<div class="floatleft">(https://static.wixstatic.com/media/991d95_7e5995834db34bc29318b575a3189d9d~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_632,h_812,al_c,q_90,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01/991d95_7e5995834db34bc29318b575a3189d9d~mv2.webp)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Rachel Reade<br/><strong>Position:</strong>Able seaman<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Esperanza / Port Royal<br/><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong>: Day 1 | Morning<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>All<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Arrival, settling in, preparing to make way.<br/><hr/>It had been six years since the passing of her mother.  Her father, quite married, had seen fit that she'd been educated, but as an officer in the Royal Navy, he'd never quite been around before her mother died, and she butted heads with him often on those occasions when he showed up after that event.  The occasional visits gave Rachel the vague idea of what her father was like, but that was about it, and she blamed her father for the passing of her mum.   That anger and resentment of a mourning child turned into a slow, simmering rage as she grew up.<br/><br/>She struck out two years ago, in as much of a<em>fuck you</em>to her father as it was anything else, she'd met a man by the name of Rackham and had allowed herself to be swept away by his charms.  During the course of their time together, she'd learned a great deal, had become equally adept at both sword and pistol and had taken to sailing as if born to it.  Sooner or later, she knew,  she would come across her father.  God help him when that day came.<br/><br/>Now, she made her way along the docks of Port Royal to the<em>Esperanza</em>.   She was a fine ship, and Rachel took a long moment, seabag slung over her shoulder,  to admire her.  Her hair was pulled back, and braided, hanging down the center of her back, and if it were not for the angle of her features and the slight swell of her breasts beneath her coat, one could easily mistake the figure in boots and breeches for a young lad.<br/><br/>One particular vagrant about the docks took note of the fact that she wasn't, in actuality, a boy and decided to test just how feminine her curves were.  What he got for his trouble was her dagger in his groin, and the lift of a finely arched brow as she judged him - and found him lacking.  The two circled each other slowly, Rachel's hand not easing up the pressure to his manly bits until he was backing his way back up the dock.   A softly muttered "Bastard," followed his departure and she sheathed her blade as she turned back to the ship.<br/><br/>Stepping up the gangplank, she dropped to the deck and sought out the officer on duty to report to.  Her gaze swept over the deck, a nod given here and there to her fellow crewmen.  The fact that there were numerous women aboard was surprising.   More surprising was the fact that some were in dresses.   Rachel could barely remember a time when she wore a dress.<br/><br/>