<div class="floatleft">(https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51JuEU6%2B-lL._SX466_.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Devon Black<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Esperanza, Navigation Room, Middle Deck<br/><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong>: Day 1 | Noon<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>The Captain | Alvirs | Lawton | Marisol<br/><strong>Content:</strong>A purpose<br/><hr/>"Aye, Captain," Devon said.  "I'll have us tucked safely behind the north east point of the Turks ready to hoist sail when our prize sails through.  We'll chase them into the Atlantic and by the time they realize we're on their heels, they'll have no place to run but towards deep water.  Once Mr Lawton takes down their masts, we board her, retrieve her cargo and whatever supplies our Quartermaster deems vital and then we let Mr Winton make sure none of the corpses are faking.  We won't even need to waste a cannonball to finish her, if she's carrying powder of a quality Mr Lawton doesn't favour.  Anybody finding the wreckage will assume she blew herself up, rather than falling prey to pirates."<br/><br/><em>I just hope to God she's not a schooner or we'll have a chase in front of us.</em><br/><br/>He was a pirate now; he might as well start thinking like one.  Ruthless.  Devious.  Certainly he wanted to be the man the captain needed him to be.  More than anything, he wanted her to find him worthy to be elevated to the level of esteem she obviously held her first mate and master gunner in.  She'd clearly won the loyalty of her old officers, that much was clear.  For a man like the boatswain to bow his head?  It spoke volumes.<br/>