whatnot. We was only doing our job, ya know. We knew the other ship was there, the crow's nest told us at dusk that there was a ship trailing us and that it was Trabian, ya know. We was patrolling the boarders as Deling told us, ya know, he said he wanted to make sure none of the 'Hun' got into the country, so we had to patrol."

"Was he on the ship with you?"

"Oh yeah, he was the one who gave the order that we attack the vessel, ya know."

"Attack it? But it was only trailing you, yes?"

"Yeah-"

"RECIPROCANT."

"Yeah, like Fuujin says, it was probably only reciprocating our feelings and wanted to keep tabs on us, make sure we didn't get into its waters, ya know. But Deling was bored and he said he couldn't sleep, so he wanted us to fire on the Trabian ship."

"What?" Quistis had a hard time believing that. "Prince Deling order you to fire on another ship? In the middle of the night?" Surely he wouldn't be that stupid...

"ENDURANCE." Fuujin said with a derisive snort, taking a gulp of grog and making Raijin grimace.

"Yeah, he wanted to see how long we could last against a fully armed Trabian War ship, _The Ryuuji-Sora_. It was a stupid idea, ya know, so we took control of the ship and locked Deling in his cabin."

"But I heard that _The Ryuuji-Sora_ was shot full of holes." Quistis said with a confused frown, "It barely made it back to Trabia before it sank in the harbour."

"Yeah..." Raijin scratched at the back of his head, looking embarrassed, "We followed his orders at first, ya know. There wasn't anything else we could do. It was either that or lose our places on the ship and in the Navy, ya know."

"Which you lost anyway."

"We couldn't help it, ya know!" He whined, looking distressed. It occurred to Quistis while he tried to convince her that they really had no other choice that they must have spent a good long time trying to convince a lot of other people of this as well and to have their story rebuked, _yet again_, must have been frustrating.

She waved a hand at him to shut him up, "I'm sorry, I realise it wasn't you fault, please go on. You mutinied and... Then what?"

"We sailed straight back to Galbadia, ya know."Raijin said, looking for support from Fuujin, who nodded her head in agreement, nose stuck in her flagon. "We had to drop Deling as fast as we could and besides lobbing him into the drink there was little else we could do, ya know. When we got back to harbour though Deling started screaming and shouting about how we'd attacked him and mutinied and fired upon a Trabian ship without his permission."

"LIAR..." Fuujin muttered bitterly, still averting her eyes from Quistis' gaze. It felt a little like the other woman was afraid of being judged. She clearly didn't want Quistis to think ill of either of them, which was the reason she'd instructed Raijin to start from the beginning. The importance it held was obvious in her shift from monosyllabic to a multiple worded sentence. Raijin was beginning to look a little bitter now and Quistis was beginning to regret asking them to relive those troubling times.

"We were immediately arrested and taken to the prison and waited for Seifer to come back, ya know... they said it was his duty to deal with us, ya know..."

"And that's when he threatened Deling..." Quistis confirmed, more to herself than to either of the people in front of her. It had been so long ago, nearly 5 years which – although not being such a long time in the grand scheme of things - in their lives, was an awfully long time to be an outcast. She had almost forgotten the controversy surrounding their leaving, which was swiftly over shadowed by the terror they instilled during their lives as pirates.

They sat silent for a little while, watching the men working around them, some of them sipping occasionally at their grog – some pulling faces and tossing the stuff overboard – and some of them laughing jovially with each other on their breaks. The air was light, happy and although they were working hard, it was enjoyable as well. What better way to spend a lovely day than by clambering over a ship, working up a sweat and laughing with your comrades as you worked to fix your ship. It seemed like a nice life, now she thought about it. It was far freer than the regimented life of the Navy. Sure it was fun having a place of power, but there seemed to be little time to actually _have_ fun. That and Quistis had no friends on board the _Balamb Garden_.

"Do you guys like this life?" She asked, drawing their attention again, "Or do you miss the Navy?"

"Miss it?" Raijin seemed confused. "Why on Gaia would we miss it? That place was so stiff, ya know, killed ya before you even got to living." He shook his head, completely missing the smile on Fuujin's lips, "Nah, we don't miss it at all. We get to do what we want, ya know, go where we want. No boarders for us, just plain open sea without hardly a care in the world, ya know."

"But don't you ever miss the control? The power you had?" Quistis asked. It felt important that she know this, that she was clear on what she was dealing with. After all, if she was going to get away from these people and retrieve Miss Heartily and return to her Navy with her head held high, she needed to find a way around this... Allure. There was no way of denying that the life of a pirate held some appeal. She had always wanted to sail around the planet, in less than 80 days and all that rubbish, but the shackles of the Navy had always kept her at bay. There were sometimes when she felt like a caged animal, just waiting for her moment to be unlocked and allowed to explore in the great outdoors... The wild... If she was going to put herself back in her cage, she needed to find something good about it first. "Isn't there anything you miss?"

Raijin and Fuujin exchanged glances and when Fuujin spoke, it was with an air of nostalgia. "PRIDE."

"Yeah... We had clean names back then, ya know. Now we're branded as pirates." Raijin pulled his sleeve back to reveal a pink, puffy scar on the back of his wrist. The letter 'P', branded him forever a pirate. There was no going back now for him, everyone would know about his past unless he cut his arm off. But that was seldom advisable.

"Do you have one too?" Quistis asked and watched as Fuujin pulled back her sleeve to reveal a matching scar. They both looked fairly recent. "When did you get them?"

"Last year," Raijin said, calmly pulling his sleeve back down to cover the scar. "We were in Winhill for a little while, ya know. The boss wanted to visit his Matron and we were meant to be outside making ourselves useful, ya know, digging weeds and whatnot while the boss was up in the attic, fixing some roof tiles. Some of the local fuzz saw us and arrested us, ya know."

"And Almasy?"

"SEARCHED."

"Yeah, the property was searched, ya know, and the boss was dragged off the roof with a fishing line." Raijin sniggered, "He was complaining like hell when they took the hooks out."

Quistis wrinkled her nose at the thought of having barbed hooks dragged roughly back out of her skin. She didn't blame him for complaining like hell, she knew she would have too.

"BABY." Fuujin chuckled, stuffing her nose back into her flagon as the devil himself approached them, a flagon of grog held limply in one hand.

* * *

><p>"Are you guys done chin wagging or am I gonna have to sew your mouths shut?" Seifer asked, one hand on his hip. He'd been watching them for a little while, the emotions splaying across his friends' faces informing him exactly what they were talking about. Interestingly enough, looks of compassion and concern had flashed across Trepe's face as well, as though she genuinely felt for their situation. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that the situation wasn't at all fair, but he'd thought the Ice Queen to be above giving concern to them. She was part of the Navy that banished them.<p>

"We were just having a _little_ talk, ya know, boss!" Raijin whined, clearly not relishing the idea of getting back to work. "Officer Trepe was just asking us what we missed about the Navy, ya know!"

"And what did you say?" He asked, curious.

"That they missed having clean names." Trepe said, looking up at him as he took a gulp of the slop in his flagon. "What do you miss, Almasy?"

"Your beautiful face." He said sharply, then turned and waved an arm at the people currently congregating around the grog pot, "Come on people, we can break after the ship's finished. We've gotten 6 planks to go and a hell of a lot of flooring. So let's get our heads out of the grog pot and let's mosey!"

Trepe raised an eyebrow at his brusque orders as Raijin and Fuujin got up, Fuujin finishing her grog happily while Raijin left his behind, also quite happily. Seifer turned back to Trepe and knelt down in front of her, tucking his forefinger under her chin. "Listen," He said gently, "The past is the past around here, nothing more, so asking inane questions about which parts of our miserable past we miss the most, is not at all going to help you win any friends. Savvy?"

Trepe narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in annoyance, an expression he fucking hated. "There has to be something." She said.

"Nothing at all." He replied, giving her a humourless smile. "We were robbed of our pride, happiness and safety and thrust into a world where we could take, do and say what we liked. The world is now my oyster," He stroked along her jaw, "Which is more than any lapdog of Leonhart or the Navy could ever claim."

Her brows knit together and she jerked her head to the side, away from his finger. He placed his hand on her neck instead, feeling the heartbeat beneath the hot skin. He had wished many times to be this close to her, to feel her heartbeat beneath his fingers – sometimes out of affection, but most times out of bloodlust – and now that he was, he was torn between crushing her pulse, like a tiny fluttering bird in his hand, or entertaining other less violent thoughts. He stroked his fingers against the pulse gently.

"You're a fool for even thinking there was something worthwhile in that endeavour, Trepe." He said, the soft tenor of his voice matching the delicacy of his touch. "There is nothing we want from that life anymore. So stop trying to convince us."

"I'm not trying to convince you."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to convince myself."

Odd... He smiled, all teeth and no feeling, stroking up and down the length of her neck. The ability to convince was never something she had possessed; her powers more revolved around the ability to manipulate, to fool people into doing things. She would likely fail just as easily with convincing herself as she had with convincing others. Lord knows her powers of persuasion had never worked on him. "What exactly are you trying to convince yourself of?"

"None of your business, thank you." She jerked her head away, cording the muscles in her neck as she strained to get out of the reach of his hand. He sighed.

"Given that you're utilising my good experiences, I think it only proper that I be informed of the evils I am poisoning you to. Don't you think?"

She glared up at him, but kept her mouth shut. Smart move.

