<div class="floatleft">(http://cdn.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/black-sails-season-3-toby-stephens-01.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Alvirs Winton (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=300519.msg14693564#msg14693564)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Quarter Deck,<em>Esperanza</em><br/><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong>: Day 1 | Morning<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Liam Scott, Captain, anyone in ear shot<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Harsh language and vinegar<br/><hr/><br/>The Captain and Mister Scott were not the only crew members on board the<em>Esperanza</em>.  Alvirs Winton, the former first mate for the last four years with the Captain, now back to the role of the second mate and the crew's bo'sun, came up to the wooden rail, his hands running over the stained and varnished wood, feeling the almost glass like smoothness under the tips of his fingers.  Alvirs had lost count the number of times the railing had been replaced over the years.  The quarter deck was one of the most targeted areas on a ship.  One would think a simple patch job would do, but such was not the case on the Captain's ship.  Even if she was nearly battered to being nothing worth to salvage, as long as she could be raised, as long as she could float, the<em>Esperanza</em>would always be repaired, restore to her pristine condition.<br/><br/>As the first of the crew arrived, it was all Alvirs could do not to spit upon the deck.  The woman was almost high enough to suck Alvir's cock without getting down upon her knees.  The reason why he did not spit was because it would be disrespectful to the Captain.  Still, there was a sour taste in his mouth, as well as an itch between his shoulder blades.  Port Royal might be all but a pirate haven in everything but name, it still was a port of call for the Royal Navy, as well as the governor, even if he was corrupt as rat shite.  If they had some freshly minted captain new to the West Indies looking to polish up his career by checking the letters of marque for the ships at port, things could get dicey.  The tide for shoving off could not come quick enough for him.<br/><br/>Another look at the near dwarf and a sullen shake of Alvirs' head.  Attractive enough despite her size, but Alvirs seriously doubted she was recruited to keep the crew entertained.  There was perhaps a bit of raw potential, but she would likely be useless when it came to boarding actions.  If this was the first recruit Mister Scott had managed to sign up, Alvirs would have his work cut out for him.  He turned his head to the side and looked at Scott as his spoke in his rough mish-mash of accents.<strong>"Just what in the maelstrom am I supposed to do with 'er now, Scott?  I ken ye didna bring her on board for me fun.  What ish she supp'd ta do when we lock steel, stab the others in the bollocks?  Did ye even test these sorry lot ye have coming on board ta see if they even know how ta sail, how ta fight?  Bah!  Captain, what am I supp'd ta do with this lot.  Aye canna make rope from straw here.  The'll break tha first time we come under fire."</strong><br/><br/>Just as Alvirs said it, another lass came up, and he gave her the stern appraising eye.  She had a swagger he liked, and cared a long bore with a familiarity she knew how to use it.  Close quarters might be chancy for her, but Alvirs was already thinking strategy to use the lass.  It did not me she knew shite about sailing, but at least she was a sight more promising than the first one on board.  It still was not giving Alvirs any form of comfort.  It was going to take work, and with the plans the Captain had, time was not a thing they had.  Alvirs had managed in his near decade at being at sea to avoid the grim fate of being lowered into the sea, the last kiss of salt washing over his dead and ravished skin before his body sunk to the depths, and he wanted to continue to avoid the Jack of Bones till he was gray, bald, and rich.  Time, it always came down to it.<br/><br/>Time...