<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">"I'm tellin' you, Blake, this is the way to do things! You go out, find a ship, rob some innocent people, and boom, tadah, you get rich <span style="font-style: italic">and</span> kiss this shithole goodbye in the same go. Bam!"<br/><br/>Mallory slapped her hand down on the wooden table in her kitchen. Her childhood friend, Blake, sat opposite her, and right now, she was looking at him with a crazy, reckless shine in her golden eyes.<br/><br/>"Look, I'll make this real simple for you," she continued, fished a carpenter's pencil out of her messy, brown bun, and began to scrawl on the table.<br/><br/><span style="font-family: Lucida Handwriting;">Step 1: Get out of here<br/>Step 2: ????<br/>Step 3: <span style="text-decoration: underline">Profit!</span></span><br/><br/>The girl threw the pencil down next to her 'plan' and sat herself down again with an air of having just presented the most genius scientific theorem in the History of Everything, which, when you looked at the History of Everything in Port Denyan, it probably could qualify as. A fishing village, it had quite a lively harbor, but that was really it. Most of the boats coming in and out were local, but every now and then, one of many pirate ships would dock there - and Mallory intended to be on it when it left again. Never mind the fact she had never actually been <span style="font-style: italic">on</span> a ship before. Piracy just seemed indefinitely more glamorous than being a dyer's daughter. She reached over the table and grabbed Blake's hands with a begging expression in her eyes.<br/><br/>"Come on, man. We gotta get outta here while we're still young. We'll be dust soon!" She added melodramatically. Was she maybe whining a little? Yes.<br/><br/>Did she care? No.</div></div>