* * *

><p>A drop of tea spilt on the mint green cloth of his waistcoat and Caraway wiped it off with his napkin and a grumble. The gold-gilt clock on the wall proclaimed the time to be a few minutes past 1800 hours and already his tea was getting chill. He would have to ring the bell for another pot in a while and he grumbled at the thought of having to move from his position on the sofa. Afternoon tea had always been something of a sacred time in his afternoon and he was loath to ever disturb it. Even when Julia had been alive and Rinoa still but a child, he had often abstained from familial matters in order to sit in his chair and enjoy his pot of tea; there was, after all, nothing he liked better than a freshly brewed cuppa. This evening was feeling a little chilly as a cold wind had been brought down straight from the Trabian coast without first being warmed in the sub-tropical climes of the Centran continent and his tea seemed to grow colder quicker tonight than any other.<p>

He grumbled into his tea cup and took another sip of the somewhat tepid tea. It seemed that the war between their countries would not be stopping any time soon, and had in fact augmented to enclose the weather in its nature. The commanding facets of the war effort were taking their grievances before councils of other countries, attempting to secure funding and provisions among other things; treaties and promises of sanctuary should the worst come to a head – but Caraway knew very well that nothing could be done. It was Galbadia that had begun the war and it was most likely to be Galbadia who finished it. The only possibility of salvation the Trabians had would be if they were to ally with the Estharians. But those people were unhelpful at the best of times and exceedingly good at making themselves scarce at the soonest moment's notice. It would take a relative miracle – or a catastrophe – to galvanise that nation into taking some social responsibility. The Trabians stood not a chance and Galbadia would soon have won her war.

Finally deciding himself sick of the cold tea, Caraway struggled from his chair and plodded to the chain hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room. He tugged on it twice and then returned to his chair to await his fresh tea. The only concern Caraway had for the war, was the whereabouts of his former Commodore, Seifer Almasy. He had been making life hard for the Galbadians on the waves these past 5 years and he had no doubt that he would scupper their war effort if he could. Almasy had been a competent and intelligent man when he was part of the Navy and the evidence of his efficiency could be seen in the rate of Galbadian cargo that wasn't turning up where it was meant to. It was frightening, frankly, that so much upheaval could be caused by one man and his band of merry fools. If Almasy was still party to the Navy, he would have been a great help. Caraway had no doubt that his efficiency would have served them greatly in such needy times. He was one of the finest Naval Officers Caraway had ever seen. It was why he made it so far at such a young age, and it was also why having him join the forces of their enemies would prove quite the problem for them.

There came a knock on the door and Caraway called for them to enter, moving to a more comfortable position in his chair. The servant, dressed up in his extravagant lemon yellow livery and starched white wig, entered with a silver tray in his hands, the contents of which he exchanged with the tray that was already sat on the little table by the side of Caraway's chair. He then held out a letter, "This letter arrived for you, Sir."

"Whatever it is can wait." Caraway said gruffly, irritated at the servant's impudence at involving outside affairs in this specially set-aside time for tea-drinking, and set about pouring some tea into his fresh teacup.

The servant did not withdraw the letter, but cleared his throat and said, "It's from the King, Sir."

Caraway paused in his actions and looked from the letter to the servant and back again. "When did it arrive?"

"Presently, Sir. By Express."

Caraway set the teapot down and took the letter from the servant's hand. He pulled it open and read the first few lines, before getting up from his chair and going for the door. Suddenly having a thought, he turned back to the servant, who had been about to follow him out, and said "Bring my tea and follow me."

He went to his study, where he had the servant light the candles and a fire in the hearth. Then he sat and poured himself the rest of his cup of tea and began to read in better light.

'_Admiral Caraway,_

_I am writing to you about a matter of the utmost concern. A rumour has reached me that your daughter has been recently departed to Balamb without the smallest intention of ever returning. I must inform you at once that I object most vociferously as it has been my wish – and the wish of my eldest son, Prince Vinzer Deling – that she be wedded to my eldest.  
>It shall therefore come as no surprise to you that I request you halt her voyage immediately and have her await her collection by a ship of the Galbadian Navy.<em>

_I realise this does not take into account the concerns you have previously had as to the safety of your daughter at this time of war, but the Royal Family assures you that such a marriage would be most advantageous to both you and your daughter's position and that any harm to come to her would pain me greatly. The costs of the voyage would be entirely reimbursed and the Royal Wedding paid for by myself._

_We await your reply with eagerness,_

_Charles._'

Caraway sipped his tea as he considered the letter. There was no way he could possibly refuse the wishes of the King, but to be married to Prince Deling would be heralded by some – not un-including himself – to be a fate worse than death. The man began the war for heaven's sake and was known to be a scoundrel and a philander. That his poor daughter should be fated to be wed to such a nefarious man was cruel indeed, but the most pressing issue was to halt the Balamb Garden before it reached the Trabian Straights. If it reached that far, there was no hope of his daughter returning before the Trabio-Galbadian War was over.

He waved over the servant who had, until this time, stood dutifully by the door to await further orders. Caraway grabbed a fresh piece of paper and a quill pen. "Go to the Avery and fetch Hermes to me, and be quick about it. This letter is to be sent with the utmost urgency." He said, dipping the tip of his quill into a pot of ink, as the servant trotted off, and beginning to write upon the page.

'_Captain Leonhart_'.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ So, what did we think? Our favourite parts? I think my favourite part was the exhibition of Rinoa's idiocy and fairytale dreams... Pah! Silly girl!

Anywho, I hope you will review and I hope to post the next chapter before the start of my exams at the end of May.

Till then,

-Iets.


	7. The Past!

**_A/N:_** So, this was a lot quicker coming than I thought it would be and it's another long one, yay! This is where things really start hotting up and if I'm honest, that little erm... no wait I won't spoil it... but anyway, there's something down there - that I'm sure you'll notice - that may well be the last occurance of such an event.

If I'm honest I don't forsee this story having any particularly happy endings, well we all know Rinoa's gonna get Dickhead, Irvine and Zell are gonna announce their undying love for one another somewhere along the line, Selphie and Odine are gonna hit it off and Seifer is finally gonna warm up to Jessie, but other than that, I'm considering killing a few people off...

Any dibs on who gets to live? ;)

This chapter was written whilst listening to an amalgamation of 'Suicide Note – Johnette Napolitano', 'Marry Me' suite from the official Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End soundtrack and Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto no.2 1st movement. I highly recommend reading this bit whilst listening to the three, although not simultaneously; it makes the most almighty mess xD.

* * *

><p>The Past.<p>

_The planets: Ceres; Lumeba; Reptis; Pythos; Fedaelei; Langor; Oiesie; Carmen... The stars: First constellation – Merthius. Second constellation – Edus; Sartarius; Titanius; Arian; Nimia. Third constellation – Protus; Finerius; Cartenum; Bokuro. Fourth constellation – Butidius; Hetidus; Radus; Amadan. Fifth constellation – Pentania; Olympius; Gantuun; Tutuum. Sixth constellation – Hexa; Iradius; Yvesa; Vesa. Seventh constellation – Heptathon; Odius. Eighth constellation – Octicentura; Lorus. North Star. Southern Dip. Two stabilizing-stars – Zhung; Cao-Tuo._

_Commodore Seifer Almasy lay flat on his back on the floor of his cabin, reading the astrological map on his ceiling. The Pride of Galbadia was sailing just below the star Zhung and was heading up towards the eighth planet, Carmen, in the direction of Dollet. He expected they would pull into harbour at around dawn tomorrow, if they were lucky and the weather held out._

_The year was 1789 and although the promise of war with Trabia was pressing down on them from all sides, the young Commodore felt as though with a little diplomacy and a talk over a good flagon of beer, the problems could soon be sorted out. But then again, he felt like anything could be sorted out by a good beer and few short words. He'd been having this funny feeling recently that he could conquer the world if he really wanted and to begin with he'd had no idea why. But as he thought more about it, the answer soon became clear. He was in love. It was a hard thing to admit to – being the ladies' man that he was – but now that he had finally admitted it to himself, he was ready to admit it to the rest of the world and – in particular – a young lady waiting for him in Galbadia right, this, very, second!_

_He had been inspecting his sea charts when this thought had resurfaced – as it had done several other times over the course of the day – and had resorted to lying on the floor to curb his enthusiasm. He could hardly believe he was going to ask her to marry him tomorrow! In fact it was going to be the first thing he did when he got off the ship. No! Wait! He had to buy her a ring first! Then, he was going to ask her to marry him. Oops, there he went thinking about it and now he had turned to face pulling to try and stop from laughing in delight. What in Hyne's name was wrong with him? She was just one woman right? There was absolutely no need to go jumping about, singing, grinning like an idiot from ear to ear and laughing his silly head off. Right? He wasn't so sure._

_Deciding he needed a drink of water, he leapt up from the floor and – remembering that this was the middle of the night – tiptoed to the cabinet on the wall to root about for a cup and a bottle of water. He poured the water into the cup and took a tiny sip. Ah, there was nothing quite like a lovely little drink of cool, fresh water. Was there? No. Urgh. He downed the rest, wondering how one tiny event planned for the coming day could make such an otherwise-unmovable man into such an airy-fairy idiot. Here he was creeping about in his room, counting the stars, commenting on the water, like he had a fucking job to keep or something. This was ONE MEASLY PROPOSAL! Nothing he hadn't done before. Well, actually that was only half-right. He had __**encountered**__ proposals before, but they always came in the form of some wench's father begging the handsome young Commodore to marry their silly daughter and take her somewhere far far away from the currently dwindling family fortune. Needless to say he always declined and left promptly, regardless of the offers of dinner, cards, drinking games, anything the fathers could offer that might insight the young Commodore into staying long enough for them to change his mind. But come tomorrow, that wouldn't be a problem. He was going to ask her to marry him, she was going to say yes, they would embrace, be married on the spot, and he would finally have a legitimate excuse to give to fathers everywhere as to why – no, he wasn't going to be marrying their sodding daughter and –no, they couldn't invite him to stay for tea. He had a wife to please, thank you very much, so kindly leave him alone._

