Captain Thomas Lightfoot was drunk, and no mistake. As he stared at the cards in his hand, he had to squint one eye to make the collage of numbers and suits cease to double in his vision. After a time, he tossed more coins into the pot and placed his bid. His one open eye looked around to the two other men around the table, and his expression was one of overt challenge, his smog of grog notwithstanding.

“Well? What’ll it be you tottering swine-bred louts?” Thomas said, looking down his nose at the two seamen. 

Begrudgingly, the two men finally declared their hands, and Thomas found he had yet again won the lion’s share of the pot. “By God’s bones!” Thomas yelled, much too loud, a lopsided smile splitting his face. He began to rake the coins towards his lap when he saw the figures of Nicolette and Jax enter the Black Boar. The winnings were forgotten, and he stood and waived an arm at his first mate, and the accompanying sea-artist. 

“Ahoy!” He called out, “finally you’ve made it.” Thomas looked back down to the two men who were still sitting at the table, eyeing the pile of coins hungrily. His palms slammed down on the table, and Thomas passed his face before each of the rough men. “Ne’er you worry, my dear friends. I shall watch over the safety of your lost coinage.” Thomas expression shifted to a sour one. “Now piss off.”

With apparent anger in their faces, the two men stood, and stalked off into the still large crowd. They were instantly forgotten to Thomas, and he thudded himself back into his chair, motioning for Jax and Nicolette to take the recently vacated seats. As he waited for the two to join him, his eyebrows raised as he looked about the tavern. Even in his drunken stupor, he could see that the Boar was now filled with members of another privateer crew, as well as his own. To Thomas’ eyes, they looked to be from the [i]Crimson Feather[/i], a most notoriously cruel and barbaric ship of corsairs that had recently moved into the Caribbean from the Mediterranean Sea. 

What Thomas failed to notice, was that the two men he had most recently relieved of their coins were gunners aboard the [i]Feather[/i], and they were now moving throughout their churlish brethren, and speaking in hushed tones. 

With the grin returned to his face, Thomas began shuffling the cards once more. He looked between the two members of his crew as they sat, and he was just about to reiterate his greeting when he felt a strong hand land upon his shoulder, and lift him from his seat. In his current state of mind, Thomas’ body followed organically, and provided little resistance to the maneuver. He stood a moment, dazed and slightly confused, until the press of a knife against the side of his belly brought the reality of his situation into sharp and blinding focus. 

Though still drunk, Thomas’ mind fought and won the battle with his senses, and in an instant the pirate captain was calculating his next move.

A rough and thickly accented voice spoke into his ear. “You cheated me, dam’ you. Han o’er the purse, Cap’n sir, or you’ll fin’ you’sef breavin thru ye belly.”

Anger was the first emotion that surfaced in Thomas’ mind. Anger that he had been taken by surprise by such a buffoon, and even more so that the man had accused him of cheating. Thomas Lightfoot never cheated at cards. In that moment, Thomas also had a decisive moment of clarity. His eyes flitted between Nicolette and Jax. A man could learn a lot about those who he served with by how they played a hand of cards, but in truth he learned even more by watching how they fought. 

A wicked smile, unseen by the pirate at his back, narrowed his eyes. He danced his copper gaze to Jax and Nicolette, and then they scanned across the Black Boar, alighting upon the members of his crew, before once again returning to the faces of the first mate and helmsman.

“Care for a fight?” He said softly to them, before spinning on his heels with remarkable swiftness. In that motion Thomas brought his right hand up to one of the pistols that hung across his chest. His left arm lifted, and before the pirate could move to stab at his now moving captive, a pistol ball exploded full into his face. The impact knocked the pirate back, slamming him into a table, and spilling the now faceless body onto the floor some five feet away.

Amidst the thick smoke of the discharged pistol, Thomas drew the second, and trained it into the crowd of crewmen from the [i]Crimson Feather[/i]. His voice rose clear above the now silent tavern. “You’ve cast your lot in blood you fen-sucked dandies, now play the hand you were dealt!” And then he fired, and all hell broke loose.