Her tactic to nearly all things was simple: distance. It was distance that made her chances of getting picked off by a flintlock significantly more favorable. Her distance from the bigger, more bustling taverns kept her out of reach of drunken crewmen's hands and, most important of all, distance from petty squabbles kept her out of the thick of things. Much to her dismay, however, Mabel Agnes Blake found survival necessitating that she approach the center of the latest issue and stab it right in the heart. 

She had been following him since she got off the ship. Only a few men lingered aboard the [i]Trident[/i] once it slid into port on the cusp of sunset. The skies were saturated by the dissipating sun, its orange emissions mingling curiously with the dense marine. Mabel was on one of the first rowboats to shore, sitting in the middle, not bothering to help the men propel the tiny vessel. There were only three sets of paddles, and even if she wanted to help, she wouldn't be nearly as useful as any of the strapping fellows. She knew women who tried to live in this world she tampered with, the world of men, women who thought they could act like equals. Those women were dead fools now, Mabel told herself often. She knew in the deepest trenches of her marred mind that they were not equals, women and men. Indeed, they were far too different, and sometimes too much the same, to bother comparing. It wasn't a matter of fairness, and it wasn't a matter of virtue. All that counted was survival, and if Mabel could accomplish that whilst enjoying herself from time to time, she'd count herself among the talented.

These were the thoughts curling through her as she stepped out of the boat once come ashore. She lingered at the water's edge a while, waiting for him to get a head start. Hawklike, her eyes followed the Scotsman's shimmying blue coat up the sandy beaches. It was when he reached the beginnings of Nassau's busy streets, that moment when a rare cloud just completed its eclipse of that spilling, frittering sun that Mabel took on the pursuit. Following MacNichols was easy only because of how well she knew Nassau. It had been months since she stepped foot on the place she once called home, and much longer since the time she felt it was such, but places like this hardly changed. The drunken firebrand on the corner of the southernmost street was a fatter man, and the ragtag goons were of a different breed, but they all played the same role. People rarely tried to play a different game. Mabel herself made the attempt once. It was a long time ago, and like most folks, she had the idealism bled out of her. She wasn't about to let that happen again, and so she continued to follow the bouncing hill of grey-black hair.

When the Scotsman perched himself at a patio bar, Mabel allowed herself to give an irritated snarl. While she, too, would rather occupy the quieter corners of Nassau's debauchery venues, it robbed her of the cover of other sailors' rowdiness. There would be no bar brawls, no undulating hollers shaking the building to drown out the conspiracies that would soon slither from Mabel's lips. She'd just have to make do. Mabel watched the man from across the dirt for a while, letting him sit down and get a drink in front of him before approaching. Her boots were worn down significantly, softening the sounds of her approach. She came upon the establishment with the smallness and subtlety of a serpent and, rather than announce her arrival, let the man initiate things himself.

When he called her a vulture, Mabel kept her countenance stoic. Her mind dimly registered the wry humor. She sat herself next to MacNichols, turning the seat around so she'd have to straddle it to face him. She wanted something as a barrier between them, and the back of an ale-stained bar chair was the best she could do. With her forearms lain across the top, she leaned in and said with intended severity, "You'll owe me your life if you're smart about this." The barmaid set down a tankard on the table with a noticeable thud. Mabel leaned back a bit. She wanted to be able to see the Scotsman's reaction.

(Sorry, there might be some errors. Have to go out so I figure I'll just post this.)