_He crammed the cork back into the water bottle and stuffed it back into the cupboard, then turned around, wondering what he should do next to try and occupy his mind. He took to organising his maps. Then polishing his sword. Then polishing the table. Then organising his cabinet. Then having another drink. Then deciding he was trying to do too much and he should probably go to bed and get some rest before his big day tomorrow. Argh! But there he was thinking about it again and-_

_He hung his sheer gold silk shirt up on the peg on the back of the door and grabbed the wet cloth from his wash bowl to wipe around his neck in an effort to refresh himself. Of course there was the possibility that she might say 'no' and he would be left wondering where in the hell he misread the signs, but he had prepared himself for that possibility and had a pistol ready and loaded in his desk draw. But when he thought back over the encounters they had had, the words they had exchanged, he could think of nothing but her abrasive nature turning sweeter as time passed. She used to respond to his flirting with an iron mask, staring him down until all he could be was nasty in return. But as the months had passed, she seemed to warm to him and even on occasion seemed to prefer his company to that of some others around her – particularly that Trabian man who grabbed her arse at the last inter-naval summit – although his advances were still mostly shunned. Their last parting, however, had been more amicable and she even stated she wished to know him on closer acquaintance upon his return. It had to have meant something, yes?_

_Seifer sighed and tossed the cloth back in the bowl with a wet slap and turned to face his truckle bed. It was uncomfortable and hard and nowhere near as big and spacious as the ones he had in his apartment in Dollet, but he would only have to use it for one more night and __**then**__ he could change to something more suited to his back muscles – which screamed understandably when he lay them down on the hard, lumpy mattress._

_He didn't bother with covers; he rarely ever did, preferring to sleep in only his underwear. The weather was invariably hot around these parts and since he never bothered sailing towards Trabia or Balamb, the need for warmer sleeping arrangements were never felt. But – he cast his mind towards those sacred waters again – once they were married, they would most likely journey to Balamb, her homeland._

_He rolled onto his stomach and hugged his pillow, bundling the thing under his arms and resting his chin on it, staring out of the bay windows at the rear of his ship. The view alternated between the star-strewn sky and the miles upon miles of open waves that dipped in and out of his sight. He was he decided, quite happy with the way his life had panned out so far. Beginning his existence as an orphan on the streets of some backwater town in Centra, being taken in by the kindly Edea, growing up to be a charming country-boy, fixing rooves and carrying the shopping of little old ladies, rescuing kittens from trees and then finally taking that commission in the Galbadian Navy. He'd spent a good few years training hard for an officer post and has, in his first year, met Officer Trepe stalking about like she owned the place. In fairness she very nearly did, but that didn't stop him wanting to pick a bone with her over her unfeminine behaviour. His infatuation had started pretty soon after that and it seemed to carry him through every single promotion he ever got. Meeting Raijin and Fuujin had also been a pretty big moment in his life and he was sincerely glad he had. He'd never met such nice, accommodating, down-to-earth people. Although he hadn't expected to become the ringleader, as it were. He had never been in charge of anything bigger than a hammer and a box of nails before in his life and to now be in charge of his very own posse seemed almost surreal. To say that being the Commodore of the Galbadian Navy was a dream come true would be an understatement; it was over-whelming._

_The only thing he was missing from his life right now was a wife, and he had one of those lined up already. Come tomorrow he would have everything he could ever dream of wanting and more. He just had to try and get some sleep before then._

* * *

><p><em>Seifer was up and awake before dawn's light was even feeling its way into his cabin. The sun was currently nothing more than a red glow on the horizon, showing through his windows. He glanced at it as he fiddled with his tie. They ought to be within sight of the harbour any minute now; once he'd finished putting on his tie, jacket, cuff-links and hat he would go out and have a look, speak to the helmsman and get their direct heading. He had only lit one small candle to dress by and as he picked up his hat he pinched the flame out with his fingers.<em>

"_What's our heading, Mr Gibbs?" He asked the man at the helm._

_Mr Gibbs had a quick look at the compass next to him before replying, "East north east, Sir. We should be coming up on Lion's Rock any moment now."_

"_Very well then, carry on." Seifer said, pleased with the headway they were making. Lion's Rock was a giant point of rock shaped like the head of a lion that poked out of the sea and marked the mouth of Dollet's harbour. He went to the side to look over at the dark water below. It looked almost black and if anything, a little frightening. It was untold how deep that water was, but it was obvious that when one began to sink, they were going to sink a good long way before they struck the bottom. And there was going to be no coming back from that. Foreboding hardly seemed the right word for it._

_A few sailors were beginning to emerge onto the deck and threw a naval salute when they saw their Captain, before going about their work. The ship would have to be scrubbed of any oil slicks or gunpowder before they pulled into harbour, so naturally the work began early and with only a small amount of time before they docked, they didn't have the time to lay about or dawdle. Breakfast would be taken on the land, they had eaten the last of their supplies in last night's dinner, but it was of little consequence as the next meal was not so far away._

_Seifer turned his thoughts to a particular woman he hoped was waiting for him in Galbadia. It had been a good month since he had seen her, but there was no chance of her being out on the open waves when he returned, she was waiting for a commission in the Navy of her home country: Balamb. She informed him in polite conversation before he left that she had handed in her resignation to the Galbadian Admiral himself and was now waiting for word from the Balamb Admiral, Kramer. Knowing Kramer it would be a good long time before he gave her a commission – which he undoubtedly would – simply because it took him an awful long time to get round to doing __**anything**__, regardless of who it was for. Regardless of the fact that Quistis was a woman._

_And what a woman she was! Long blonde hair falling in wavy lines about her face, neck and shoulders, caramel skin looking soft as cotton to touch, blue, blue eyes as tranquil and enrapturing as the seas whose colour they shared. She was rough and untamed, wild enough to look after herself and yet refined enough to converse well with the higher side of society. And fierce enough to put him in his place. Now if ever there was a woman for him, she was the one. The only variable in the whole affair was her affection. It was hard to get and even harder to keep. She seemed to display acts of humanity at times and then just as quickly returned to being made of ice. She bestowed her affections upon the strangest of people, small children and the elderly being her most favoured subjects. She treated them with a grace and courtesy that was almost gentlemanly in nature, not so much a lady but a gentleman, bowing and scraping and handing women into carriages, opening doors, pulling out chairs and putting many another young gentleman to shame. But the enigma of her behaviour was forgiven by her competence and looks, intelligence and ideologue. She was too much for any mortal man to handle, but Seifer hoped to heaven and Hyne above that he was man enough to do the job._

_He shielded his eyes as the first rays of sunlight burst across the sky and the shout of "Land ho!" sounded from the crows' nest. He looked to the prow of the ship and gulped. Somewhere over there she was waiting for him, and somewhere over there he was going to make his proposal._

"_Commodore! I say, Commodore Almasy!" Seifer turned to the shout and saw a young man dressed in a clerk's uniform running towards him, holding his hat on with one hand and towing a grey-hound along behind him on a string. Seifer stopped his progression up the quay and waited for the man to catch up. The Pride of Galbadia had just docked and the crew was signing their names in to the harbour master. Seifer had decided that it was high-time he had some breakfast as perhaps putting something in it would help to settle his stomach. It didn't help that he still had his sea-legs and was – as a result – trying desperately to control his tottering until he could find a chair to sit in and disguise it._

"_Can I help you?" He asked, starting off again in the direction of the nearest café, forcing the young man to either walk with him or get left behind._

"_Err, yes, I have a message for you from Admiral Caraway, he says it's really important."_

"_Get on with it, I'm very busy today."_

"_He says you are to report to the tower immediately and-"_

"_How about 'when it's convenient'?"_

"_He says it's really important, like you're meant to stand trial over something."_

_He stopped walking and the young man nearly crashed into the back of him, the poor dog stubbing its nose on the lad's backside. He turned to face him with a frown on his face – this was certainly throwing a wrench in his works – "Stand trial for what?"_

"_The Admiral has to make sure you're not involved or something." The young man replied, scratching his head and withering under the look the Commodore was giving him. "I don't know the details, I was just told to bring you to the tower and-"_

"_Never mind," Seifer spun back around and started up the road again, crossing it and approaching the hackney cabs that were lined up on the curb. "I'll go, but not with that dog, I hate them. The Tower of Dollet, please." He informed the cab driver, handing him a rolled up 1 Gil note and clambering into the back._

_The young man began to follow the cab as the driver order the horse onwards, "But how am I to get there?"_

"_Ride that." Seifer replied, indicating 'that' to be the dog trotting along behind its master. Heaven knew the thing was big enough, there ought not to have been a problem with it._

_He arrived at the tower to find the Admiral himself waiting for him, standing outside and looking decidedly unhappy. Whatever this grave matter was, it was obviously important enough to have dragged the aging Admiral from his bed very early in the morning and he was therefore extremely displeased. Seifer would have to tread lightly this morning._

_He got down from his cab and approached the Admiral, removing his hat once he'd gotten close enough and extending his hand to shake. Caraway shook it then turned around to go inside the immense structure that was The Tower. It was an old building, nearly 400 years old with over 4 acres of ground space and reaching a further 150 meters into the air, with high, cold, stone walls. It had the capacity to house nearly 2800 inmates, although its current populace only amounted to just under 200._

_The entrance way was heavily guarded and when they went through, Seifer was requested to leave his sword and pistol and any other weapons he might have secreted about his person in a small wooden box, which was then stored away until such a time came as he wished to leave._

"_Might I enquire as to why we are here?" He asked, following the as-of-yet silent Admiral down a stone corridor._

"_As of last week," The Admiral began gruffly, "Galbadia and Trabia are at war."_

_If Seifer had felt any shock, he hit it well. "I thought the negotiations were going well."_

"_They were." Caraway agreed. "Until a Galbadian ship fired on the Ryuuji-Sora and sunk it just off the Trabian Straights."_

"_What was a Galbadian ship doing in the Trabian Straights?" Seifer asked, quickening his pace to bring himself level with the older man, in order to see his facial expressions. The old man was not betraying anything but irritation through his voice, perhaps his face would shed more light. "That's well within Trabian territory."_

"_The ship itself was not in Trabian waters when the attack took place; it was patrolling the boarder and fired on the Ryuuji-Sora in the middle of the night. The Trabian ship sank as it reached its home harbour."_

"_Why did they fire?" Seifer asked, confused. _

"_That is an excellent question and one I would like you to discern for me." Caraway said, stopping walking and turning to face Seifer. He pointed to the door they stood beside. "The culprits are behind that door. They profess they will speak to no one but you."_

_Seifer nodded, feeling a weight settling in the pit of his stomach. There were only two people he knew of in the world who would seek out his presence about all others and he hoped they weren't the ones sat behind that door. He took the keys that were offered to him and fit them into the lock, unlocking the door with a click and pushing the door in._

_Raijin was the first to look at him, although it was clear from their stiff-backed positions on the bench that they knew who was standing silently in the doorway. Seifer looked him first up, and then down before shutting the door behind him and turning the key in the lock._

"_Right." He said, making sure to keep his voice calm and level, "The Admiral says you will only speak to me about what you've done."_

"_We was set up, ya know!" Raijin cried, obviously put out that Seifer wasn't feeling particularly forgiving this morning. "Deling set us up! He wanted us to fire on Trabia, ya know!"_

"_I heard you __**did**__ fire on Trabia." Seifer said, folding his arms and sticking his hip out in the fashion usually typical of Puberty-boy or others of equally stormy character. "And you mutinied on Deling."_

"_We __**did**__ fire on Trabia, ya know!" Raijin was quick to reaffirm, just in case Seifer thought he was trying to spin a lie, "But only because Deling told us to! He said he was bored, ya know and wanted some entertainment!"_

"_And the mutiny?"_

"_FOLLOWED."_

"_I heard it was preceding." Not exactly true, but it would keep them on their toes._

"_No way, man!" Raijin shook his head, "We'd never do something like that without just reason, ya know!"_

"_JUST REASON."_

"_And we wanted to see you, ya know..." Raijin muttered, scrubbing at the back of his head with one manacled hand and pushing the other into his lap like a scolded child. "We wanted to make you proud of how well we were doin', ya know..."_

"_By starting a full-blown naval war?" Seifer shook his head, finding this slightly hard to believe. "I hope you realise that by mutinying on Deling, you've committed high-treason."_

_Fuujin stood up. "Seifer, Deling is a traitor to this country. He declared war on Trabia when he ordered us to fire on the Ryuuji-Sora. He knew what he was doing, Seifer and he is using us to escape. Yes, we committed mutiny and yes it counts as high-treason. We knew this when we gave the order for Deling to be tied up in his cabin and to turn the sails for home. We knew the price we were to pay for our actions, but we had to see you again to apologise." She gazed imploringly at him with her good eye and Seifer felt a wave of guilt crash over him. They weren't telling him all this to win themselves amnesty in the face of the law, they wanted his forgiveness for the crimes they knew they'd committed. "The last thing we wanted was for you to think ill of us."_

"_Yeah, man!" Raijin nodded enthusiastically, standing up as well and coming as far forward as his chains would allow, "We wanted you to know we didn't mean to do anything wrong, ya know! It was an accident!"_

_Seifer shook his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes, feeling tears begin to prick. 'It was an accident'. How many little children used that age old excuse to avoid guilt and punishment? Who knew how many. But it wouldn't work this time. This was a punishment they wouldn't be returning from._

_Not even daring to spare them one last glance, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. When he turned around again, he saw Admiral Caraway waiting for him._

"_Well?" The old man asked, "What did they say?"_

"_It was an accident..."_

* * *

><p><em>It was raining by the time Seifer got outside and to his hackney cab. It was still raining by the time he reached his apartment in the city centre - having decided due to pragmatism that his proposal to Officer Trepe would have to wait a good deal longer than he'd hoped he decided to for-go it - and all the way there he could do nothing but consider the knock his world had suddenly taken. It was horrific and all consuming, like losing a loved one, just not as final because this death hadn't happened yet. He knew what their fates would be; execution. There was no other alternative for the atrocities they had committed and he spent all week attempting to convince himself of it.<em>

_The storm that had struck up at the time of this dreadful news raged all week long. Rain whipped around the tower inner-courtyard on the day of the execution, making everyone and everything sodden through and through. The drains were gurgling loudly as they struggled to keep up with the downpour. But the storm, for all its ferocity, could do nothing to dampen the spirits of Prince Deling. Seifer watched him like a hawk; standing under his very own canopy, smiling and laughing away with some of the gentry who had turned out in this awful weather to watch the spectacle, as though condemning two people to death was just an ordinary part of his daily regime. It probably was. It curdled the hatred Seifer was harbouring and turned it into something fearsome; he swore inwardly that he would kill Deling one day, in the most gruesome of fashions to make up for the deaths of his friends – his posse._

_He turned his attention to the tower doors as they began to open, pulled on by two of the tower guards. Two figures were lead in chains out into the cold, wet, rainy courtyard and were pulled over to the gallows where they were pushed up the steps and stood side-by-side to meet their makers. Raijin and Fuujin stared back at him as he stared on in stoic resignation. This was the law. This was it being upheld. And it was his duty, his sole purpose and loyalty to uphold it. Uphold justice. This was something that __**had**__ to be done._

_The Admiral stood up to the gallows with a piece of parchment rolled up in his hand. The courtyard had been silent from the instant the doors had begun to open and only the gurgling drains had the gall to interrupt him. He cleared his throat and unrolled it._

"_Today, the 21__st__ of May in the year of our Lord 1789, we stand here to witness the punishment of Raijin Chidori and Fuujin Rasenne." He cleared his throat again. "They have been charged with the crimes of mutiny, belligerence and high-treason and they have been found guilty. Their sentence is to be hung by the neck until they are dead," His voice lowered as he looked solemnly at the two shivering, wet individuals beside him, "And to burn in hell for all eternity."_

_Then the Admiral began his way down from the gallows and the executioner began to prepare the two prisoners, first by placing rough hessian sacks over their heads and then fastening the nooses over their necks. The drum roll began._

_Seifer sucked in breath, struggling to breathe, struggling to keep his emotions in check. This was the LAW! He __**had**__ to obey this! If he didn't, he would be extradited from the Navy, cast out from his friends, from his world... from Quistis... But his hands were clammy, knees weak, arms feeling heavy. Everything he had been trying to convince himself of over the course of the week now seemed inconsequential in comparison to what was about to happen._

_His conscience returned to him with all the subtlety of a 1,000,000,000 Watt lightning strike. What the __**fuck**__ was he doing?_

_He drew his sword before he'd even thought about it and shoved his way through the crowd, bowling people over and standing on feet as he fought to get through them. But it wasn't the gallows he was making a beeline for, it was the canopy. Or more precisely the man standing under it._

_Deling hadn't really seen what was going on, he was too excited about the execution when the commotion had started and it took him a couple of seconds to realise what was happening. But by then it was too late, Seifer had hurdled the potted plants and had him by the scruff of the neck, holding Hyperion to the man's neck fat and pressing in. A thin dribble of blood crept down below his collar as Deling squeaked in surprise and fear._

_Seifer's mind struggled to catch up to what his body had just done for him, but then it was too late to start thinking about alternative courses of action. Fuck the Navy, he'd just kissed goodbye to his commission. Fuck his world; it was trying to kill his friends. And fuck Quistis, she didn't want him anyway and he'd known as much from the start, telling himself otherwise was just wishful thinking. The only thing he really had to lose was his friends and fuck if he was going to let that happen._

_The courtyard – which had previously been quite quiet in preparation for the hanging – was now bristling with swords, all drawn to protect their crown prince. Seifer took a few steps back, getting his back to the wall and said loudly, "Drop your weapons."_

_Not a single man moved. "I said: Drop your fucking weapons!" He shouted and pressed into Deling's neck further. The man choked and wheezed, but weapon points were lowered anyway. Up on the gallows, Raijin and Fuujin were looking about in their hessian sacks, trying to work out what was happening._

_Seifer nodded to the executioner, "Cut them loose."_

_Things began to go his way; Raijin and Fuujin were cut loose and could remove the sacks from their heads. The 'party guests' were locked into the courtyard and Deling was dragged back with them to the weapon's keep where they raided everything they could find, including the keys to the rest of the prison cells._

"_Let everyone out," Seifer order them and turned his attention to Deling as they ran off. The prince was cowering in the corner, gripping his neck and hissing at Seifer. He sheathed his weapon and crouched down in front of him._

"_Look at this. This is what happens when people lie, your highness." Seifer said gently, as though scolding a child, taking one of Deling's hands and turning it over to get to the inside of his wrist. He took out a little knife. "This is what happens when you decide to start a war." He waggled the knife under the prince's nose, "Things go wrong, especially wrong for the guy in charge. And since that's no longer me, I suppose that makes it you. Doesn't it." He stabbed the knife into Deling's wrist, ignoring the other man's yelp of pain and surprise. "I do not take well to liars-"_

"_I didn't lie!" Deling shrieked, then shrieked again when Seifer twisted the knife, forcing the radius and [enter bone here] apart. The knife scratched along the bones, raking them._

"_Don't fucking lie to me." Seifer reprimanded, his voice surprisingly calm, even to himself. Deling's eyes were wide and his pupils were dilating. The adrenaline was beginning to rush then, apparently. Seifer should know, his own was powering through his veins as they spoke. "You started this bloody war so you're going to finish it. Yourself. This will not be quick, easy or painless. You will not have subordinates to do your work for you. And I will make it my mission-" He twisted the blade again, eliciting another howl of pain from Deling who was pulling on his arm, trying to take the limb back and out of the death grip Seifer currently had it in. "To make your life – or what's left of it anyway – as difficult and painful as possible. Understand?" Deling nodded vigorously. "If there's anything you will learn in your miserable life, it will be this:" He wrenched the knife from Deling's wrist, a long thin strip of flesh catching on its tip and pulling out and away from the arm before slipping off the end and laying in a bloody trail along his skin. "War, is hell."_

* * *

><p>"<em>Ok, let's go." Seifer said, as Raijin and Fuujin approached him in the lobby, the keys gangling in Fuujin's hand and the sounds of the released and now armed prisoners causing pandemonium in the corridors behind them. "We won't have much time before they let the guards out of that courtyard."<em>

"_DELING?" Fuujin asked, pocketing the keys. Much later, she threw them into the sea._

"_He'll live." Was all Seifer was willing to disclose. He pulled open the main door to the outside and Raijin and Fuujin ran through, dispatching a guard who approached to question them. The three took off across the yard, reaching the gatehouse and crashing into the gate. Raijin and Seifer exchanged glances, before making a hold for Fuujin to stand on._

"_SPLIT?" She asked frowning, apparently not enjoying the idea._

"_We'll meet ya at the ship, ya know." Raijin said, shaking the hold to hurry Fuujin along. She looked to Seifer who shook his head. _

"_Not the ship, meet us at the Rose and Crown."_

_She looked apprehensive again, but the two men chanted in unison, "Go!" so she had no choice. She put one muddy foot in the hold and grabbed for the top of the gate as they boosted her up. She pulled herself between the spikes and over the other side, hitting the ground running and not looking back._

"_Now us," Seifer said, looking about for inspiration and spying it in the form of a painter's ladder leaning up against the side of the gatehouse. He grabbed it and stood it up against the gate, holding it still while Raijin began to climb. He was about halfway up and wobbling dangerously, mewling for Seifer to hold the damn thing still, when the guard from the gatehouse – Hyne alone knows where he had been up until then – finally realised what was happening and dashed out to apprehend the two escapees._

_Seifer wondered for a split second if he could talk his way out of this somehow; say he was entitled to take them somewhere else, on orders perhaps. But then he was covered in blood and Raijin and Fuujin had very familiar faces and their arrest and accusation had been all over the papers. If this guard didn't smell a rat, then he was an absolute bloody moron. Which was impossible as the guy had just drawn his sword and swung at them._

_Seifer leapt aside, letting go of the ladder just in time to avoid getting his fingers chopped off. Raijin's right foot also narrowly avoided a good shortening, but the ladder was not so lucky and buckled in the middle. The wood was sodden and softened by the rain and the sharp sword made easy work of it, so much so that Raijin was left dangling some feet in the air, his fingers gripping the top of the gate for dear life as he struggled to heave himself up with a body which – for the last couple of days at least – had eaten nothing._

_The guard went to swing again, but Seifer had drawn his sword by now as well and when the guy raised his arm, he shoved it into the armpit, where he estimated the shoulder socket ought to be, and levered with all his might. The shoulder emitted a wet sucking sound, before a crack like a gunshot going off. The guard fell to the ground, clutching at his shoulder and screaming as though he'd just had his guts ripped out and handed to him. Seifer cursed as he grabbed hold of Raijin's flailing right leg, shoulders healed dammit! There was no need to be so damned loud and call attention! He shoved Raijin up, putting his shoulder under his friend's knee to help boost him over the gate. The big man tumbled over the spikes and hit the wet pavement on the other side with a smack. He got up off his back and hobbled off as quickly as he could, one hand rubbing the back of his head and the other rubbing his chest where a few of the spikes had sliced at him._

_Now the only person who needed to escape was Seifer and he was also – funnily enough – the only one who now had a legitimate cause for arrest. He had no doubt that Deling would be scrambling about, letting the guards out of the barracks and the courtyard to come and get him. They would probably decapitate him right then and shove his head on a spike. He shuddered at the thought and took off at a run around the perimeter wall. Somewhere around here there was a drainage pipe that spilt water from the tower straight into the sea, it was just big enough for a human being to fit down and made the perfect route for escape, if he could find it in time._

_As it turned out he could, but only __**just **__in time. He had just sat down on his bottom to attempt to shimmy along the pipe when the guards burst from the tower onto the yard. Their first reaction – not having seen him yet – was to rush to the main gate, where the evidence of escape was thickest. But the guard lying screaming on the floor quickly redirected them through a series of wild gestures and obscenities to where Seifer was wriggling desperately to fit down the pipe._

_Thankfully the thing was quite short and he only had to shimmy a few feet - helped along by the rainwater that had made his clothing and the stone of the pipe slick - before he could bend his knees on the other side and use them to pull himself through. The bend in his back once he'd reached the outside though was excruciatingly painful and was clearly not the way his back was supposed to be bent._

_The ocean was several hundred meters below him and he fell into it with a splash, leaving some seconds between leaving the pipe and hitting the water. Far long enough to allow him to contemplate just how in the hell he was going to get to the Rose and Crown from all the way out here._

_The force with which he hit the waves knocked all the breath from him and it was a few moments before his throbbing head allowed him a desperate struggle to reach the surface and the air. His lungs were screaming at him in protest before his head broke the surface and he gulped down mouthfuls of sweet, sweet air. Ah, he thought as he struck out feebly for the harbour only a little way away, this was living wasn't it? Taking on the world, threatening the royal family, saving your mates from imminent death, risking daring escapes and falling hundreds of feet into a freezing cold sea on a rainy afternoon. Now all he needed was to get off scot-free and he was pretty sure he could get used to it. It was – for lack of any better word – exhilarating._

_He got quite a few strange looks as he swam up into the harbour and up to an empty jetty. He was helped onto dry land by the harbour master who had been informed of some strange fellow flapping about in the ocean and had come to find out what all the fuss was about._

"_Good heavens, Commodore," The harbour master muttered gravely as he helped the young man up onto the wood, "What on Gaia were you doing down there? You'll catch your death, you will."_

"_Oh nothing like a good invigorating swim in the sea now, is there?" Seifer grinned, straightening up and running his hand through his hair. He had lost his hat somewhere along the escape, probably in the middle of that pipe somewhere, he certainly hadn't seen it floating about in the ocean with him. "There's nothing I like quite so much as a good dip in the drink every now and then." He clapped the harbour master on the shoulder, "but I must go, I've got a date to keep." And then he took off again at a jog with a grin slapped onto his face. Oh golly, he could certainly get used to this. It was rather fun really._

_He jogged across the road and was about to run past the Office of Naval Affairs – it was quite safe, news of his betrayal couldn't travel __**that**__ fast – when Officer Trepe walked out of the building, looking for something in her handbag. She wasn't looking where she was going and he was too close to stop himself so the pair crashed into each other._

_Trepe toppled to the floor with a yelp and dashed the contents of her handbag over the pavement. Seifer's momentum kept him going past her, but he – unfortunately, ever the gentleman – skidded to a halt and backtracked to help her up off the floor._

"_I'm so sorry, Miss Trepe." He said, holding her under the elbow and helping her stand up, before bending over to gather her things and cram them back in her bag for her. "I didn't see you, please forgive me."_

"_Tha- that's alright." She said, straightening her dress. Wait, what? Dress? Seifer took another look at her, having previously been too busy gathering her stuff – half of which he couldn't find a name for and the other half he was fairly sure didn't have a use – that he hadn't paid much attention to her attire. But she was dressed in a- well a dress! It was dark green and straight down, had no frills, covered her chest entirely and was probably the most military-looking dress he had ever clapped eyes on, but it was a dress none the less._

_He had apparently spent at it a little too long staring as Trepe felt the need to start explaining herself. "I'm not in the Navy anymore you see and I've only got a few more days left here before my passage to Balamb so I'd rather not buy anything special because-"_

"_It looks fine." Seifer dismissed her qualms and handed her the handbag which he had been clutching as his brain struggled to make either head or tail of seeing Officer Trepe in a dress. "But there may be some problems with your passage to Balamb."_

"_Oh?"_

_Well Galbadia certainly wasn't going to be letting anyone leave the country until the scoundrel-escapees were found, so having ships leaving the country was going to be a no-no. "Well you see, Raijin and Fuujin are-"_

"_Oh yes," she interrupted him and put a hand on his arm, quite concerned. "I'm sorry about that. How was their… erm… hanging?"_

"_What?"_

"_The hanging."_

"_Hanging?"_

"_It was today wasn't it?"_

_Damn, yes it was but he wasn't really focusing on her words, more what her mouth was doing. And her eyes. And she was squeezing his arm gently in a pressurizing fashion that was meant to comfort more than incite reaction but…_

"_Are you alright?" Her brows had pulled down into a frown and she stepped closer to him, taking her hand off his arm and touching his cheek instead, looking into his eyes with concern. "Are you feeling alright? Are you ill? Do you need a drink or something?"_

"_No, I'm fine." He lied. He was most certainly not fine right now, he was running up a quick list of all the things he would miss the most about not having been able to tell her how much he loved her and it was getting pretty long. But number one on the list – and number 2 and 6 and 19 and seemingly every other number up to and including the last – was the sporadic bestowing of affection or concern that he so rarely got. But he was getting it now and boy oh boy was it doing a number on him._

"_Are you sure? Because you're not focusing on what I'm-"_

_He cut her off, "Look, Trepe, they're not dead. I'm not ill. No I'm not concentrating and I haven't got a clue what in the hell you just said but- It's just…"_

_He gave her a pleading look, hoping she would understand, before pulling her in for a kiss. Her immediate reaction was to pull away – no doubt to complain – but Seifer was having none of it and wrapped an arm around her waist, crushing her to him. The other hand went to the back of her neck, burying in her hair and keeping her mouth pressed to his. Her battle against him quickly petered out to nothing and then she was kissing him back, fisting her hands in his sodden shirt front and pulling herself closer – if that was at all possible._

_It wasn't quite what he'd wanted. He had wanted to kiss her, yes, and he was absolutely delighted that she was going so far as to kiss him back. But it only proved one thing. He could have had this. He could have had this his way, proposed, married her and lived happily until the end of his days, if __**only**__ he hadn't fucked up his life beforehand. The fact that she liked him back – if even only partially – was evidence to how happy he __**could**__ have been with her, and now how miserable he was going to __**have**__ to be without her._

_He broke away and looked down at her. Slowly, as though realising their situation, she released his coat front and he let go of her too. They were still in the middle of the street and things like decorum and propriety should still hold sway over their lives. He cleared his throat as she looked down at her shoes._

"_I'm sorry about that," He said, making her look up, "But I sincerely hope you can forgive me for what I'm sure you'll learn about later." He scratched at the back of his head as her eyes turned first disappointed and then confused. He couldn't stay here much longer, the police were surely on his tail by now and he had to meet Raijin and Fuujin at the pub… He grunted out another apology as he passed her and broke into a run, leaving her behind with a hand pressed to her lips and looking deeply, deeply confused._

* * *

><p>Seifer lay spread-eagled on his back, staring up at the stars painted onto his ceiling, admiring them. A bottle of something he'd bought in Tortuga was clutched in his right hand and every so often he took a swig.<p>

There was certainly a time in his life – five years ago to be precise – when he would have professed to being in love with Trepe; she was everything his young heart of 21 had desired and he was fairly sure she didn't object to him then either... But 5 years had muddied the waters and his life of piracy had brought him into conflict with her too many times. His love for her was still supreme, but now he had to face the fact that she was not nearly as enamoured of him as she used to be. It didn't quite break his heart, but it made him realise there was no way for them to be together. One too many knocks on the old heart and he was beginning to feel his age.

With a black chuckle he took another swig of the drink and shut his eyes, remembering the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her scent radiating from her skin and her hair as the rain fell all around them, soaking her through to the bone. At the time he had all but forgotten that he smelt of seawater and sweat, he had only focused on her... The feel of her fingers pulling his coat taught to his skin, pulling him down to the warmth of her mouth, the sweet, soft, fullness of her-

He took another swig and opened his eyes, watching Jessie as she strutted about on his desk, 'cor'ing and 'blaggard'ing loudly and happily. He was torn; stay in here and drink himself stupid to the tune of that wretched parrot, or brave the outside and drink himself stupid to the tune of Trepe's dissatisfied sniffs and occasional quips of "drunkard". He got up and went to the door; with any luck Trepe would be asleep by now anyway.

* * *

><p>The sea waves rocked the little boat gently from side to side beneath the star-studded night sky and a cool breeze pushed it towards the horizon and their destination. Rinoa was on watch duty for now, sat at the tiller, waggling it from side to side in her boredom.<p>

She was grateful for the calmness of the sea, but wished for something a little more adventurous than this. It was all very well and good being able to sleep well at night and to move gracefully through the water, but the stillness of the night and the snoring of the pirate in front of her weren't quite what she'd had in mind when she decided to embark on this journey of daring and wit. She had _planned_ to be daring and a sword-fighter and perform death-defying feats of unimaginable magnitude! But here she was floating about like a pig in a barrel.

She heaved a sigh and rested her chin in her palm. Selphie had fallen asleep some hours ago, telling Rinoa that it was of the utmost importance that she be informed of anything new on the horizon, be it land or ship. Which naturally meant that Rinoa didn't get the chance to fall asleep. She glanced over at the pirate who was snoring loudly and heaved another sigh. It wasn't fair.

She turned her eyes back to the sea to see a faint glow in the distance. She frowned; it couldn't be dawn already, could it? It didn't seem like all that long ago that the sun had set. She was suddenly very proud of herself for having stayed awake all night and was a little surprised at how easy it had been. That'd teach all those who said she couldn't look after herself. She wiggled the tiller a bit as she waited for the sun to rise above the horizon.

After a little while, and the glow merely getting sharper as opposed to bigger, she realised that what she was looking at wasn't the sunrise. Which meant she would have to wake Selphie. She picked up an apple that had rolled out of the knapsack on the floor and threw it at Selphie's head. It hit her with a _thonk!_ and the pirate let out a snort of surprise as she awoke with a start, flailing her arms and legs. The boat rocked dangerously with her movement.

"Whooja! Whatcha- who're ya!" She snorted and flailed, apparently fighting off some dream vagabonds who had no doubt brained her with something far more fearsome than an apple. "What-appened?"

"There's something over there." Rinoa drawled, moving the tiller and flapping a hand in the direction of the lights.

Selphie sat up rubbing her head and looked in the direction Rinoa had gestured. "That's a ship!" She announced loudly after looking for only a couple of seconds and seized the oars, "How long had it been there?"

"A few minutes." Rinoa said, watching as Selphie threw her weight into the rowing with sudden and unexplained urgency. "Why?"

"Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" Selphie whined, trying to row quicker, if that was at all possible.

"I didn't think it was a problem." Rinoa said, frowning. Surely seeing another ship on the waves wasn't that much of a problem. They could be friendlies after all; there was no need to get so het up about it.

"Of course it's a problem!"

"How come?"

"Hello? I'm a bloody pirate, Miss! And so – by association – are you!"

"That doesn't mean they'll do us any harm."

"Yes it bloody does! In case you haven't noticed, we are two unprotected women floating about in a boat in the middle of the night. That ship, no matter what nationality or creed, is going to be filled with sex-deprived men who'll probably love nothing better than to enjoy a little company for the night before stringing us up by our toes and robbing us of any valuable information we might have!"

The gravity of Selphie's words did appear to be having an effect on Rinoa and the girl turned white before grabbing the tiller with determination and paddling away for all she was worth. However, her paddling did little towards the desired effect. Instead of helping move the boat faster, she ended up making it nearly impossible for Selphie to steer and the two of them – for all their struggling – ended up simply spinning round in circles.

"Ohh!" Selphie cried, throwing down the oars, "Never mind! We're doomed anyway!"

"No we're not!" Rinoa shrieked, paddling like mad. "We can still make it!"

"No, we're doomed..." Selphie muttered. The ship was close enough now for her to tell what sort it was. And what was worse, she could see more lights appearing behind the first lot. Which meant a fleet. Which meant they were facing the Estharian floating nation.

She looked at Rinoa, who was staring at the approaching ships whilst still paddling valiantly. "You said you had a map, yes?" Rinoa nodded, "Where is it?" She indicated the knapsack. Selphie grabbed it and began to root through, tossing food items and other bits and bobs everywhere, some of which fell in the water.

"Hey," Rinoa complained, trying to fish a bag of biscuits out of the sea, "Be careful!"

"It doesn't matter," Selphie said and pulled the map and book from the bag. "Here," She said, grabbing Rinoa's waistband and shoving the map and book down her trousers despite Rinoa's startled squeak. "Look after these."

"Vell! Look vat have here!" A voice hailed them from the nearest ship. Selphie gulped audibly and drew her fingers across her lips, indicating that Rinoa should stay quiet. The last thing she needed was for the younger girl to blow the whole thing out of the water with some stupid girly comment following somewhere along the lines of-

"Rinoa Heartily and Selphie Tilmitt, sir. We're looking for White Capp Bay!"

Selphie face-palmed and resisted the urge to stick her head between her legs and kiss her butt goodbye.

* * *

><p>Shouting awoke Squall from his sleep and he tumbled out of his bed with a <em>thump<em>. They had cast out to sea only a few hours ago, once the shipwright had fitted one new plank to their side and declared them sea-worthy although limping. The Siren's cannonballs had torn strips out of the Garden's flooring on the second deck and it was now necessary to conduct a flying leap through the air to reach the other end of the ship, but the urgency they were faced with stopped them from conducting any serious repair work.

Squall had barely made it to his bed before collapsing in a heap on top of it, kicking his boots off and struggling to get his tie over his head lest he choke himself in his sleep. Slumber had been interrupted only once since then when he was forced to pop the buttons on his coat and allow himself to breathe again. This second interruption, however, seemed to be of much greater urgency. Perhaps it was Almasy already, maybe they'd caught up to him. He hopped about as he pulled his boots on and grabbed Lionheart – which he had abandoned in the middle of the floor the moment he had been left alone to sleep – before going for the door.

The pandemonium outside was not – as it happened – the result of the bastard Almasy come back to slaughter them all in the night, but was in fact a black shadow that was currently swooping low over the heads of the beleaguered crew who were dashing about trying to waylay the thing. Dincht could be spied in amongst the mess, apparently making the most noise of the lot.

"What's going on?" Squall asked loudly, halting the movements of the crew and also the shadow, which lit on the deck at his voice.

"There's a thing, attacked the boat!" Dincht announced, pointing a wobbling finger at the shadow – which had now taken on a distinctly birdish silhouette – sat on the deck. Two big fat tears had gathered in the corners of Dincht's eyes and the sailors around him were all nodding vigorously in agreement. Apparently they didn't much enjoy being attacked by shadows either.

Squall looked from his crew to the shadow, then held out his forearm. The shadow took off and approached him, swooping low to the floor before coming up to land on and grab hold of the proffered arm. It was an osprey with a letter in its beak. He frowned as he took the letter and went back inside his cabin with the bird on his arm, leaving his crew huddled in a group, glancing about at one another no doubt wondering what on earth had just happened.

Inside his cabin, Squall set Hermes – he recognised him now in the candlelight – down on the table and went to his bed, to sit and read the letter. It was addressed to him in Admiral Caraway's handwriting and looked almost as though it had been scribbled. The letter was quite thick and when he pulled off the wax seal he saw that another letter had been placed inside the first; that one was addressed to Caraway and had apparently been written by the king himself.

Squall turned to his letter and began to read:

'_Captain Leonhart,_

_What I am about to tell you is concerning my daughter and Prince Deling. She is not to see this letter, it is for your eyes only and it is highly important that you read it carefully and burn it once you are done._

_I have enclosed a letter which I received tonight, around ten past six whilst I was having my tea. I request that you read it now._'

Squall turned to the king's letter and read carefully. Then read it again. Oh dear...

'_You may see for yourself the urgency of this letter. The arranged point of meeting shall be at Fisherman's Horizon in one week's time and you are to wait for the Galbadian vessel there. I am sure I need not tell you how important it is that Rinoa not find out about the plan to marry her to Deling as she is set on marrying some other fool she met last summer, going by the name of Lucifer, or some such. If she hears tell of her engagement to the Prince she will no doubt make some fool hardy attempt at escape. I must ask you to keep her occupied during the time you will spend in Fisherman's Horizon._

_I apologise for this most odious task I must ask of you but I assure you your losses will be repealed by the Galbadian Royal family and myself._

_Give my love to Rinny,_

_Admiral Caraway._'

A small 'x' was drawn beside Caraway's scribbled signature and Squall felt his stomach turn. Good Hyne... They wanted to see Miss Heartily at Fisherman's Horizon in one week? But he didn't even have the girl on board! What should he do? What would Almasy do? Well that was obvious, Almasy would try and get Miss Heartily back as soon as possible and that was in fact exactly was the man was currently attempting to do. Lord alone knew what sort of horrors would befall Miss Heartily at the hands of that pirate! Her only hope of survival should Almasy catch her would be the feminine comradery afforded to her by Trepe, and even that was subject to what kind of mood she was in at the time...

He slapped a hand to his forehead and drew it down over his eyes. Oh, this mission was a nightmare! A veritable nightmare! If only he hadn't been ordered to receive Miss Heartily by Admiral Kramer then he could have declined Caraway's request and be sitting pretty on his way to Balamb to begin his aid of the Trabian vessels at the mouth of the Trabian Straights. But no, here he was instead, rubbing brisk circles into the bridge of his nose, with a non-existent cargo to deliver and a week's deadline with the Galbadian Royal family breathing down his neck and no way of ever hoping to pull it off!

He watched between his fingers as Hermes attacked the white plume of his hat. Should he inform Caraway of the unfortunate chain of events that had taken place? Or should he just pretend there was nothing wrong, accept the challenge, whizz round to Almasy's, attack the bastard, retrieve Miss Heartily, hurry over to Fisherman's Horizon and wait – armed to the teeth just in case something untoward should choose to happen – for the Galbadian Navy to come and collect her?

He went to his desk and rooted around in a drawer for a sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill, popping the lid on the bottle and dipping in with the quill before scratching out a rough, two-worded answer: '_That's fine._'

He straightened up and waved the parchment back and forth to dry the ink before folding the paper over thrice and securing it with a few wax drops, into which he pressed the seal of the Balamb Navy. He wrote '_Admiral Caraway_' on the front and then held his arm out for Hermes. The osprey abandoned his abuse of the feathered hat and hopped onto Squall's arm, willingly accepting the letter that was offered to him as Squall walked to the door.

The crowd outside had largely dispersed, only Dincht remained sat on a cannon, rightly surmising that the Captain would want to talk to him about the presence of the 'shadow'. He hopped off his cannon as Squall lifted Hermes into the air and the bid bird took off with barely a whisper of his wings.

"So," Dincht ventured, coming closer, "What did it want?"

"All hands on deck." Squall replied, beginning to straighten his collar and cuffs, tucking his shirt into his trousers and buttoning up his jacket.

"Pardon?" Dincht asked, clearly flummoxed over how – what was now obviously a bird – request all hands on deck.

"I said all hands on deck." Squall replied, halting in his self-grooming to stare at Dincht. "Why aren't you moving?"

"Wha?" Dincht frowned, struggling to comprehend, "I can move if you like."

"Urgh, never mind..." Squall muttered, shaking his head before taking a big breath and bellowing as loud as he could. "ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Dincht scurried away clutching his ears, groaning and complaining about the impoliteness of certain individuals going about shouting other people's ears off. People began to appear, looking sleepy and wiping at bleary eyes. Squall looked at them with sudden nostalgia, if Trepe had still been his lieutenant he would not need to be making this announcement, and neither would he have needed to give an order himself. Neither would there been such disgraceful caterwauling at the sight of a mere bird. The list of things she used to do for him was seemingly endless and her role had never been more apparent that when she was gone. But with very little choice about the matter and manner in which he was now required to run his ship, he mounted the dais beside the helm and cleared his throat.

"From now on, we will sleep for only 4 hours a night. We will eat while we work. We will piss while we work. There will be few breaks on this ship." The crew was looking about in apparent confusion at the sudden need for this speech. He needed to clarify. "The Galbadian Royal family has given us one week to retrieve Miss Heartily and transport her to Fisherman's Horizon. Almasy is already steps ahead of him and if he reaches Miss Heartily first, we will have to fight him." The looks of confusion were slowly turning into looks of comprehension as people began to be more awake. "I don't need to tell you what fate will befall us if we fail in this mission. So you will _not_ sleep tonight. You will _not_ sit down for a chat. You will _not_ sit down for a meal. We will work hard, put our backs into the work and we will complete this mission before we can rest." He fixed all of them with his best no-nonsense frown. "You will _not_ be getting your money until this is over."

* * *

><p>It had been the start of the hatred inside of her, the uncontrollable loathing she felt each time she thought of his face, his voice, his Hyne-damned attitude. Like the whole fucking world was his back yard and nothing he said or did would have any repercussions upon him. He had always been this way and up until a point his methods of evading justice had been foolproof. No one could touch him, not even her for all the hard work, blood, sweat and tears she put into breaking his unshakable front. It made her nauseous to think he finally broke over his friends' execution. He could have stopped it before! Treated them to lashings or a week or two in the stocks! Boiling down into a mass murdering psychopath just because he hadn't thought of an excuse soon enough was unacceptable!<p>

An excuse was just a well planned lie and that was all it had ever been to him, her, and everybody else. To pretend otherwise was simply inviting trouble. So why did she hate him so much now for never having bothered to lie to her in the first place? His blind admittance for what he did left a bad taste on her tongue and seemed to grit her teeth for her. Snapping the necks of her foes had never felt as good as the day they snapped his rigidly upheld belief that he was infallible. The only problem she could find with the situation was the fact that she wasn't the one to do it. It was Vinzer Deling who finally brought Mr Perfection to his knees. She couldn't decide who she despised more; Deling or Almasy, they were both just as lecherous as each other.

Deling was, however, maybe more so. At least Almasy had never groped her at night in the middle of a theatre production of the No Life King. For all his gall and arrogance, he was polite and charming to a fault. Charming enough to stick his tongue down her throat. God he was a dick. She hated guys who did that sort of thing. And what's more, he got himself dishonourably discharged the very next day! In fact... He was probably already discharged by the time she stopped him in the street to console him about the deaths of the friends she belatedly discovered hadn't actually died but were in actual fact running riot through the streets to aid their wayward Captain in the attempted murder of Vinzer Deling! Not that the guy didn't deserve it but still, it was extremely improper of him to...

Aw who the hell was she kidding? If she looked deep down inside, there was an inkling of a truth she had tried to hide from herself for the better part of 3 years, maybe even longer. But uncovering it now, and blowing the dust off the top, she discovered that what she had been hiding away in the shadows for so long was her heart. So she had one after all. Who'd a thunk?

Yes, the hatred was there, but was it for the man? No, probably not. There was after all a legitimate reason for his threats to the prince – the guy was about to cut the heads off of two of his best friends after all, what self-respecting man would _not_ have lost his head for a little while and made dire threats of death and destruction? – and the reasons for Raijin and Fuujin's mutiny were supposed justified and Deling was an arse in the first place anyway. It was hard to decide whether Almasy and his lieutenants deserved the treatment they got or not. But it was easy to decide that she couldn't hate him all of a sudden for something which was – in all honesty – not all that unlike him. It had never been within his capabilities to follow orders, and it was a well known fact that neither Raijin nor Fuujin would follow the orders of anyone other than Almasy. It was one of the reasons they – as pirates or corsairs or whatever they wanted to call themselves nowadays – struck fear into the hearts of certain individuals of the naval high command and the Royal family. They were efficient, hard working and commanded by one of the finest Naval Officers the Galbadian Navy previously had to offer. It was like setting a wolf loose amongst the sheep.

A sigh escaped her and she turned her gaze upwards towards the sky. The stars looked different from here. For a start the North Star was nowhere in sight and if she had been landed the task of navigating them anywhere, she would surely have failed miserably. She supposed she now had an idea of why it was that Almasy navigated by a different map. He always had and the map on his cabin ceiling now made a great deal of sense. He was known locally as something of a Centran pirate despite being from Galbadia originally. It was an interesting amalgamation of rumour, observation and cold, hard fact. He was an enigma really. It did her head in.

His cabin door opened and a blond head poked out, looking about. He saw her looking at him and his shoulders seemed to slump. Good grief, was she really that terrible company?

"Comfortable, Officer?" He asked, still mean, but not with his usual bite. What could be on his mind?

"Not at all, Pirate."

"Corsair."

"Whatever."

"It's a nice night tonight, isn't it." He said, sitting cross legged on the floor and pulling a brown bottle from his coat pocket. She frowned at the lack of a comment on her similarities to Leonhart and watched him as he pulled the stopper from the top of the bottle and took a swig. Whatever it was smelt strong. "You can see all the stars from here."

"I can't see the North Star. Where's that?"

He pointed with the bottle to a dull looking thing on the horizon. "It's the only star that fades at the end of each month. Damned inconvenient if you're lost at that time and need some help."

"Is that why your map is centred on Centra?"

"Damn straight," He said, wafting the bottle under her nose. "None of the stars _I _travel by ever fade away. Bet that's another thing your little Captain Puberty didn't think about huh?"

She eyed the bottle as he waved it about. He let out a small chuckle. "You want some?"

"It might help to alleviate the pain of your presence." She agreed. He smiled, too softly for a real pirate/corsair. She wondered again what he must have been thinking about beforehand to have him out here and drinking, let alone smiling with her. He tipped the bottle at her and pushed it to her lips.

"For fuck sake just untie me!" She growled, turning her head away and glaring at him when he tried to feed it to her again. It smelt like bloody paint stripper!

"No can do," he apologised in a bored tone, not sounding at all apologetic, but not too much like his usual daemonic self either. "Don't want you leaping over board and escaping, now do we."

"Like I'd bother..." She muttered.

He eventually got tired of her resistance and reached forward to grab her hair, holding her head back as he poured the contents of the bottle into her mouth. Good lord, it tasted like bloody paint stripper too! She coughed and spluttered as it ran out the corners of her mouth, down her neck and soaked into her clothing and her hair. It was only once the bottle was empty that he let go and backed up.

"Fucking shit, Almasy!" She shouted at him once she'd gotten her breath back, drawing the attention of the sentries but not seeming to faze the cocky bastard in front of her one bit. "What're you trying to do? Drown me?"

"Would that I could..."

"And what in the hell was that stuff anyway? Lighter fuel? Fucking hell!"

"Awh shuddup. You wanted some I gave you some."

"You poured it all over me!"

"Want me to lick it off?"

"God no-!"

"Then shut up."

"You're gross."

He chuckled and lay back on the deck with his boot heels touching the toes of hers. Unfortunately she couldn't do anything about that because she didn't have enough room to move her feet; she couldn't pull them back any further and she couldn't get enough space to kick him away. They stayed in silence for a little while until Almasy spoke again:

"You know, I was going to marry you once."

* * *

><p>He didn't know what in the hell he was doing. He had no idea why he told her that. Yes he had been thinking about it in his cabin, beating himself up about the lack of any balls he seemed to have. There was a part of himself that readily admitted he was only keeping her here because if he didn't, he might never get another chance of her company again forced though it might be. But there was another part of him that vehemently protested that he was over her. This attraction he was feeling was nothing but male lust for an admittedly attractive woman. His former emotions had nothing to do with this. He called that part of himself a liar, but he didn't intend on revealing the other side of himself to her either. Maybe he'd had too much of whatever the hell was in that bottle.<p>

"Bollocks were you."

"I'm not lying."

She was silent again and he propped himself up on his elbows to see her face, he needed to gauge her reaction to see what he should say next.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"It's been bothering me; dragging about old baggage has never been my style."

"No, apparently not. You laid waste to your old baggage pretty effectively last time I would say."

He rolled his eyes. There she went again trying to create an altercation. "Like I said, old baggage. What I did in the past holds little sway over me now."

"Then this-"

"I needed to get it off my chest. It's not every day you get kicked out of the country the day before you ask someone for their hand right?"

"I would never have given you the answer you wanted."

"I know. You hate me right?"

She looked guilty for a second and then turned her head to look out at the waves passing them by. "No." Oh. News to him. "I don't think I hate you."

"Then you hate what I did."

"No." She turned her gaze back to him, looking scathing, but just slightly amused. "Believe it or not, you do not occupy my every waking thought."

"That's a shame." He said, offering her a grin, "I ought to."

She shook her head with a small smile then looked wistful. "I would never have answered you at all."

"Cruel woman."

"I can't bear the idea of shackling myself to some man. Sit pretty at home and give up my life on the waves to one of popping out babies every couple of years."

"I'd say you're fairly well shackled-"

"It's illogical. I have no idea how any self-respecting woman could do it."

"Social expectations-"

"Why do you keep on interrupting me? Social expectations say you should wait for me to finish before you start to speak."

He rolled his eyes and lay back down, stretching his arms out to the sides. He was interrupting her because she was telling him something he didn't want to hear. But damned if he was telling _her_ that. "All you do is prattle on."

"You asked me a question!"

Oh boy, here we go again. It served him right really for pissing her off so much, he seemed to have gotten her stuck on an eternal cycle of bitch versus philosopher, like a broken record that hated his guts. "No I didn't. This stream of drivel pours from your mouth every time someone gets you onto a slightly touchy subject. Can we _please_ just go for calm and collected this once?"

She didn't answer him. He propped himself up again to see what she was doing. He kind of wished he hadn't, actually. She was glaring at him like she could drill a hole right through his head if she tried hard enough. What was that saying again? 'Hell hath no fury like a woman's wrath'?

"Awh come on, Officer-"

"Don't call me that."

"You _are_ one though-"

"Probably not now that you've kidnapped me!"

"You leapt off the pier by your goddamned self!"

"You were going to leave me behind!"

"You called me a liar!"

"You lied!"

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not"

"Did-"

"You didn't hold up your side of the bargain so I wasn't going to hold up mine."

"I did the best I could!"

"And I was going to thank you before you tore my bloody head off!"

"Yeah right! You were going to sell me as a whore!"

"It's what you are, isn't it?"

"You _ANIMAL_!"

They had begun to shout at one another sometime during the argument and now there were more than just a few pairs of eyes watching from gaps in the planks and the cabin doors. Fuujin cleared her throat from her doorway, drawing the attention of the two combatants.

"I'M SLEEPING."

Trepe began to look a little sheepish through her anger, but Seifer himself was unmoved. He glared at Fuujin and then Raijin as he poked his head round the door frame.

"Then sleep." He growled and narrowed his eyes.

"RACKET." Fuujin growled back, narrowing her eyes to match.

* * *

><p>"Almasy," Quistis began, but was silenced when he turned his gaze on her instead. She had never seen him look so cross with her before. There had been plenty of times when she had seen him bellowing orders at people and snarling at Captain Leonhart about something. But the times when he actually shouted were surprisingly few. In fact when she thought about it, she couldn't in fact think of <em>any<em> occasions when he had been shouting and angry about it.

As a rule, Almasy had always been a man sporting a piss and vinegar attitude, but he had never had any anger management problems as far as she could remember. He was just irritating to the point that everybody else got angry and pissed off with him. (A/N: Bottom).

That he was pissed now spoke volumes.

He turned away from her and stomped over to Fuujin's door, hissed something at her that made Raijin flinch and Fuujin just look angry, before stomping off to his cabin and slamming the door.

There were a couple of beats of silence, before Raijin scuttled over to unchain her. "What did he say?" She asked as he disentangled his keys.

"He just said he doesn't like being questioned, ya know." He said, looking unhappy and unlocking the shackles on her wrists first. "He don't wear his heart on his sleeve for nothing, ya know."

"He didn't say that." Quistis could tell. There was no way such soft language could induce a flinch in anybody, let alone Almasy's right hand man.

"I know, ya know." Raijin admitted, unlocking her ankles. "But it was too rude to repeat. Said that if we questioned him again he'd be _really_ angry. Swore at us, ya know."

"Has he ever done that before?" Quistis asked, rubbed her wrists where the manacles had chaffed her skin. It was interesting to note his behaviour towards his friends and how it was different to the world around them.

"Yeah." Raijin stood up and offered her a hand to get up as well. "When we got kicked out of the Navy. He shouted at us for a good 10 minutes about what we'd done, ya know and how we was never going to be alright again." He scratched the back of his head. "Made us feel really guilty, ya know. He'd never shouted at us like that before, ya know. Scared me."

Quistis nodded and bent to retrieve her hat. "How long do you think he'll need to cool off?"

"Dunno."

"DAWN."

"Yeah," Raijin nodded and lead the way over to Fuujin, who was holding the door open to her cabin for Quistis to enter. "He'll be fine once he sobers up."

Quistis nodded and brushed past. Raijin sniffed once, then backed off holding his nose. "Why are you sticky ya know? And why do you smell like paint stripper?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ I have been doing a little thinking whilst I was writing this last chapter. And that is that in the original game, Seifer didn't really shout about anything at anyone. Sure he was mean and surly and one cannot deny that he was grinning like an idiot when he tore dickhead's face open (but then again who wouldn't be, eh?) but I cannot actually recall him throwing a wobbly about anything. It has struck me that a lot of fictions show Seifer tearing somebody a new one without actually thinking about whether or not this was actually typical of him or not. And even then, it seems like the only person he shouts at is either Adel/Ulti for having done what they did to him or Quistis because he's in love with her ;) and can't think of any other way of expressing it.

Dunno if you agree, but that's just something I observed. Shouting and screaming doesn't really seem like a Seifer thing to do. He might wear his heart on his sleeve and be angry with the world, but he has never really struck me as someone who couldn't control their emotions.

So...! What did we think? I'm still waiting for dibs on the survivors! And yes, that kiss is likely to be the last one between our two favourite persons so read that little bit over and over if you need a little more fluff in your lives, because you shall recieve no more from me! Well, not between Seifer and Quistis anywho xD

So, please review and tell me what you think, what was your favourite part etc.

-Iets! :D


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